Okay, this is where I'm going to upload any little idea that pops into my head. None of these are going to be very long, just little bits to get something started. If anyone wants to use one of the ideas and make it into a full fic, go ahead, just let me know so I can keep track of it.


Spellfire and sparks arced across the darkened Ministry atrium, chipping away at the tiled floors and walls throwing dust and rubble into the air.

Harry sat, his back to the ruined Fountain of Magical Brethren. The atmosphere felt oppressive and unbearable as if it were bearing down on him.

It was unbelievable, the amount of power these two weilded with simple flicks of their wands. Each breath was a struggle for Harry as he stared at the fierce combat Dumbledore and Voldemort were locked in.

Gouts of flames extinguished by conjured water and killing curses deflected by whatever bits of junk could be summoned.

To most, it would appear that these two were completely even, but Harry could see it, the tide of battle was turning.

A sheen of sweat shone on Dumbledore's head as he deflected another Unforgivable Curse.

"Give up, you feeble old man!"

Another killing curse snapped from the end of the Dark Lord's wand, halted mere inches from the tiring headmaster by wooden desk.

Harry felt his heart clench when Dumbledore stagged back from the exploding wood. A banishing charm knocked him onto his back, his wand sliding across the battle-scarred floor.

He had to do something. Anything.

Harry's hands closed around the closest thing he could find, a hefty piece of rubble from the fountain.

Voldemort carefully aimed his wand, a smirk played out on his lipless mouth.

Staggering to his feet Harry chucked the stone as hard as he could, the jagged rock soaring across the atrium, slamming into the side of the Dark Lord's skull with a loud thump.

His head whipped to the side and he fell to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. His wand slipped from his, now twitching, fingers and rolled away.

Harry sagged back against the fountain as Dumbledore struggled to his feet and carefully approached Voldemort, his recovered wand held tight in his bony hand.

A bewildered look crossed his wrinkled features before turning to Harry, eyes twinkling.

"He's dead, Harry."


This came to me while I was thinking about Voldemort and his Horcruxes. Yeah, his soul can't leave this plane as long as they exist but his body can definitely be killed as proven by his defeat by baby Harry. I don't think he'd be able to survive a serious head wound.