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Last Stand	By : Anguifer Category: Hellsing > Crossovers Views: 3321 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any publicly recognizable characters, settings, histories, etc. belonging to Hellsing or Harry Potter and make no profit from their use.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Important Note: This story is DARK. While it will contain sexually explicit scenes in future, this is first and foremost a story with a plot and will be several chapters long. It will contain Incest, Rape, Non-Con, Homosexuality, Vampire Sex, Graphic Torture, Violence, and may eventually contain Bestiality.

If you cannot handle ANY of those things, then do not read this! If you can't handle it, then don't read it and then come complaining to me about your delicate sensibilities being scarred.

Also, this story is set in the Manga verse of Hellsing, while the Harry Potter elements are AU.

EDIT: cleaned up some grammar and plot mistakes.

~Last Stand 1~

Eyes burned from stinging sweat as the black haired boy crawled through the underbrush, clutching his assault rifle like a life line. Bombs exploded, igniting the dark skies and providing illumination. Even as screams reached him, telling him that some of the explosives had reached targets, he was thankful for the light. It guided him as much as it pained him. Tears stung his eyes as surly as the acrid smoke did. Faces flashed before his eyes in the afterimage of the blasts. His friends, brothers in arms, all dead. All killed in the line of duty.

Swallowing hard, he forced the salt from his eyes and carried on. His arms nearly gave out, but he was trained well and ignored the pain. Blood leaked sluggishly from a shoulder wound. They could track him from it, but he could not allow a pause. Only one thought kept him going. Get behind the zone. Get away from the battlefield. Get to safety and report. Hundreds of thousands of lives depended on him. Only he had survived the infiltration, only he remained to pass on intelligence. Gritting his teeth, he crawled on. Another flight bomber swooped down, dropping its cargo over the enemy. Bright flashes of colored light told him that the enemies were trying in vain to stop the missiles decent.

Hysterically, his mind conjured images of a deranged bomber pilot locking into his location and dropping a nuke on him. Impossible but entirely likely if the knowledge he possessed was to be trusted. Every man for themselves. Every person in charge of their own life. The soldier could not blame one of his own if they defected to the enemy. Their side was losing.

Minutes turned into hours as the sounds of battle raged on. What they were shooting at, he knew not. For all he knew he was the only one remaining from his squad. They had been the only ones in the zone. None of the resistance was around for the enemy to fight. Shrapnel flew as more explosions wracked the field. The soldier ducked and covered his head, biting through his cheek in efforts not to scream like the others. The screams. Oh god, the screams. This wasn't a battle, it was a massacre.

Air strike assaults didn't care whether they dropped the missiles on friend or foe. You either recognized the signs of an attack or you died. Blood leaked out of new wounds as he continued his frantic scurry. Nearly there. Nearly to the line. Nearly to safety. Already he could see the end of the zone, marked by clear patches of earth, razor wire fences standing sentinel. They were to keep people in, not out. Keep them from safety, keeping them from escaping what they were forced to endure in the zone.

Soldiers weren't allowed to defect. They weren't allowed to leave the field unless they were dead or dying. Shudders ran through him and his mind clouded with horror as he spotted the enemy lined up like statues. They blocked him from the fence, from freedom. He would be unable to slip by them without being detected. His mind refused to work for a solution as he halted all movement and shrank down under a bush. Hands shook hard enough to nearly drop his gun, but he held fast. It was his only lifeline in this Hell.

Determination gripped him. They were blocking his escape. That fence was the only sure way out. If they attempted to hinder him, they would die. If he was killed, then so be it. At least it would cease his pain and allow him to finally rest. It was that simple. Green eyes flashed as he got to his knees and sneaked over to a tree. It provided a shield to his right side, while the bush sheltered him from flank attacks. He drew the rifle to his left shoulder and took careful aim, using the trunk as leverage to keep him steady.

Drawing in a deep breath and releasing it slowly to calm his nerves, his finger squeezed the trigger in rapid succession. One by one the enemy fell. All of them were dead before they could pinpoint his position. His expression was a mask of stone as he swiftly got his feet under him and sprinted the distance. There was no guarantee that they were the only ones in the area. He only paused once he reached the razor wire and took out a utility tool. Making quick work of snipping the wires, he eased through. Freedom. Stopping to rest on the opposite side of the fence, he turned and observed his handy work.

The white mask had fallen from its place on one of his victim's faces. Blue eyes gazed unseeingly into the sky, surprise marring his features. The boy could not have been older than fourteen. The soldier allowed no room for remorse, simply offered a prayer for the fallen before getting his feet under him and jogging to the tree line. There would be time for grieving later. Everyone knew what they were getting themselves into when they joined this war.

Cold features remained, even as another bomb dropped behind him. Running for several minutes, the trees slowly thinned before disappearing entirely. He continued running even as a grand castle appeared on a rise before him. He did not stop until he reached the sea of tents that had taken up the once lush lawns of the grounds. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had changed drastically following years of bloody conflict. Everything had.

People stopped their work and saluted him as he passed. The campsite was abuzz with activity despite the late hour. His vision was tunneled as he honed in on the main tent at the center of the camp, ignoring his fellow soldiers for now. Torches and lanterns lit the path. It was a path that he had taken mere hours… [days?] earlier after receiving his orders, a path that he loathed with every fiber of his being. The flap was open, allowing light to seep out. After the blinding darkness and equally blinding flashes of the forest, he was forced to pause to allow his vision to clear before entering.

Several familiar faces glanced up at his entrance. Some looked relieved, others impassive at his horrid appearance in headquarters. Three hurried towards him and looked concerned. Waving them off without a glance, he stepped forward and speared one of them with a hard look. Twinkling blue eyes assaulted his dead gaze. Policy dictated he bow to his commander, however he could not gather the strength to care. He simply reached into the breast pocket of his fatigues and extracted a minuscule scroll of parchment. It grew in size once he had thrown it to the large table in the center of the group.

Without a word or second glance, he turned on his heel and left. Some shouted after him, but he did not pause or look back. His mission was complete. His marching orders followed to the letter. They could ask no more of him. They would receive a full written report if they survived the morn. No emotion assaulted him even as the battle-high wore off and feeling returned to his extremities. Fog lifted from his mind; however he carefully schooled himself and forced any thoughts away.

Off the field his wounds burned and caused him to limp with every step. Others noticed but didn't comment as he made his way among them. Worse injuries had been acquired in the past, and they were wise to not suggest the medical tent. He would only allow one healer to see to him and they all knew it. Another familiar path led him from the center of the camp towards the school. The doors stoop open, inviting warmth tugging and enticing the senses. Yet it was cold in its comfort. The hallowed halls no longer held any peace, simply an illusion of calm.

Bypassing the great hall, which echoed with hushed voices, he slumped down the stairs at the side of the entrance hall to the dungeons. The scents of damp stone and mold were comforting to him. At one time it had been a hell in its own right, but no longer. His feet traced the familiar corridors until he came upon the span of wall hiding the door to his haven. Reaching his hand out, he touched his palm to the stone and it opened invitingly. The Slytherin common room. Traces of dark amusement flitted across his otherwise blank face. At one time, he would have never entered this place with thoughts of relief in mind.

Several eyes turned his way and he was greeted with words of concern and welcome. His mask slipped and he graced them with a small smile; the first in several weeks. A weight lifted from his shoulders as some of them approached. He allowed one to slip the rifle from his limp grasp, and another to lead him over to the crackling fire, and press him into a chair. Two shapes detached from a shadowed corner and took up seats flanking his. Concerned black eyes took in his ragged state and the man clicked his tongue reproachfully.

“You never are one to do things carefully. Lucius, fetch blood replenisher and healing potions, in addition to the surgical kit.”

The soldier waited patiently and without a flinch as the potions master used pliers to dig out bullets and shrapnel from his wounds. His only show of discomfort was to grimace as he downed the offered potions. Sitting back with a sigh, he gratefully accepted a bottle of whiskey from one of the children. As bone-weary as he was, he would not be able to rest until he informed his comrades of the situation. They needed to know, and he knew that the commander would reveal nothing to them.

He observed the gathered mix of adults and children, taking in their faces and memorizing them as done a hundred times before. There were a few new faces in the group but for the most part he knew them all by heart. Sighing, he took a long pull from the bottle before offering it to one of the others. Only now did he allow his thoughts to manifest. Now that he was safe, and among people he trusted with his life. His gaze lingered on key faces, silently offering thanks to the gods that they were still alive. He had not been the only one out on missions; however it appeared that he was the last to return.

Severus Snape, former potions master, former spy. Little had changed about him over the years, save his attitude towards the soldier. Lucius Malfoy, defected from the enemy in light of his son's murder by his former master. Blaise Zabini, fellow soldier, also a former spy and school mate. Dean Thomas. Ginny Weasley. Hannah Abbot. Bill and Charlie Weasley. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Mark Evans, a muggle-born the soldier knew before his interim at Hogwarts.

All were alive, and all appeared uninjured. None of their missions had taken them into ground zero. Only the soldier's assignment had encountered enemy resistance. It set his mind at ease. They were his most trusted lieutenants and friends. The only ones he trusted at his back. They had stuck with him through Hell and back, and proved their weight in battle. Another heavy sigh escaped him as the bottle made its round and returned to him. Even the young ones drank. It was the only way to sleep, to relieve the nightmares.

Lucius broke the tense silence. His cultured tones were relaxing after the screams of the zone. “Potter, what happened? You should not have encountered battle. Your team was to gather the information and then leave undetected.”

“Plans fail.” The soldier downed a mouthful of the burning liquid before returning it to Hannah. His voice was rough from disuse and smoke inhalation. He cleared his throat before continuing, “Intelligence was wrong. The schematics were heavily sealed and guarded. The only way to retrieve them was to kill the soldiers, and an alarm was sounded the moment they left the vault. They wiped out half my team before we even left the compound. The sentries picked off the rest after we returned to the forest. Patil defected and I was forced to kill her.”

Grim looks reflected his own. More and more of their soldiers were turning coat with every battle they encountered. Their forces were depleted and every team was stretched thin. Any more losses and they would have to fall back to London. Hogwarts was the last defense between the muggles and Voldemort's forces. Already reports had trickled in that barricades at Belfast and Nottingham had fallen. If Hogwarts fell, there would be little hope. Harry whetted his lips and reached into his pocket, extracting a pack of cigarettes. He ignored the repulsed looks he received from Lucius and Severus as he knelt forward and used the fire to light one before speaking again.

“I had a look at those blueprints.” He paused and shoved a filthy hand through his long hair, drawing some of the harsh fumes into his lungs. He exhaled slowly as he attempted to find the best way to explain what he had seen. Ginny grew impatient and nudged his arm with the bottle.

“Well? We don't have all night you dolt!”

That caused him to laugh quietly. Warmth spread through him as he mock glared at her. No matter what had happened in past years, he could always count on her to remain a constant during uncertain times. He took the opportunity to steal the bottle from her and take a quick sip before once again handing it off.

It was a ritual of their group after a mission. They would steal a bottle of liquor from the command tent and pass it around the common room until it was gone. Food and drink were tightly rationed, especially alcohol. Normally the soldiers were only allowed one can of muggle beer per week. Only the commanders were allowed hard liquor. It was a form of rebellion on the group’s part. The only rebellion they were allowed.

“There were some strange ones mixed in with the original objective.” He took another drag and let the smoke out as he spoke.

“They're plans for some sort of travel device. I couldn't understand the rune work for it. I didn't have the time. I can draw them and have you look at them, Bill. They may not be accurate from memory, but it might give you an idea.”

The red head nodded as Harry went on, “After I've rested, I can break into HQ and get you photos.”

That caused some shocked looks from the new people. Any protest was silenced by glares from more experienced fighters. Their leaders were content with leaving the foot soldiers in the dark as to intelligence they received. But Harry was not. It was common practice for trusted members of their group to break into the command tent and look into just what was being planned. They had a right to know. They were risking life and limb on the battlefield, not the commanders. Never the commanders, Harry reflected bitterly as he finished off the bottle.

He weighed the empty vessel in his hand for a moment before rearing back and smashing it into the fire. He noted that only the newest members flinched at the violence. They were either unblooded or newly introduced to combat. His lip curled in a snarl. They were children… children fighting in a war that was never their own. The elder Slytherins shot him concerned looks, but were ignored as Harry climbed to his feet and stalked out of the room.

It was Severus who followed him. Again, he went unheeded as he trailed Harry down the winding hallway. They halted in front of one of the old Prefects’ bedrooms, which opened upon receiving a hissed password. Silence permeated the suite as the door thumped closed behind them. Keen black eyes observed the young man as he stripped from his dirt and blood stained uniform. The former teacher had to marvel at how much the boy had changed in ten years.

Pale skin rippled with lithe muscle as Harry sat on the edge of the bed and bent to untie his boots. From his position by the door, Severus could observe all the scars revealed on his back. Some were old; others still tinged pink and newly healed. The soldier was built for speed and maneuverability, more than brute strength. However he knew the slight frame could take on more than its weight in opposition. Even in a place of safety Harry's movements were wary and guarded, as if expecting an attack. Long black hair, tangled with sweat and filth, framed haunted green eyes and outlined the harsh features of his face.

The man before him was nearly unrecognizable from the quiet, shy, boy he had once known. War had changed everyone at Hogwarts, but Harry most of all. He was forced to grow up before his time, and already with blood on his hands before his twelfth year. After his sixteenth birthday he had joined the Order of the Phoenix and jumped headlong into the horrors of battle. It had changed him into the hard, mature, and world-weary twenty-six year old before him.

The war had forced them all to grow up too fast. After Potter's graduation the attacks on muggles had reached a point above and beyond their ability to ignore and write off; the aurors were too overburdened to deal with the surge. The British Military had gotten wind of the wizarding world and the Minister in office had declared war to save his own skin. To add fuel to the fire, Voldemort had planted information on locations of wizard strongholds for the muggles to find. A whole new side had joined the war, killing Order and Death Eater alike. However it had given the Order new means of fighting. The muggle-born witches and wizards had schooled others on the use of muggle weapons.

The American government had stepped in on behalf of the Order and negotiated with them for support. The British would not directly assault non-combatants of the wizarding world, and in turn the Order would do everything in its power to protect the muggle civilians. It was all confusing to think about. So many had died.... With the American and British governments stepping in, others had followed in a chain reaction. Different countries had sided with different factions of wizards, all for their own gain. The muggle civilians were running scared as entire armies rose up and fought in the streets, sparking resentment and many misunderstandings which led to bloodshed and violence.... They were caught firmly in the grips of World War III.

Snapping from his remembrance, Severus watched as Harry stripped to his skin and made his way to the bathroom. He shook his head and followed. He took a seat on the closed lid of the toilet and listened as the water started. Uncertainty gripped him. It was always difficult to assess Harry's state of mind after a battle. His moods were mercurial and hard to predict. To his knowledge the other man was never prone to outward expressions; however he was always on the lookout for greater symptoms. The mood swings were a manifestation of post-traumatic stress, he knew. To his shock, it was his former student who spoke first.

“I'm alright Severus. You didn't have to follow me.” Green eyes peered at him from a gap in the shower curtain, “I'm simply going over our plans, and those blueprints. Now that I can think, I can remember more of those runes. And understand them better.”

An eyebrow rose in surprise. For a moment only the sound of running water filled the room. “Oh? What were they?”

“I think,” Sounds of soap bottles being shifted about cut him off briefly, “They have something to do with a time-turner, or at least had similar rune work to one. I'm no expert, but that's what the ones I recognized led me to believe. I'll be able to say with certainly once I get another look at them.”

“When?”

“Tonight. It's late and everyone is exhausted. Dumbledore will give his men a reprieve before allowing them to examine the information. I'll plan to go at oh-four-hundred. The old man hasn't managed to steal my cloak yet, so I'll use that to get in. I may just take the plans as opposed to photos. I got the sense that they're no good in Dumbledore's hands.”

Harry's “senses” were never wrong, which was why Severus did not bother protesting the decision. If he felt that Dumbledore should not have those schematics, then likely it was not wise leaving them in the hands of the commanders. Their side was losing largely due to the ineptitude of their leaders. Already they would have fallen were it not for Harry's interventions.

The water cut off suddenly and the curtain was swept aside. The man had a thoughtful look about him as he stepped out of the tub. Wariness stole over Severus at that look. It always meant trouble, with Harry in the thick of it. The other man had a brilliant mind when applied to the correct situations, but some of his harebrained schemes lead to near-death experiences and conflict in the ranks. Amusement shined in those green eyes as Harry dried himself off. A grin pulled at the edges of his mouth as he peered at the potions master through a curtain of hair.

“Don't give me that look, Snape. Trust me. I know what I'm doing.”

At those damning words all the Slytherin could do was shake his head helplessly. Those exact words always preceded disaster. Sensing the direction of Severus' thoughts, Harry snickered and wrapped the towel around his waist. Crooking a finger at the other man, he cooed playfully before turning and making his way out into the bedroom. Giving a long-suffered sigh, Severus followed the manic Potter. Trust for Harry to be in a hyper mood after a brush with death. He never ceased to amaze his comrades. Mere minutes before, he had seemed to be in a sulking rage. Now he was humming and dancing as he pulled on clean combat fatigues.

One too many meetings with the Cruciatus Curse must have knocked a few screws loose. Severus' private thoughts had frequently run along that vein regarding his former student. Worrisome as it was, he was simply glad the man hadn't snapped completely and lost his mind. Harry was always in charge of the most dangerous missions, and had been captured and tortured for information on more than on occasion. He had witnessed stronger men reduced to gibbering, mindless shells under the conditions Harry had survived and conquered.

Speaking of the lunatic: He watched as Harry whirled around and flopped onto the queen sized bed, staring up at the ceiling blankly. Severus approached cautiously and took a seat at the end, eying him carefully. Now he seemed depressed, although the thoughtful air had not left him.

“What are you thinking now?”

Several minutes passed before an answer was forthcoming. “The bombers are becoming careless. They're dropping too close to the line. I think they're starting to fall back into bad habits.”

“Bad habits” was of course referring to their original goal of dropping nukes on known wizard locations regardless of the populaces' affiliation in the war. Their truce with the muggles was uneasy at best. If the planes were dropping missiles so close to the Hogwarts perimeter, it could mean bad news.

“You think they'll break the alliance.”

There was no question. More time passed. Finally, Harry spoke up. His voice was carefully blank as he turned his head to stare at the dark man. There was some unidentified emotion shining in those emerald depths. It set the hairs on the back of his neck on end.

“We're losing. We've been losing from the start. We won't win this war. Hogwarts will fall.”

Finality cut those words. Harry was stating a fact. Cold fear gripped Severus and he leaned forward. His eyes became slits as he glared, a realization dawning on him. His voice shook with suppressed emotion.

“You had a vision.”

Nodding, Harry never broke eye contact. Severus knew he was not lying. After years, the man knew which were false and which were true. Never before had any of the real visions proven wrong. Nor was it possible to change the outcomes. God knew they had tried before. Severus swallowed hard, puzzle pieces slowly fitting together in his mind. All along he knew it would most likely come to this, but to have his suspicions confirmed… It terrified him. The increased number of attacks, all the failed plans, and ever growing death toll; it all made too much sense with what his logic and the Potter’s intuition were saying. Harry's voice broke through the horrid images his mind conjured.

“Magic will die out, bodies will pile up rotting in the streets... and the world will burn. But there is hope... for some of us.”

“The schematics.”

“Yes.” Trembling fingers reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Severus waited for him to go on, impatient.

“Those plans... we need to get them. Use them before Dumbledore can. Doesn't matter what they do. Either way, this world is doomed. 'S why I grabbed them with the original objective. I just don’t know of their significance beyond suspicion.”

Severus made to speak, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. It opened moments later to admit Lucius. A questioning eyebrow was raised at their solemn demeanors, but the aristocrat shrugged it off. He was just as use to Harry's mood swings as Severus was. Before the blonde could even explain his presence, Harry beat him to it.

“Get our group ready. Tell them to gather any needed possessions and be in the common room by oh-five-hundred hours. Tell them to go about it quietly and to speak to no one. We're leaving. Everything will be explained once I get back from the command tent. Have Bill on stand-by until I get back. He'll need to look over the blueprints immediately upon my return.”

“What of the others?”

Harry's gaze was cold as he shot Lucius a look. “Leave all but the children. Tell them nothing. Send them to bed, and if they ask simply tell them that we've been called out.”

The words were worthy of a Slytherin. Severus, and Lucius despite his lack of understanding, was proud and horror-struck. Knowing Harry's plan as he did, he could understand the reasoning behind the choice. Not everyone residing in the common room was trustworthy. They knew of at least three spies. If any of them found out of their plan, it would all be for nothing. It told Severus just how bad things were if Harry was willing to abandon so many people.

Harry heaved himself from the bed and busied himself with collecting various items into a military duffel. It was their cue to leave and do the same. By the time they were finished Harry would already be gone and back again with the blueprints. As predicted, the news brought by the two men threw the common room into a flurry of activity. 'Their' group started collecting their belongings from their assigned rooms, while the rest turned in for the night.

Once everyone was gathered in the common room, an impervious charm was placed on the entrance to the dormitories to prevent interruptions. Severus quickly and quietly outlined the plan to them. It didn't sit well with some, the thought of leaving so many behind, however they all knew that in this day and age it was every man for themself. They were given the choice. Go with Harry or stay and die. Even the former Gryffindors in the group could not argue.

Soon Harry returned, slipping off his silver cloak of invisibility while brandishing a stack of parchment triumphantly. No one had even noticed him leave the dormitories, much less the common room. They all shrugged off their surprise; it was not a new occurrence. Bill quickly approached and divested Harry of the papers, leafing through them carefully. Everyone waited silently, not willing to break his concentration. Shacklebolt wandered over at the Weasley's beckoning and the two began whispering to each other while gesturing at the papers.

Harry busied himself talking quietly with the group, explaining his visions and the reasoning behind their retreat. None could ever accuse him of leading his troops blindly. Always they were given every bit of knowledge at his disposal regarding a given situation. He also cared. It was why so many followed him and were loyal. They knew he would never steer them wrong if he could help it. Unlike Dumbledore. Unlike their official leaders. All were put at ease with the understanding that if they stayed, they would have nothing to look forward to but a wasteland of bloated corpses.

Finally Bill and Shacklebolt approached. Nodding to Harry, the red head handed him the schematics and explained quietly, “They’re supposed to open a gate. What Voldemort was planning to do with these, I shudder to think. I know how to activate the seals keeping the veil closed. If all goes well, it will work. But I can't guarantee where we would end up.”

Harry's gaze was steady as he cocked his head to the side in askance. “How?”

“Blood.” Kingsley took over, “Blood and chalk. We need to etch these sigils on the wall, and everyone planning on going through needs to contribute a drop of blood and magic to fuel it. With all of us here, it won't take that much and we'll remain unharmed. Normally with only one person going through it would kill them or make them a squib, but with so many it will only deplete our magic for a little while.”

Dean Thomas looked concerned as he strode over to glance at the parchment. “What about someone following us? Taking the prints will do no good if they can look at the drawings on the wall.”

“This isn’t a piece of first-year tampering. This is powerful, and ancient, magic. I’m not even sure we’ll leave the castle standing when we go through.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Harry looked around at the gathered people. He knew he was doing the right thing. The frightened faces of the children burned into his mind. If they stayed, all of them would die. He was doing it for them. Better for a few to escape while there was still time. Hopefully where they ended up would be a kinder place than this war torn world. Nearly anything would be better than this place.

Everyone sprang into action at his urging. The Weasleys and Hannah went to work clearing a section of wall of caked on grime, while Dean and Kinglsey gathered pieces of charcoal from the fire pit to write with. Harry would not risk this plan by sending anyone up to a classroom for chalk. Once a wall was cleared, Bill, Severus, and Lucius went to work on the drawings. It was a tense hour as everyone waited in silence for it to be completed.

The three stepped back and scrutinized their work. There could be no errors in the design. A deep black pentagram encircled by three rings now marred the wall. Within each of the outer most rings were runes of various origins, circling with no beginning or ending. The tips of the star intersected the inner ring, sectioning off the runes. These could be recognized by some as being astrological in nature. Finally, the center of the pentagram was filled with angelic and demonic sigils, spiraling inward towards the center while still being sectioned by the lines of the star. A smaller, unmarked pentagram completed the center, encircled by the spiral of runes.

They all gazed at it in wonder. Even without their magic fueling it, the black charcoal seemed to soak up all the light in the room. Forcing himself not to dwell on it, Harry brought out the pocket knife gifted to him by his deceased godfather. Without flinching, he drew it harshly down his palm, ensuring it bit deep to draw the most blood. Stepping forward, he placed his palm on the center pentagram and watched dispassionately as the stone seemed to absorb the red fluid greedily. He stepped back and handed the knife to Severus, who copied his motions.

Down the line the knife was passed, and even the young ones didn't flinch as they cut themselves. Even they were no strangers to pain. Sickening as the thought was, the green eyed commander remained impassive throughout the ritual. Some may have called him insane, however when it came to matters of grave importance he was disturbingly lucid. His eyes remained firmly on the runes, waiting for some sign that it had worked.

As the last person stepped forward and pressed their bloody hand to the pentagram, the sigils began to glow, bathing them in an unnatural white light. The stone beneath seemed to ripple like water despite the formation remaining still. No one moved, no one breathed. Finally it was Harry who stepped forward. Shoulders set, assault rifle and bag slung across his back, he pressed a hand to the portal and watched detachedly as it sank through. Without a second thought, he stepped forward into the light.
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Last Stand