Chapter 20: Rise and Fall.
Voldemort tumbled head over heels, hitting the ground so hard that he left a furrow in the lawn. He pushed himself to his feet, radiating intense, foul power, as Dumbledore made his way nonchalantly down the castle steps. The Headmaster came to a halt, studying the Dark Lord with interest, his hands folded behind his back.
"It was the height of foolishness for you to come here, Tom," Dumbledore said, a touch of disappointment in his voice. "I had expected more of you. Surely you know that being Headmaster of Hogwarts is more than just a title?"
"I know more about magic than you could even begin to imagine, old man," Voldemort replied, stretching to his full height. "I have studied magics that would chill your blood."
"I do not doubt it," Dumbledore said with a nod. "You always did enjoy research. That is not an answer to my question though."
Voldemort smiled, an eerie expression on the snake like face. "Oh, I know you have power here. But it will not be enough."
"We will see."
Both Headmaster and Dark Lord cast at the same time, their spells colliding and combining in a ball of golden-blue light. It exploded with a rush of air that hit Harry even in the wreckage of the doorframe. He raised his hand, shielding his eyes. Dumbledore did not so much as blink, despite his robes billowing in the backdraft. He took a single step forward.
"The Aurors will be here shortly. We can avoid unnecessary violence, if you will but listen to reason."
"I will not leave, Dumbledore, and if the Aurors arrive then I will kill them as well," Voldemort snarled. He loosed another volley of spells, shimmering bolts of light flying at the Headmaster. Dumbledore gestured with his wand, and great lumps of earth were torn from the ground before him, hovering in wide arcs around his body. Each of Voldemort's spells was intercepted, scattering clods of smouldering earth upon impact.
"This is the Headmaster's secret power, then?" Voldemort said with a low laugh. "Hiding behind the gardening? Truly, I am impressed!" He gave another swipe of his wand, and the ground began to tremble. "Let us see how you manage without your shield!" The ground erupted into spikes, the turf transfiguring into something almost metallic. Dumbledore merely raised his hand; there was a flash of flame, and he disappeared before the spikes could touch him. He reappeared behind Voldemort, Fawkes flapping away from him with a melodic screech that seemed to pain Voldemort. Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a line of burning energy coiled out, lashing around Voldemort's arm. The line dimmed, but the light spread throughout Voldemort's body, seeping inside him and shining out.
He sank to the ground, seemingly sapped of all strength. Dumbledore stepped forward, a sorrowful expression on his face. "It did not have to come to this, Tom."
"It has come to nothing!" Voldemort hissed. With an almighty effort, he wrenched himself upwards, yanking his arm away from Dumbledore. The line tore, the light vanished, and he aimed his wand at Dumbledore. The Killing Curse shot once more between them, but Dumbledore only waved his wand, calling the earth to his aid once more. Blades of grass whirled lightning fast into a vortex in front of him, absorbing the Killing Curse. This time though, Voldemort did not wait, pressing nearer the Headmaster, his wand flashing as he moved. Darts of magic clipped Dumbledore's arms, sending him staggering back. Voldemort whipped his arm back, and when he brought it forward, fire lashed out from his wand. The flame struck at Dumbledore, drawing a cry from him as burns appeared all along his body.
Voldemort snarled in triumph, but Fawkes let out another cry, swooping back overhead towards the castle. The flames were snuffed out as he passed, but Dumbledore was clearly hurt.
For a long moment, the two wizards hung back, gathering their breath like fencers between bouts. Harry was stricken; he had thought Dumbledore would have beaten Voldemort back by now. Surely the Headmaster was more than a match for the Dark Lord? Everyone knew that he was the only man Voldemort had ever been afraid of…
But it suddenly struck Harry that that had been nearly twenty years ago, and somehow, Voldemort seemed more powerful than he had been even a year ago. Given what Dumbledore had hinted at concerning Voldemort's rituals, it was beginning to seem as if that fact was no longer as accurate as it had once been. Hell, Voldemort had waltzed into the castle on his own, and if that wasn't an indication of a lack of fear, what else was? Despite Dumbledore's best efforts, and clearly superior skill, Voldemort was barely scratched.
Taking a deep breath, he drew his own wand.
And Voldemort cast another spell – not, this time, at Dumbledore, or even Harry, partly hidden as he was, but at Hogwarts. One of the four towers shuddered, and then the top just disappeared, leaving only flame and smoke behind. Harry stared in horror as wall stones started to tumble to the earth below, and screams began to ring out from the main body of the castle.
"Harry!"
He looked back at the battlefield. Dumbledore had not taken his eyes from Voldemort. "Harry, go and help them. I can handle this."
For a moment, Harry was not entirely certain Dumbledore was telling the truth. Then the old man passed his hand over a ring on his right hand, a crest set into it. He murmured something Harry could not hear, and the ground shook. The air around Dumbledore shimmered, and four shapes began to form beside him. Harry could feel the magic within them – the magic that they had been formed from. A badger, the height of Dumbledore's hip, made of rock and clawing at the earth. A raven, a whirling vortex of wind given shape and talons. A snake, water looping in a continuous coil. And a lion, made of fire up to Dumbledore's chin. The Headmaster stroked its mane, and it let out a great roar.
"Tom, you wanted to know what the Headmaster's power was. The guardian spirits of the four houses, ready to aid the rightful master of the castle against any and all invaders." Dumbledore spread his hands, gesturing at the spirits. "You have grown powerful Tom, I admit it. But this is older magic than any of us understand. You will not prevail."
Voldemort looked at the spirits appraisingly. It seemed to Harry that he was, for a moment, unnerved by their appearance. When he spoke however, his voice was steady. "I think one of them, at least, will not harm me."
He began to hiss, softly and rapidly, and the snake spirit rose up on its tail, striking at Dumbledore's hip. The badger leapt to the Headmaster's defence, slashing at the snake's belly, the rock claws passing through the water apparently harmlessly – but it bought Dumbledore a second to dance backward a few steps, his wand whirling. The lion and the raven flew across the ground towards Voldemort, enveloping him in a whirlwind of flame. For the first time since the duel had begun, Dumbledore looked at Harry.
"Harry, please!"
The Headmaster's eyes were sorrowful, pleading. Harry turned and ran.
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The tower had collapsed into the Dee Quad, at the north side of the castle. The damage was staggering; smoke was still billowing from the wreckage of the tower, and the falling stones had smashed classrooms and walkways all around the quad. Six stones had embedded themselves into the grass. There were mercifully few bodies, but still more than Harry would like. He knelt over one girl, bleeding from a vicious cut to her forehead. Her eyes were lifeless, but he felt for a pulse. His efforts were in vain. He passed his hand over her eyes, closing the lids.
There was a commotion from the other side of the quad, and Harry stood up, drawing his wand in anticipation. A whole crowd of staff and older students burst out the castle, McGonagall at the head. She came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Harry standing there, his wand half aimed at them.
"Potter? What happened? What are you doing?"
"It's Voldemort," Harry replied, lowering his wand. "He blew up the tower; I think he was trying to distract the Headmaster. They're duelling in the grounds."
"Good God," she breathed. "He's here?" She threw her head back, standing proud and straight-backed, taking a deep breath. "Never mind. We can deal with that later. We have our own mission. Is she…?"
Harry shook his head, and McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she conjured a white cloth out of thin air, and let it drape over the girl's body. The other staff and students spread out, huddling round the other bodies. Some were carried away, presumably to the Hospital Wing. Harry and McGonagall turned their attention to the flames. Acting in sync, they produced streams of ice from their wands, freezing the fire in place, before shattering the frozen flames. Within minutes, the fire was almost completely extinguished, and Harry finally understood how Wizarding structures could last for centuries with little in the way of maintenance.
They were disturbed by the arrival of Professor Umbridge, flanked by a squad of serious looking Aurors. McGonagall acknowledged her arrival with a glance and a cool expression, before turning back to the fires. Harry followed her lead, ignoring Umbridge as she hurried around questioning people. Merlin only knew why she had the Aurors following her.
As the last of the flames melted away, McGonagall turned to Harry. "Potter, I think we have duties elsewhere, would you not agree?"
"Follow me."
The sounds of the duel had reached them even on the other side of the castle. Harry had done his best to block them out, but now the distraction had gone, his panic was coming back full force. He had realised why Dumbledore hadn't dominated the battle more: the Headmaster was quite clearly fighting largely defensively, at least to the point Harry had left. He rather thought Voldemort's callous attack on Hogwarts would have damaged Dumbledore's calm demeanour.
As he and McGonagall passed through the Atrium, however, the rock-badger that Dumbledore had summoned came flying through the wreckage of the door. It hit the floor, and lay still, crumbling as they watched. Outside, the battle was still raging. The grass had turned black, trees had been cut down, and as Harry and McGonagall burst out of the castle, there was an explosion of pressure that threatened to crush them even at a distance.
And as the smoke cleared, they realised that Dumbledore was lying on the floor, bleeding from hundreds of little wounds. McGonagall let out a little gasp, and her wand appeared in her hand so fast it was as if it had Apparated there. She made to move towards towards her stricken mentor, but Harry held her back. She rounded on him, eyes blazing, but he met her gaze firmly.
"Don't move, Professor. Not until we know where he is…"
The caution clearly pained her, but she nodded after a moment. Raising her wand, she spoke an incantation, and Harry felt a little pulse of magic emanate from the tip of the wand, the spell washing over him like a wave of hot air. McGonagall tilted her head, as if listening to something in the distance, and her brow furrowed with confusion.
"He isn't anywhere nearby…there's no way to hide from the spell, either."
"That you know of," Harry muttered darkly. He drew his own wand, a shiver of nerves running through him. He doubted Voldemort would have run, not if Dumbledore was down. If he was hiding, that meant he was plotting something. Closing his eyes, he expanded his awareness, trying to find the traces of magic that would alert him to Voldemort's whereabouts.
It wasn't much help. The cloying, nauseating foulness seemed to have permeated most of the grounds. He closed his mind to it hurriedly, fighting the urge to vomit everywhere. It was clearly a trap, but a well made one: he could see no way around it, and he was not going to let Dumbledore just lie there. He looked at McGonagall meaningfully, and they set out towards him.
"Potter!"
Harry whirled round, biting back a spell as he realised that it was Umbridge calling him, not Voldemort. The squat witch scurried down the steps, glowering at them both. "Potter, what on earth do you think you are doing? This is no matter for you, understand! Leave it to the Aurors!"
Harry looked over her shoulders; the Auror squad she had appeared in the quad with were no-where to be seen. He shook his head, and turned away. She called over him furiously, but did not follow. It took every ounce of his resolve not to run to the Headmaster, but he knew that haste would not be wise. He walked cautiously, McGonagall following his lead. He knelt down next to Dumbledore, feeling for a pulse, but nearly cried aloud when Dumbledore's eyes fluttered open. He gave them both a weak smile.
"Ah, Harry, Minerva…I trust the damage was contained?"
"Yes, Albus," McGonagall said, leaning over and clasping his hand. Her eyes were wet, shining, and Harry looked away, feeling uncomfortable. "There were…not everyone got out. We did what we could."
"Of that I have no doubt," Dumbledore said, his breath coming in clearly painful rasps. "You always do, both of you." The Headmaster shifted where he lay, and Harry realised that he was lying next to an ugly little bundle. He poked it, and realised that it was alive. The bundle moved, an eye opening on it, looking up at him. It was Fawkes, although he was barely recognisable to Harry. He had never seen him looking this bad even on a burning day.
"He saved my life, and not for the first time," Dumbledore said fondly, stroking the injured phoenix's head. "Thank you, my friend." Fawkes trilled forlornly, and Dumbledore sat up, wincing in pain. "My, my. That last spell hit me rather harder than I thought it would, I must confess. I like to think I gave as good as I got though."
"Where is he?" Harry asked urgently. Dumbledore smiled at him.
"Around. He has, I believe, retired to lick his wounds. I was unable to force a complete retreat, I regret to say. I am not beaten yet though, not by a long shot." Taking Harry's hand, he pulled himself to his feet, leaning into Harry for support. "Although I do find myself at a disadvantage, I confess. The precautions Voldemort has taken have had an unforeseen consequence, I am afraid."
"Professor, what are you talking about?"
Dumbledore opened his mouth to explain, but cut himself off abruptly. "I fear we are out of time, Harry. I will explain later – one way or another."
The bright summer afternoon clouded over, so swiftly that it seemed a painted canvas had been ripped away, revealing the true picture behind. From the darkened clouds came a spark of light, leaping down to ground itself in the earth near the three of them. The lightning struck with an explosion that blew Harry off his feet; he landed several feet away, flat on his back and his ears ringing from the aftershock.
When he was able to look up, Voldemort was re-approaching. This time, the Dark Lord came through the air, supporting himself seemingly only by his own will, and a cloud of black mist enveloping him like a cloak. Soaring like a Banshee towards Dumbledore, Voldemort spat green fire from his wand, but it sizzled into nothingness against Dumbledore's shield. Voldemort wheeled around, streaking back towards Dumbledore, and Harry took the opportunity to launch a spear of light into the air. It missed Voldemort, but the mist that surrounded him melted away as the spear passed by. Something about the mist had helped Voldemort stay air-bound; when it disappeared, his flight came to a sudden halt, and he fell from the sky. By some miracle, he landed securely on his feet, as if he had dropped lightly from a wall rather than several feet through the air. His eyes flashed, and in quick succession he cast three curses, a momentary pause between each one.
His first curse stuck Harry in the chest before he could react, squeezing his lungs, and preventing him from drawing in any breath. In a heartbeat, he was on the floor, breathlessness and pain combining to produce a truly horrible sensation. Within another heartbeat though, the curse had been lifted – Harry looked up to find Dumbledore pointing his own wand at him, a curiously resigned expression on his face.
The second curse was a bolt of light that would presumably have done something awful to Professor McGonagall, who was now lying unconscious on the ground; as it was, Harry watched as Dumbledore whirled round and knocked his assistant aside before it could hit her.
The third curse, cast to take advantage of Dumbledore's actions, took the Headmaster's wand arm off at the elbow.
Harry cried out in shock, and rage, but a fourth spell raised a dome over the two opponents, blocking him out. His spells rebounded harmlessly from it, and he resorted to running towards it, beating it with his fists.
Inside, Dumbledore had fallen to his knees, clutching the bleeding stump of his limb, but he looked up at Voldemort with an attempt at his usual amiable expression. The strain was visible around his eyes, however.
"Congratulations Tom. Well played indeed."
"As I told you, old man, the whole world will see my strength, and they will kneel," Voldemort whispered, almost lustfully. He raised his wand, caressing it, and spoke in a whisper. "Albus Dumbledore, finally beaten. But never let it be said that I am not a merciful lord, Dumbledore. Beg me for your life, and I will grant it."
Dumbledore gave his old student a weary smile. "Do you know Tom, I think I'd rather see what adventures are to be had on the other side. I've never been the begging type, I'm afraid."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits, and he pressed his wand to Dumbledore's head. "Beg. Beg, Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore began to chuckle softly, and shook his head.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Dumbledore sank to the floor, his eyes glazed, and all the bloody cuts on his body suddenly frozen. Harry caught his eyes as he fell backwards; they were empty, for the first time Harry could ever remember.
Voldemort threw back his head, laughing to the blackened sky.
And Harry threw every drop of magic he could gather at the dome, screaming in sudden mindless, wordless rage.
Voldemort's magic melted away like snow before the first sun of spring, and the Dark Lord sprang into a guard position. Harry's attack did not conform to duelling etiquette: the raw blast of magic tore at Voldemort's flesh and essence, biting into him. Harry's wand leapt to his hand as if summoned, and he spat out an incantation. Strands of shimmering white light burst from his wand, and wrapped themselves around Voldemort. He screamed, and his flesh began to smoke, a hideous smell rising from him.
It lasted for only a moment. Gathering his strength, Voldemort threw his arms apart, tearing the light apart and releasing a magical wave of his own. Harry was stopped in his tracks, seized and suspended in the air, before two opposing waves crashed together, hammer and anvil, and he the iron between them. He screamed as bones cracked all over his body, and his wand fell from his pain wracked and limp hand. His world started to go black as Voldemort approached, his eyes shining with a strange, triumphant rage.
"Dumbledore is dead, Potter. And now I think it your turn. You've been living on borrowed time, Harry…any last words?"
Harry's head tilted back, and his eyes were red. "Harry isn't here right now. Crucio!"
Voldemort's eyes widened in shock as Titus raised Harry's shattered hand, the fingers spread wide. The skin on his fingers blistered and cracked from the force of the Unforgivable, unfocused and ill-cast, but pain lashed through the Dark Lord's body in a manner he had never experienced before. He slashed his wand upwards, and Titus-Harry cried out as a line of fire soared along his chest.
Reeling from the shock of the Torture Curse, and confusion over Harry's transformation, Voldemort staggered back, letting Harry fall to the floor. Over his shoulder, he could see Umbridge hurrying forward with her squad of Aurors. Sneering, he fired the Dark Mark high into the sky.
He left behind only Harry, broken and bleeding, and Dumbledore's wasted body.
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A/N: My thanks to Hellinbrand for coming up with, and giving me permission to use, the idea for the House spirits.