"Where is the boy, Bella?" The Dark Lord asked as his most faithful stood proud next to him, having quickly adjusted to her new leg.
"Probably in the Department of Mysteries, under the custody of Yaxley and Malfoy," Bellatrix said with an oddly serious and calculating countenance.
"I don't trust that they will be enough. Harry Potter is too unpredictable," Voldemort mused as he slowly started walking towards the Order, slowly brandishing his wand. "Get the boy. I will entertain our guests for now."
His voice easily carried across the atrium and Death Eaters scrambled for the elevators. The only ones that didn't move were Rodolphus, who was too eager to continue avenging the death of his brother to obey his Lord's orders, and Dolohov, who stayed because it was more enjoyable than chasing after the boy. The Dark Lord chose not to comment on their choice, knowing full well that Rodolphus was beyond himself and Dolohov was a wildcard.
Bellatrix, surprisingly, decided to chase the boy, trusting that her Lord wouldn't even be hurt in the fight.
"As you command, my L-"
Neither she, nor Voldemort managed to react to Regulus who, once over his shock at seeing his former master, resumed his assault upon the eldest daughter of his uncle Cygnus.
A black blur rushed towards Bellatrix, followed by Regulus' wand-wielding fist connecting with her abdomen, sending her soaring across the atrium, crashing into a nearby wall with a sickening crack.
The Dark Lord exploded in rage and turned his wand towards the smirking traitor but his Killing Curse hit nothing. A mere second later he saw Regulus had dodged his spell and already moved towards his brother, coughing on shaking legs.
"What are you, Regulus?" Voldemort whispered as he recognized the threat Regulus posed as an unknown variable. "A wizard," was the simple word from the oddly exhausted Black, followed by a jet-black beam of energy soaring towards the Dark Lord, who batted it away easily. At the traitorous Black's response, rage clouded the vision of the serpentine man as he was forced to dodge the incoming spell.
The black spell signalled the opening salvo as spellfire rang out through the Atrium once more.
X
"I can't take this anymore!" Hermione screamed as they entered the Brain Room for what seemed to be the thousandth time. The weird magic residing in the room had been having multiple effects on them. Most prominently, their minds were boosted, resulting in lightning fast thoughts and analyses. The downside however was that they couldn't focus on a single subject, their minds flitting between ideas like a moth between lamps.
Hermione in particular suffered from the effects as her mind was over-active to begin with and the room caused her extreme irritation as she could not keep her thoughts organised as she was used to.
"Please don't yell, I have a headache in here," Harry mumbled as he searched for the door, practically dragging Daphne by the hand who for some reason refused to let him go. Under the effects of the room he thought about her way too much and way too often. He figured that Daphne was simply extremely protective of him, especially after the scare they had from him being kidnapped.
Perhaps she was a very emotional girl, despite her tendency to hide it.
In fact, he rarely saw what the others described when talking about the 'Ice Queen' of Slytherin. After they got acquainted she almost never employed her 'mask', at least not with him. She wore her emotions on her sleeve and he could always understand when she was worried, when she was happy, when she was sad and when she had a myriad of other emotions. It only happened with him.
That thought made him pause.
'Did she fancy me from the start?'
"Harry, can you please follow? They found the door," Daphne huffed next to him, shaking him from his stupor. He quickly followed with a shake of his head.
The next room was Neville's favourite.
"Yes, we're here again!" the teen in question exclaimed as he rushed forward to examine the plants with the pretence of 'searching for the exit'.
'Definitely his favourite.'
A door crashing somewhere ahead from them made the whole group - even Neville, who didn't manage to go far at all - pause. Silence followed the loud crash, yet no student dropped their wand as they stretched their ears in an attempt to figure out who had entered their room. Daphne let go of Harry's hand, allowing them both to assume a fighting stance.
A whole minute passed and some of them relaxed slightly before a yell was heard.
"He's here! We found him!"
Harry, acting quickly, cast a Stupefying Charm towards the source of the noise, watching as the crimson spell jetted across the room. It was followed by half a dozen equally crimson beams. The multiple stunners were followed by a thud.
"Jugson you imbecile! Bombarda!" an unknown voice was heard from around the same area as the one they had knocked down - Jugson, Harry assumed.
The Exploding Charm soared through the leaves and vines of the underground forest, flying towards them but they were under no threat. Neville, who was several paces ahead, deftly caught the charm with a shield, which reflected it on an odd, unknown plant with several thick vines and something like a head that let out a piercing screech upon impact.
"You damaged the plant! Confringo!" Neville growled and returned fire with an excessively overpowered Blasting Curse that shook the room around them and lit the area of impact on fire.
"You're doing more damage to them," Harry mumbled as his own hand started raining spells down on their opponents. There were more than three, judging from the incessant beams of energy that flew towards them from different locations ahead of them. With unspoken agreement, the students used spells suited to incapacitate and cause damage to their targets. Harry moved forward, positioning himself ahead of them. Daphne followed suit behind him, her own wand releasing spells unknown to him. He could make neither heads nor tails of the mumbled incantations that she spoke, but she obviously knew what she was doing.
He pushed away an errant thought of her holding back in their very first duel.
"Keep it up. Don't let up and don't try to spare them. They don't intend to spare us, either," Harry spoke, his voice barely being heard by his friends above the din of combat as they continued their unrelenting assault.
"They're a bunch of kids! Just kill them!" a voice screamed and it was followed by multiple jets of green light rushing towards them.
Harry, being the great teacher he was, had taught the D.A. about the Unforgivables and the methods employed to counter them and thus, none of them froze in the face of instant death. Random items were suddenly conjured - albeit sloppy conjurations -, transfigured or simply summoned.
In Ron's case, he summoned a book from Hermione's bookbag, something that did not escape her notice.
"Ronald Weasley!" the girl bristled as she blocked one of the viridian spells with a conjured bird.
"Why do you even have your freaking bookbag with you?!" Ron responded as he sent an Exploding Charm in retaliation.
"Shut it!" Harry yelled before Hermione could respond. Despite the fact that they were focused on the fight at hand and holding their own perfectly fine, he could not afford to let them argue or even bicker, distract them from the battle as it would. "On my count, we run back to where we came from."
"But-"
"No buts!" Harry cut Hermione off. "On three, we run. Conjure and pull as much shit as possible behind us until we change rooms." Resolute nods were performed around him and he took a deep breath, raising his wand. "One."
A flicker of a shadow was seen behind a Venomous Tentacula, but it had way too much in front of him to be a threat.
"Two."
Spells kept coming towards them, being either blocked by shields and objects, or simply missing altogether. Harry belatedly noticed a gash on Neville's shoulder where a cutting charm had slipped through their defences. It was bleeding, but his fellow Gryffindor seemed slightly at ease.
"Three!"
As he shouted the final number, everyone started running towards the exit behind them as Harry did his best to jog backwards and cover their retreat.
'As we have already established, the Potters always had an affinity for elemental magic and hopefully, so do you. Expanding that, most Potters have an affinity for aeromancy in particular, as is evident by the many wind-based spells in our ancient arsenal.
That said, there have been exceptions to that rule, like Ralston Potter who had an affinity for fire magic. He, like many others before and after him, devised a spell for the family based upon his affinity. It is one of the precious few spells we have developed that can use the enhancements of Duo, Tria and Maxima. It is already a taxing spell, so proceed with caution when you try to amplify it, young Potter.
It is a slash of thermal energy, a condensed fire that torches anything upon contact; within reason, of course. Amplifying it will not only strengthen the potency of the slash itself, but it will also increase the temperature and density of the flames. There is only one pyromantic spell I know to be stronger than it. The wand motion is a simple slash that will determine the angle of the spell and the incantation is…'
"Flamma Sectura Maxima!" Harry bellowed as he jogged backwards, slashing his wand horizontally. A bright orange crescent erupted from his wand, heading towards their adversaries with great velocity and setting fire to the various vines and branches as it passed. Everything not spell resistant was cut cleanly as the spell passed through.
"What in Morgana's name was that spell?!" Susan yelled in shock as the room was bathed in orange light. While they did not stop running, some of them turned their heads towards the point where Harry's spell had hit and the devastation it had left in its wake.
Hermione was unfortunate enough to see the upper half of a burning body slide off the lower half as it was cut cleanly through the middle. She turned her horror-filled eyes towards her best friend, who kept running without caring what he had done.
The moment the group burst out of the door, they found themselves in a long corridor with multiple doors along the walls. Not taking much time to think, Harry started running to the left, the group following behind him.
"There!" a voice behind them yelled, courtesy of a Death Eater that came out of a door as they passed.
"Lacero!" Neville yelled, his curse hitting the thigh of the Death Eater, causing him to yell in pain and fall to his knees as blood gushed from his leg where the spell had ruptured the artery.
"Left!" Harry commanded as they turned left, finding more doors in a small corridor with a single black door at its end. Two more Death Eaters came out of different doors in front of them as they raced towards it. One fell to Hermione's well-aimed stunner as the other fell to Susan's Exploding Curse, but not before summoning a dense fog, of all things, to slow them down. Harry and by extension his group didn't slow down, finally reaching the door at the end of the hallway.
The moment he had opened it, an unknown force ejected them from the hallway and onto the black tiles of the ninth floor of the Ministry.
The door shut and locked with an audible click behind them.
X
A kaleidoscope of light was present in the Atrium as beams of violent energy were thrown back and forth like a grisly game of catch. On one side, Voldemort and the few Death Eaters that had remained were fighting against the majority of the Order of the Phoenix; they were winning too.
Dolohov was doing his absolute best to keep Regulus busy, keeping the unknown variable out of the fight, whilst Rodolphus was busy creating explosions everywhere at all times, trying his best to not hit his Lord as he destabilised the footing of the Order members, keeping them off balance. With that kind of chaos reigning, Voldemort had an easy job against the disoriented resistance as a constant supply of shrapnel flew through the air.
"This is an exercise in futility," his voice was heard above the cacophony of spells. "Cease this foolish endeavour, give me the boy and I will let you live."
He got no verbal answer as multiple spells of all kinds were aimed towards him, all splashing harmlessly against his silver shield. He was, however, impressed. The good and lawful Order was using curses of the extremely Dark variety. He spotted some Flesh-Rotting Curses and some Unforgivables, as well as a nasty organ-eating curse that he blocked with one of the few intact tiles left in the Atrium. Deflecting all their pitiful attempts to hit him, he decided to teach them a lesson about the futility of their resistance.
"Avada Kedavra!" He hissed maliciously as a green jet of light soared towards Narcissa, uncaring of whatever pitiful complaints Lucius might raise; the simpering oaf could easily find another woman to play with. Not bothering to check if Narcissa had died, he cast more Killing Curses towards the assembled Order members.
Yet he killed no one, he noticed, as he was assaulted by a flutter of butterflies, of all things. Annoyance spiked as he conjured a pillar of flame to fry the pesky insects, which then surrounded him. Not skipping a beat, a slash of his wand caused a wave of flames to burst forth from the pillar in every direction. As he flared the pillar outwards, a wave of water flowed from the demolished fountain leaking water across the floor in the centre of the room, encasing his pillar and countering its expansion. He didn't need to see it, he heard the tell-tale hiss of steam being created and felt the pressure of it as it constrained his spell.
His ritually enhanced senses alerted him of a spell soaring towards him through the cover of his pillar of flame and he immediately reflected it, aiming it towards what he knew was the grouped-up Order.
"Manus Fortis, Dei Potentia."
Voldemort paid no heed to the voice casting an unknown spell as he didn't feel anything near him. It sounded almost like Regulus, - although his voice was distorted as if being overlapped by the much older and deeper voice of something else - but he didn't care about the implications in his own arrogance. Instead, he prepared to follow the reflected curse. Yet instead of a howling Order member, an awfully familiar scream of pain was heard and the Dark Lord raged as he realised who it was.
"Bellatrix!" He bellowed as he extinguished the pillar of flame. For just a fraction of a second, he saw Bellatrix's floating body spasming in pain as the reflected Laceration Curse tore at her already injured torso. She quickly pressed her hand to the injury in order to keep her viscera inside and stem the escape of what little blood she had left, slumping to the floor as she did so.
"Velocitas Sonica, Dei Potentia."
The very next thing he saw was Regulus' infuriatingly smirking face, barely an inch from his own. His enhanced senses alerted him of his presence after he saw him up close and personal and that fact alone made him pause.
Pausing in the middle of such a situation was irrelevant, regardless. Despite his augmented senses, reflexes and speed, no one could hope to keep up with the pace of a god.
His peripheral vision caught Regulus' wand soaring above them and the now empty, calloused palm connected with his face with an extremely loud cracking sound, sending him crashing into the wall.
A cacophony of explosions and screams followed, yet the Dark Lord could not focus as he felt something he hadn't felt since his early Hogwarts days; a simple, major concussion. He opened his bleary eyes and tried to focus his incessant hate on the youngest Black. With some curiosity he noticed him coughing up hefty amounts of blood. The rest of the Order, who were desperately trying to capitalise on his injury, were held up by Rodolphus, depleting his magic in an attempt to kill any and all of his enemies in his name.
He had done a great job keeping them at bay and his Lord safe in his fleeting moment of weakness. He ought to reward him later.
The Dark Lord's rapid regeneration was already healing his obliterated jaw and cheekbones, as his concussion rapidly faded. With the minimum amount of effort he aimed his wand towards his head, accelerating the healing process.
As his mind cleared he realised something. Had he not reached above any and all wizards in history when it came to ritualistic magic, he would be dead instantly. No, his head would have exploded upon impact with what had struck him. Some sort of strength and speed augments, no doubt. With his unmatched intellect he quickly understood what those two, seemingly random incantations had meant through their rough translations.
'Strong Hand, The Power of God and Sonic Speed, The Power of God.'
"How very muggle of you, Regulus," the Dark Lord said aloud, slowly rising to his feet. Rodolphus immediately moved towards him, the mangled, barely breathing body of Bellatrix floating in a protective dome behind him.
His eyes, no longer oozing hatred and arrogance, scanned his opponents. He also caught sight of Dolohov's shrivelled corpse. Another loyal servant dead. Unfortunately, Dolohov was valuable, just as Rabastan had been. More importantly though, the Order had almost killed Bellatrix.
No, this just wouldn't do. He needed to make them pay. The time for games was over.
"I gave you several chances. You refused them all. For that, you will all die here and I will retrieve the boy regardless. Rest assured, he will live to see your corpses before I kill him as well."
Sirius Black snarled and sent a Cruciatus Curse towards him. He lifted his wand, the tip glowing in a red hue matching the incoming curse perfectly. With the glowing tip he parried the Unforgivable, sending it soaring towards the ruined walls of the atrium. His little, insignificant action caused the Order to blanch, seeing him parry the unblockable spell.
"That is our difference, and your failure to recognise it has condemned you to the fires of Hell."
With a snarl and an upward slash of his wand, the Dark Lord unleashed the hell he promised.
"Fiendfyre!"
X
As the battle at the Ministry raged, a country road overgrown with flora of all kinds was disturbed as a wizened old man trekked along it. The man sported lengthy hair and an equally long beard that glimmered in the moonlight where it shone between the branches of the trees, and wore long purple robes of an ostentatious nature. In contrast to his clothes, a ragged brown hat, with many patches and a tear near the brim laid upon the top of his silver hair.
He had recently been ousted from his position as the Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the only of his former titles to really matter to him, having delighted in the education of future generations for more than sixty years. Nevertheless, he knew he would be returned soon enough, those that had removed him would soon enough be forced out in turn when Tom finally made his move. In the meantime though, his forced absence from public life had given him the opportunity to learn about and move against his old pupil, tracking his story here, to the home of his ancestors and what he hoped would be to the first of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes.
It had taken him a while to find out where the Gaunts had resided, but luckily he had been able to access Morfin Gaunt's memories before Voldemort had claimed his uncle's life in his assault on Azkaban Prison. Eventually, finding the location where the family's lands were located after several weeks combing this area of Little Hangleton for the remains of the path, which was now under some form of charm that helped to hide it from sight.
Along with finding the path itself, he had been tricked several times along the way by other shacks, illusions of the property riddled with their own defences that Tom Riddle had placed to ensure the safety of his ancestral home.
Yes, Lord Voldemort was a brilliant and cunning wizard. The real building, an old hut with a snake skeleton pinned to the door, and rotting wooden walls, had extensive wards that would be impenetrable without adequate time and preparation. Even going around them, it had taken him a while to find the runestones powering the protections under each of the illusory shacks that Tom had created.
As Dumbledore approached the shack's door with the serpentine skeleton on it, an errant, irrational and intrusive thought forced itself to the front of his mind, telling him to obliviate himself of all knowledge of the shack and leave it be. With his skill in Occlumency though, he soon pushed the thought aside.
The elderly wizard muttered to himself about the use of the mind arts in such a fashion before he prepared to enter the shack, which was oozing with the feeling of potent and vile magic, feeling to the former headmaster almost like black treacle slowly running down his back, as the darkness seemed to become heavier around him. The moment he touched the small cobble path in front of the door, several vivid green snakes appeared from the shadows and lunged towards him, trying to strike him down with no doubt potent venom. Dumbledore drew his wand against them and vanished them quickly before they could sink their fangs into his flesh.
Of all the obstacles Tom had placed in front of him, these snakes were by far the least effective, to the point that he suspected they were amongst the original Gaunt defences rather than the Dark Lord's own. He took another few steps and reached the wooden door of the shack, askew on its hinges, noticing for the first time that the snake skeleton had been nailed to look like a morbid "S", signifying in bones their descent from Salazar Slytherin.
What a sad state he thought, the inbred and disgraced House of Gaunt, that kept flaunting their heritage to the bitter end, despite their circumstances. A trait shared by the son of their last daughter. None of them had truly cared to become something bigger, something better, preferring instead to keep to their dogma and wallow in the memories of past glories gone by, when wizarding Britain moved -at least in part - by their command. Of course it was not for an artefact of their most famous ancestor that he was here, but for one passed to them by the other who had long been forgotten by most. Even the Gaunts had only remembered the family name, not the man himself in the end.
With a wave of his wand, the door opened with barely any resistance. The interior was just as he expected; old, decrepit and ready to collapse at the slightest inconvenience. Although the basic structure was kept intact, the inside had long since rotted away and fallen apart, with the few interior walls littering the floors of the room, now overgrown by dark, crowding plants that had engorged themselves on decades of dark magic. On the inside, Voldemort had only bothered to cast compulsion and concealment wards about his treasure which lay in a golden box in the middle of the floor, located in a barren circle untouched by the encroaching flora.
The purple-clad wizard marched up to the boundary of the box's circle, before releasing a long breath of air as he readied himself, before opening the trapped box with a quick flick of his wand.
"Wear it, Albus," a soft, feminine voice spoke out, startling the old man in its familiarity. His eyes glazing over as he laid eyes on the golden band with the rectangular, scarred black rock ensconced within it. "You've been looking for it for so long now. For me. Put it on Albie."
"Ariana… I finally found you," he whispered to the spectre of his long-departed sister, his voice a strange mix of awe, sadness and trepidation. His legs found their momentum, each step carrying him ever closer towards the Horcrux that was glinting invitingly against the light of its deathly brother that Albus held in hand. The shadows seemed to grow ever darker as the venerable headmaster approached the ring closer and closer.
"Your deepest wish will finally be granted. You'll have me and our parents back, alongside our forgiveness." the spectre of his sister whispered. "You just have to put the ring on."
"Yes… Yes. I will have you back," he whispered almost deliriously. He knelt before the box and moved to reach into its wooden depths. His eyes shined with unshed tears lit up by the wand he held in his other hand, seeing past them the odd triangular shape scratched into the jet black stone.
"Wear it." Ariana said to him, growing more insistent. Almost impatient. "I have been waiting for you to come and take me away for so long…"
"The Stone is no longer your quest, Albus."
As his hand almost brushed the golden metal of the ring, the second voice in his head made him freeze, dragging his mind back to reality and restoring his senses.
"I will see you again one day Ariana," he spoke with newfound strength as his piercing blue eyes hardened, despite the unshed tears that they still harboured. "But this is not the way I shall do it."
"Close call." the Sorting Hat whispered to him, forcing a reluctant chuckle from the man's mouth.
Albus took the Hat from his head, and from it drew a silver longsword decorated with sparkling rubies and engraved with the name of its most famous wielder, before transfiguring the golden box into a stone pedestal on which the ring still lay with a complicated flourish of his wand.
"Not to worry, dear sister. Though my time is not yet up, I will see you soon enough to beg my forgiveness," he spoke as he prepared to raise the sword. "I no longer need the stone for that, I will wait."
With a swift movement he lifted the sword up and brought it down to bear on the golden ring with terrifying velocity, cleaving the ring in two which soon after exploded in a pitch black mist, followed by a piercing scream produced by the fragment of Tom Riddle that seemed to penetrate his very essence.
As the haze cleared, Dumbledore walked toward the pedestal he had made. On it, what once had been a ring was now just a small, carved block of jet and the dull and broken band in which it had lain. A check on the two to find any lingering remnant of Voldemort soothed his worries, the ring itself was devoid of any magic beyond the taint that showed what it had once been. The Stone on the other hand glowed with a pale grey light, nothing to be worried about but curious nonetheless.
With a relieved exhale, Albus Dumbledore returned the Sword of Gryffindor back to the Hat, before placing it upon his head once more.
"What will you do with it, Albus?" the Hat asked inside his mind.
Instead of answering, he brandished his wand one last time, creating a silver wrist chain with a small, hollow globe in the middle of its length. Slowly and steadily, he tied it around his right wrist. Then using its brother, he placed the Stone inside the globe without sparing it even a glance. Before he left, he returned the pedestal into the golden box and left it where he found it before turning to exit the shack of Slytherin's last heirs.
"You'll keep it then?" the Hat pressed again
"For now, and not for me."
"This plan of yours will either be the greatest or the worst plan you've ever had. Certainly it's the most ambitious."
"With any hope I'd also say it shall be my last. The last of a lifetime of machinations. Apart from this, there is no other hidden card. I will no longer try to balance the nation and its delicate peace on my own." Dumbledore released a soft, freeing sigh as he said so.
"The greater good that you have always sought after was never something to be achieved by an individual. Peace and prosperity cannot come from a single wizard. Harmony between worlds cannot be bridged by you alone. Being manipulative can only get you so far...you need someone with the presence you fill, someone who can work with people. A natural leader who is willing to do what must be done."
The Headmaster did not respond, and so the Hat continued.
"You are a good person Albus, with good intentions. You are an impeccable wizard and magnificent teacher. But for all your skills in politics, you were not born to be a leader. You could not face what needed to be done after the follies of your youth."
"I figured," the Headmaster responded drily. "As is evident by my past actions, I cannot control everything, no matter how much I wish I could. How I once thought I did. I cannot lead this war as I tried to lead the first, only guide it at best."
"But you now know someone that can become who you couldn't."
The tired old man's legs stopped moving as he exited the last of the wards around the Gaunt shack.
"I do. As for this plan… I can only hope that it won't crumble in failure and disappointment as so many others have." he said, shaking his right wrist and the chain that lay upon it as he did so.
"You've grown."
"And here I thought my wrinkles gave that away," Dumbledore chuckled before disappearing into the darkness with nary a sound.
X
"Lifts are out of the question," Susan yelled as she sent an Exploding Curse towards the grunts attacking them.
"Stairs it is, the Atrium is just above us," Daphne responded as she elegantly dodged two curses before retaliating as well.
It was chaos. From the moment they'd been ejected from the Department of Mysteries, they had been assaulted by what seemed like an endless horde of Death Eaters. In reality, the majority of them were small time thugs recruited for the sake of having numbers. Not only that, most of them they'd already dispatched twice, some even thrice before. Men and women with broken limbs and ribs were seen attacking them over and over again; a result of continuous ennervation and tenuous first-aid, no matter their state. As a result, a force of thirty, maybe forty Death Eaters felt like a whole army. Exhaustion was evident on their faces and exhaustion led to mistakes.
A Cutting Curse slipped past their defences and struck Daphne's thigh, eliciting a yelp of pain from the young woman. Harry's hate-filled eyes turned on the culprit; a skinny, blond man with a limp and a myriad of injuries from the fighting.
"They won't stay down!" Ron yelled from his flank and the harsh truth was presented to Harry once more.
In all reality, killing was not a real problem for Harry. He had effectively murdered Quirinus Quirrell during his first year, no matter how accidental it was. It was cause for a lot of contemplation on the moral fibre of that very action. Of course, his morals were against the action, but his mind knew the truth.
He'd have died if he hadn't acted as he had. More than that, killing Quirrell was a conscious decision, taken the moment he realised that his hands burned him. He acted on that very fact and saved himself.
As such, he knew that there are points where you simply cannot avoid an outcome. He still tried his best to work with his morals. Always tried to disarm, subdue, anything except killing.
Killing Umbridge had come as a violent shock, yet his brain had functioned well enough to make him realise that he would die to her madness otherwise.
Killing the Death Eater with his flaming scythe had felt more like a necessity to escape, more because of his friends that had foolishly joined him than his own need. He'd kill everyone who wanted to hurt them if he must.
Now, someone who they had subdued multiple times managed to wound the one he had grown to care for the most. Thus, his options were quite clear.
"Perforare!" Harry hissed and the purple curse flew towards his target who couldn't hope to react in time. The spell pierced through the man's torso, making him crumple like a puppet with its strings cut.
The awfully blatant murder of a Death Eater gave pause to his group. Hermione turned to him with a shocked expression, while Ron's was grim. Neville barely acknowledged the action and continued to hurl curses against everyone. Susan was pretty much the same in the way she defended, but she also turned to look at him. Daphne was busy healing her injury, hurling curses in between. Even the Death Eaters had a moment of pause as they saw the Boy-Who-Lived kill their comrade.
Seeing the opportunity, Harry sent another Blasting Curse, followed by the Smokescreen Spell, giving them the chance to run to the stairs.
Of course, Hermione chose the perfect moment to accost him.
"Harry, how could you?" she asked with an incredulous and sad tone as they ran side by side.
"You are a smart witch, Hermione. Tell me, what would you do if you were outnumbered, overwhelmed and the ones you knocked out were back on their feet trying to kill you?"
"Anything except th.. that!"
"They are trying to kill you, Hermione! All of you!" Harry yelled as they kept climbing up the impossibly long staircase. "They were down, beaten and broken and yet they kept coming back! Their madness would have killed them anyway. They were either going to die from their wounds or manage to tire everyone out and then kill us all the same. What would you possibly do in this scenario?"
"Harry, this is not right."
"I know it isn't," he responded. "But it is the only choice. It is either us, or them. Believe me when I say that it is not the choice I want, but the one I'm forced to take and I prefer that I was the one to take it instead of you. I only pray you are not on your own, forced to make the same decision."
His statement was met with silence, broken only by their rushing footsteps climbing further up. Suddenly, a dull, throbbing pain was felt in his forehead and he absent-mindedly rubbed the scar.
"Did you kill Umbridge?" Hermione asked in a small voice.
Harry could give her his reasons behind the action itself. He could try to defend his decision and try to explain that it had been an accident. But, he didn't.
"I did."
"Did she try to kill you?"
"She did."
His answer didn't elicit a reaction from her, yet someone else spoke in her stead.
"I trust you Harry. Always will. We are in this together," Ron spoke from the side.
"You already know my thoughts," Daphne piped up from his right, her thigh almost fully healed.
Hearing their friends, Hermione nodded reluctantly as she still tried to deal with the situation in her mind.
"Didn't we do this routine already?" Neville snarked from the front as he reached the door and violently blasted it outwards.
Only for it to be swallowed by a wall of fire, coiled around the fountain.
"What the fuck?" Susan eloquently exclaimed. "That's Fiendfyre!"
"That's Voldemort," Harry spoke as he walked outside, passing Neville. Much to his surprise, none of them even twitched at the name. A hint of pride passed through his features before his scar burnt and he cried out in pain.
"Run," he gasped with tightly shut eyes, his left hand palming his scar. "Run back! Block the stairs, do something, just don't come out here!"
"No Harry, we'll he-"
"You cannot help!" he snarled with a slightly distorted voice. He turned his head and opened his eyes. A slight red tinge was barely visible. "You actually can't join me in this. I will explain when we survive. But for now, I'm so very sorry."
Suddenly, he moved Lucius' wand in a stabbing motion and an underpowered Depulso sent them back behind the door before he transfigured it to become a solid wall. He knew it wasn't enough to keep them at bay. He only prayed they understood.
He ignored the burning sensation Malfoy Senior's wand exuded. He knew he couldn't keep fighting with a wand that rejected him. What he didn't know was how he had managed to come this far by overpowering it. He shook his head from those thoughts.
'This won't help me find a way to get inside.'
The moment he thought of that, the fire collapsed and his scar stopped burning. His eyes widened as he saw what seemed to be the entire Order panting behind various forms of defences. He saw some members unconscious - or dead, he couldn't really tell - and thankfully none of them were Sirius.
He never got the chance to assess the situation further.
"Harry Potter," Voldemort's silky, spine chilling voice was heard across the Atrium, despite it sounding like a whisper. "It seems my concerns were unfounded. You came to meet death on your own."
"Harry no!" Sirius screamed before succumbing to a coughing fit. "Run! He wants to get you!"
Harry exhaled slightly, trying to compose himself. "I know," he said as he started walking slowly towards them.
Sirius tried to use a spell but he never had the chance as the floor in front of them was blasted. Harry immediately sent a Gouging Curse towards Rodolphus who was hurling spells quite a distance behind the Dark Lord.
His spell was easily intercepted.
"Now, Harry. You should pay proper respect to your opponent. You have no room for distractions," Voldemort said as he sent a weak spell towards him, something he found easy enough to repel. As Harry was busy deflecting the spell, a translucent barrier was raised by Voldemort between them and the Order.
"Did you come here to help them? Save them?" The Dark Lord continued as he started moving opposite to Harry, forming an invisible circle. "You wanted to sacrifice yourself to save them? Is that it? Perhaps you thought that if you served yourself to me, I would let them live?"
Harry did not answer the provocation.
"Even if you did," Voldemort mused, "the only thing you'd succeed in would be to follow in your parents' footsteps. Like your father, you will die before I kill the ones you want to protect."
"I came to kill you, Tom," Harry calmly said despite his heart beating impossibly fast. He immediately sidestepped the poisonous green Killing Curse the irate Dark Lord sent his way.
"You dare address me as such?" The Dark Lord hissed, sending a barrage of spells to Harry who did his best to defend from and avoid them. He even managed to send a couple spells back towards his opponent in retaliation, but they both knew it was a trivial attempt. "In any case, you are unable to kill me, Harry Potter. Perhaps you could pose a trivial challenge in the future… But you will not get the chance to see it."
Voldemort spread his arm, gesturing towards the Order. "You will die here tonight, followed by the ones who came here to protect you."
"Flamma Sectura Maxima!" Harry yelled and his flaming slash was launched towards Voldemort who conjured a wall of sand to defend himself. The heatwave caused by the impact knocked everyone back a couple of inches, while the impromptu barrier turned into glass which immediately cracked. With deft motions, Voldemort sent the glass shards flying towards Harry, applying minor transfiguration to turn them into spikes as they went.
Harry ducked to dodge them and touched the tip of his wand to the ground. "Terra Aquosa!" Almost immediately, the ground around them shifted and seemed to distort, as everyone and everything found themselves sinking. The surprise of it, as well as his broken balance broke the reptilian man's focus on the spikes, which he had intended to use to impale Harry from the back. Immediately he touched his yew wand to the ground and poured magic into it in order to overpower the spell.
The backlash sent Harry sprawling onto his back panting as he lost control of the spell and the ground turned solid once more. Multiple pops of apparition were heard from everyone that was trapped inside the solidified ground, as they escaped.
"Your feeble family magic is not enough, Harry," Voldemort mocked as he sent a volley of spells towards the struggling Boy-Who-Lived. He kept gaining ground, never once stopping his assault. "You have failed. Accept your fate, put down your wand and I will make this quick."
Suddenly, he felt a wave of magic come towards him from Harry, aimed towards his legs, forcing him to apparate backwards, giving the boy enough space to stand up. The normally emerald green eyes swivelled and locked with his own red ones. They were not fully green however. The luminous orbs, rather than being emerald coloured had a very pronounced red hue swirling within them.
Immediately he made an attempt to use Legilimency on the boy and found himself in…
Darkness.
Silence and darkness reigned.
Silence and darkness, as far as the eye could see.
Voldemort tried to move within that void. Whether he moved or not, he did not know. Nothing really moved.
Was this really a mind? This was Harry Potter's mindscape?
Is a mind really that empty?
"Is it?"
Voldemort turned his head towards the voice, yet he saw nothing. Was it behind him? Or was it from the front?
"What trickery is this?" Voldemort hissed. As if responding to his words, a figure appeared in front of him. It was Harry Potter with his head bowed low.
"I guess you could call me Harry Potter."
Voldemort tried to step back as he instinctively knew that his mind had been read. It was impossible. No one had reached the heights he had in regards to the mind arts.
Suddenly, Harry raised his head. A pair of bright red eyes locked with Voldemort's own, a small smirk on his face. He raised his hand and Voldemort felt himself get shoved backwards.
With a gasp, he fell on one knee as Harry screamed in pain, clutching his scar.
Voldemort's vision swam as he tried to reorient himself after the violent Occlumency shield Harry Potter possessed. He could try to reason how that happened, but he didn't. Rage clouded his thoughts. Not only had he failed a Legilimency attack on a student, he'd been knocked to the ground for the second time in a single night.
He rose and with a rage-filled roar, launched a Killing Curse towards the boy, who somehow managed to conjure a misshapen rock wall, blocking the viridian curse.
Harry, on the other hand, managed to stand up in a near trance-like state. He heard his thoughts, he knew he was moving, but he also knew he was moving on instinct. The whole experience felt like a dream. A dream in which he cast magic he had never tried before, or in this case, never even heard of before.
"Ventus Calamitas!"
The air around them shifted violently. Belatedly, he noticed the Order members gasping and trying to get back, yet he paid them no mind. He was moving along with the wind he had created. The velocity immediately grew to great heights in a swirling motion, creating a miniature vortex which seemed to grow… limbs?
A wooden crack was heard and he barely noticed Lucius' wand starting to break up along the side, accompanied by it searing the flesh of his hand. A mighty roar that sounded like the wind but much, much more followed the crack and a dragon head emerged from the vortex. A body, wings and legs followed as the being made of pure wind charged towards Voldemort.
"You are not fit to handle magic like this, Harry Potter! Fiendfyre!" The Dark Lord roared as he saw the familiar spell coming towards him and a flaming basilisk was born from his yew wand.
The two forces of nature clashed with each other, the shockwave knocking everyone backwards, except the two casters. The sheer heat generated caused Voldemort's robes to burn, yet he didn't care as he twisted and twirled his wand with a manic expression, trying to subdue the tempestuous counterpart of Fiendfyre. A cutting curse hit his thigh and he grit his teeth.
Harry had abandoned control of his spell and was sending curses towards his enemy and for the first time he saw a chance, until the Dark Lord also abandoned control and the two spells started devouring each other. The barrage of curses continued underneath them, growing in intensity by the moment. A bone-breaker caught Harry's left arm, making it effectively useless. He felt himself grow numb to the pain as the experience kept evolving towards a proper trance. Adrenaline, desperation and instinct were driving him further but even then, he knew he was low on fumes. While he was falling deeper into the dream-like state, his eyes slowly turned into a deeper shade of red.
An errant memory came to his mind unbidden. There was another spell he could use. He had a chance to win.
He felt himself agreeing.
x
'Iolanthe, incredible witch as she was, created a spell that does not fall in line with the rest of the elemental spells; that is because it is not an elemental spell. It is also the first spell written within this grimoire, which is also her creation. You already know that she was the first woman that married into the Potter family - the first witch to take our name by her marriage with Hardwin.
A master of Soul and Blood magic, Iolanthe made this powerful spell and tied it to our blood exclusively. Unlike the other contents of this grimoire, it cannot be shared by ways of marriage as someone without Potter blood cannot cast it. Even most, if not all Potters cannot cast it, as it needs recognition from her family's blood as well.
You do not know who Iolanthe is and you will not know unless you successfully cast this very spell.
But this passage is focused on this delicate piece of magic, not her origins. The reason it is so tightly guarded is because it can cause destruction equal to the worst spells, and in the wrong hands it can prove catastrophic.
It is an easy enough spell. A complicated motion of a triangle starting from the top and ending at the top, chained by a straight line downwards and followed by a circle, then you aim the spell towards your opponent. It is a complex piece of esoteric magic that uses your very own perception to judge your enemy. It employs your very soul in order to judge the sins of the target. If you believe your enemy has wronged you or another, the spell will be adjusted in power according to how much you believe he has wronged.
The spell itself impacts the soul, much like the Killing Curse. And it will either do nothing to your target or tear the soul - which is a wizard's very source of power - apart, based on your perception.
Now you see why it was so closely guarded. It can be used by the worst kinds of men who would kill anyone that did not fall in line with their views. Your thought should be 'why not just use the killing curse?'. The answer to that is simple.
No matter what the situation, this spell will never miss. If you manage to cast it, no barrier will stop it, no attempt at evasion will help as it follows the target. Unless you have even the slightest of doubts about the other's sins, or even the smallest amount of compassion, the spell will prove fatal.
The incantation of the spell is also quite fitting, as you will become judge, jury and potentially executioner.'
x
He really only had one chance.
He would take it.
Suddenly, the two forces of nature finally broke and the blast caused by them knocked Harry into the wall as Voldemort defended himself with a shield and even then found himself sliding backwards. Molten shards of glass, burning paper, random debris that was lying around from the fighting rained down upon the atrium like a cursed downpour.
A momentary lull ensued as the teen struggled to stand on two feet and the Dark Lord dispelled the shield. Harry saw his enemy levitate the unconscious bodies of Rodolphus and Bellatrix towards him, activating their portkeyes. They both vanished into thin air. As for the Order, they were all towards one of the sides of the atrium, far enough away from the duel happening before them.
A sane man would question why no one intervened; Harry would as well, since he never paid attention. Yet he would later find out it was justified, as they were all either heavily injured, magically exhausted from fighting Voldemort's Fiendfyre and constant assault, while the few that remained tried to fend off the crazed Lestrange brother; not to mention they physically couldn't as the Dark Lord had raised a barrier between them. The ones down for the count had been portkeyed out. Only Sirius, the man who resembled Sirius so closely, Andromeda, and oddly enough Narcissa remained.
"You were impressive," Voldemort commented as he remade his burnt robe. "A shame to spill such potent magical blood." Before he slowly raised his wand.
'Now or never.'
Harry also raised his, which looked almost ready to crumble. He pulled at whatever scraps of magic he had felt and moved. Voldemort watched with some curiosity as he saw a triangle shape, followed by a line, followed by a circle formed by Harry's wand. Oddly enough, he felt no intent from the movement, nor any magic.
"Manu Dei!"
Harry's wand tip lit up feebly, almost like a Lumos, before fading. The wand in his hands suddenly cracked and broke into pieces, falling uselessly to the ground. As he felt ready to resign, as all hope was lost, Harry spotted a tiny, white mark on Voldemort's torso, buoying his spirit.
"This is your end," Voldemort announced with a predatory smile which was met with Harry's smirk. Harry was fainting, but he smiled. He succeeded. "A pathetic, yet fitting end to-"
A loud hum of magic was suddenly heard above him. Along with it, he felt the force of something rushing towards him. He tried to raise his wand and defend himself, but he was too slow as a white lightning struck down at him, coming through the roof of the Ministry, striking him down like the hand of judgement.
Voldemort did something he had never done since he was a child.
His piercing screams of agony reverberated across the atrium as he fell to his knees. The unknown spell lingered on him, bathing him in its blinding light. It did not stop there, however. From the pillar, a beam rushed forward towards Harry, impacting his scar directly, bathing him in the same light and giving the illusion of the two wizards being connected by the spell.
Harry's confusion was replaced by insurmountable agony as his scar exploded in pain before everything turned black.
X
In that exact moment, miles and miles away from the Ministry, a book laying on top of a set of red and gold bed sheets opened on its own. The pages to which it opened were blank and remained that way for some seconds before a single line appeared upon them in black ink.
'We welcome you, Peverell.'