Harry remembered how Snape

Harry remembered how Snape had mended Malfoy's Sectumsempra wounds so easily with his

wand.

“Can't you fix them with a charm or something?” he asked the matron.

“No charm will work on these,” said Madam Pomfrey. “I've tried everything I know, but there is no cure for werewolf bites.”

“But he wasn't bitten at the full moon,” said Ron, who was gazing down into his brother's face as though he could somehow force him to mend just by staring.

“Greyback hadn't transformed, so surely Bill won't be a—a real—?”

He looked uncertainly at Lupin.

“No, I don't think that Bill will be a true werewolf,” said Lupin, “but that does not mean that there won't be some contamination. Those are cursed wounds. They are

unlikely ever to heal fully, and—and Bill might have some wolfish characteristics from now on.”

“Dumbledore might know something that'd work, though,” Ron said. “Where is he? Bill fought those maniacs on Dumbledore's orders, Dumbledore owes him, he can't leave

him in this state—”

“Ron—Dumbledore's dead,” said Ginny.

“No!” Lupin looked wildly from Ginny to Harry, as though hoping the latter might contradict her, but when Harry did nor, Lupin collapsed into a chair beside Bill's

bed, his hands over his face. Harry had never seen Lupin lose control before; he felt as though he was intruding upon something private, indecent. He turned away and

caught Ron's eye instead, exchanging in silence a look that confirmed what Ginny had said.

“How did he die?” whispered Tonks. “How did it happen?”

“Snape killed him,” said Harry. “I was there, I saw it. We arrived back on the Astronomy Tower because that's where the Mark was... Dumbledore was ill, he was weak,

but I think he realized it was a trap when we heard footsteps running up the stairs. He immobilized me, I couldn't do anything, I was under the Invisibility Cloak—and

then Malfoy came through the door and disarmed him—”

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth and Ron groaned. Luna's mouth trembled.

“—more Death Eaters arrived—and then Snape—and Snape did it. The Avada Kedavra.” Harry couldn't go on.

Madam Pomfrey burst into tears. Nobody paid her any attention except Ginny, who whispered, “Shh! Listen!”

Gulping, Madam Pomfrey pressed her fingers to her mouth, her eyes wide. Somewhere out in the darkness, a phoenix was singing in a way Harry had never heard before: a

stricken lament of terrible beauty. And Harry felt, as he had felt about phoenix song before, that the music was inside him, not without: it was his own grief turned

magically to song that echoed across the grounds and through the castle windows.

How long they all stood there, listening, he did not know, nor why it seemed to ease their pain a little to listen to the sound of their mourning, but it felt like a

long time later that the hospital door opened again and Professor McGonagall entered the ward. Like all the rest, she bore marks of the recent battle: there were grazes

on her face and her robes were ripped.

“Molly and Arthur are on their way,” she said, and the spell of the music was broken: everyone roused themselves as though coming out of trances, turning again to

look at Bill, or else to rub their own eyes, shake their heads. “Harry, what happened? According to Hagrid you were with Professor Dumbledore when he—when it

happened. He says Professor Snape was involved in some—”

“Snape killed Dumbledore,” said Harry.

She stared at him for a moment, then swayed alarmingly; Madam Pomfrey, who seemed to have pulled herself together, ran forward, conjuring a chair from thin air, which

she pushed under McGonagall.