Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

“I DOE YOU HAB!” roared Neville, and he fought so hard against his captors encircling grip that the Death Eater shouted, “Someone Stun him!”

“No, no, no,” said Bellatrix. She looked transported, alive with excitement as she glanced at Harry, then back at Neville. “No, let’s see how long Longbottom lasts before he cracks like his parents… unless Potter wants to give us the prophecy.”

“DON’D GIB ID DO DEM!” roared Neville, who seemed beside himself, kicking and writhing as Bellatrix drew nearer to him and his captor, her wand raised. “DON’D GIB ID DO DEM, HARRY!”

Bellatrix raised her wand. “Crucio!”

Neville screamed, his legs drawn up to his chest so that the Death Eater holding him was momentarily holding him off the ground. The Death Eater dropped him and he fell to the floor, twitching and screaming in agony.

“That was just a taster!” said Bellatrix, raising her wand so that Neville’s screams stopped and he lay sobbing at her feet. She turned and gazed up at Harry. “Now, Potter, either give us the prophecy, or watch your little friend die the hard way!”

Harry did not have to think; there was no choice. The prophecy was hot with the heat of his clutching hand as he held it out. Malfoy jumped forwards to take it.

Then, high above them, two more doors burst open and five more people sprinted into the room: Sirius, Lupin, Moody, Tonks and Kingsley.

Malfoy turned, and raised his wand, but Tonks had already sent a Stunning Spell right at him. Harry did not wait to see whether it had made contact, but dived off the dais out of the way. The Death Eaters were completely distracted by the appearance of the members of the Order, who were now raining spells down upon them as they jumped from step to step towards the sunken floor. Through the darting bodies, the flashes of light, Harry could see Neville crawling along. He dodged another jet of red light and flung himself flat on the ground to reach Neville.

“Are you OK?” he yelled, as another spell soared inches over their heads.

“Yes,” said Neville, trying to pull himself up.

“And Ron?”

“I dink he’s all righd—he was still fighding de brain when I left—”

The stone floor between them exploded as a spell hit it, leaving a crater right where Neville’s hand had been only seconds before; both scrambled away from the spot, then a thick arm came out of nowhere, seized Harry around the neck and pulled him upright, so that his toes were barely touching the floor.

“Give it to me,” growled a voice in his ear, “give me the prophecy—”

The man was pressing so tightly on Harry’s windpipe that he could not breathe. Through watering eyes he saw Sirius duelling with a Death Eater some ten feet away; Kingsley was fighting two at once; Tonks, still halfway up the tiered seats, was firing spells down at Bellatrix—nobody seemed to realise that Harry was dying. He turned his wand backwards towards the man’s side, but had no breath to utter an incantation, and the man’s free hand was groping towards the hand in which Harry was grasping the prophecy—“AARGH!”

Neville had come lunging out of nowhere; unable to articulate a spell, he had jabbed Hermione’s wand hard into the eyehole of the Death Eaters mask. The man relinquished Harry at once with a howl of pain. Harry whirled around to face him and gasped:

“STUPEFY!”

The Death Eater keeled over backwards and his mask slipped off: it was Macnair, Buckbeak’s would-be killer, one of his eyes now swollen and bloodshot.

“Thanks!” Harry said to Neville, pulling him aside as Sirius and his Death Eater lurched past, duelling so fiercely that their wands were blurs; then Harry’s foot made contact with something round and hard and he slipped. For a moment he thought he had dropped the prophecy, but then he saw Moody’s magical eye spinning away across the floor.

Its owner was lying on his side, bleeding from the head, and his attacker was now bearing down upon Harry and Neville: Dolohov, his long pale face twisted with glee.

“Tarantallegra!” he shouted, his wand pointing at Neville, whose legs went immediately into a kind of frenzied tap-dance, unbalancing him and causing him to fall to the floor again. “Now, Potter—”

He made the same slashing movement with his wand that he had used on Hermione just as Harry yelled, “Protego!”

Harry felt something streak across his face like a blunt knife; the force of it knocked him sideways and he fell over Neville’s jerking legs, but the Shield Charm had stopped the worst of the spell.

Dolohov raised his wand again. “Accio proph—”

Sirius had hurtled out of nowhere, rammed Dolohov with his shoulder and sent him flying out of the way. The prophecy had again flown to the tips of Harry’s fingers but he had managed to cling on to it. Now Sirius and Dolohov were duelling, their wands flashing like swords, sparks flying from their wand-tips—