Chapter 22: The Power He Knows Not

Carrow swished his wand, and Harry dropped to the ground. He stood up, trying to control his trembling nerves, and faced Voldemort as bravely as he could. The Dark Lord smiled mockingly, twirling his wand in anticipation. Carrow drew Harry's wand from his robes, and thrust it at him, leering slightly. Harry ignored him, gripping his wand tightly. It was a small comfort, but comfort it was; he was surely about to die, but at least he could die on his feet.

Drawing his robes over his wounded chest, he strode out to face Voldemort, staring rigidly ahead. The Death Eaters began to jeer, mocking him, but he did not respond. He planted his feet firmly in the grass, his eyes on Voldemort.

The Dark Lord moved to face him, his robes twirling as he moved, and he sketched an elaborate bow in Harry's direction. Harry did not respond, and Voldemort looked up at him. "Oh dear Harry… Can you really have learnt nothing at Hogwarts? Bartemius claimed that you were so noble at the duel with poor Darrow… Will you not bow to me Harry?"

Harry said nothing. Voldemort flashed his fangs, and twitched his wand. Harry was enveloped in a crushing pressure, and he felt his spine bend, forcibly. He bent forward, falling to his knees to relieve the pressure, and the jeers of the Death Eaters grew even louder. After a moment, the pressure was removed, and Harry straightened up, gasping for air. Voldemort's face was blank, but his eyes were flashing with sinister satisfaction.

"And so, we duel… crucio!"

Harry tried to duck, but there was no way he could move that fast. Voldemort didn't seem human. The curse hit him, and he screamed. He had felt the cruciatus curse before, but never like this. His nerves were melting, his blood on fire, daggers ripping through his skin… The pain stopped, Voldemort lifting the curse. Harry realised that he was lying on the floor, the wet grass soaking through his robes. He had no recollection of falling, his memory fogged with pain.

"And how does that feel Harry… Another taste, perhaps? Crucio!"

Harry had barely recovered from the first one when the second ripped through him. He screamed so hard his throat hurt. The pain did not last as long this time, but the ache lasted. He felt like he couldn't move. Something welled up in his throat, and he spat. Blood spattered the grass, and he winced. He turned his eyes upwards, and met Voldemort's gaze. The Dark Lord was staring down at him with cruel amusement.

"Had enough, Harry? Perhaps a merciful death now sounds appealing, hmm?"

Harry forced himself to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. He stood facing Voldemort, and the Dark Lord smiled.

"Very well…"

His wand flashed, and Harry dived aside, casting his own spell. Voldemort flicked it aside casually, and hit Harry with another spell. He was thrown backwards, sprawling at the feet of some of the Death Eaters. They kicked him back into the circle, jeering loudly. He scrambled to his feet, but another spell clipped his face, and it knocked him flying again, blood spattering from his cheek. He sank to the ground again, and another spell yanked him backwards. He was slammed into the ground, repeatedly.

Voldemort released him, and he sprawled, trying to remind his muscles of how to work. He felt drained, and every last inch of him ached, excruciatingly. The laughter from the circle of Death Eaters grew louder, and it stirred nothing inside him. He couldn't even muster the energy to move, let alone be angry.

"Oh dear oh dear Harry… Giving up so soon? And I've heard so much of your defiant spirit! Your father fought me until I killed him, and your mother was equally courageous. Such a shame that their spirit has not passed along to you… Still, I suppose for someone brought up by Muggles and a halfbreed, we can expect nothing less…"

Harry's eyelids flickered, and his fingers twitched.

"Don't worry Harry, you will be remembered… Your marvellous feats in the Tournament for instance, truly inspirational. I do believe that your transfiguration is one of the finest pieces of magic I have heard about in one of your tender years – so imagine how it will feel for people to learn that one of the finest young wizards of the age could not even muster a basic defence against me. They will be shattered, Harry. They will not resist. In the days before they are killed, your friends will discuss your death, and conclude that you were, at the end, wise. A pleasing thought to end your life on, hmm? Do not say that I am not merciful Harry…"

Harry lay there, Voldemort's arrogance washing over him. The speech disgusted him, but it had been a welcome respite. His bones still ached, but he now felt capable of standing up, at least. Fighting might be a struggle, but he would cross that bridge in a moment. Placing his palms flat on the ground, he pushed himself to his knees. The laughter surrounding him stopped, abruptly. From his knees, he staggered to his feet, clenching his fingers round his wand. Voldemort studied him appraisingly.

"You will not quietly accept death then, Harry?"

"No." Harry spoke softly, his throat still raw, but his denial echoed round the graveyard. The Death Eaters were still, waiting for the climax. He could not even hear them breathing. Voldemort swished his wand back and forth, hypnotically. And then he cast, in movements too quick to fully comprehend.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry didn't bother ducking. He knew that he wasn't going to win this. But he slashed his wand up, sending his own spell at Voldemort, a slashing hex. If nothing else, he would mark Voldemort before he died.

The spells collided in mid-air, and there was a flash of golden light. Streams of magic lashed backwards, snapping to the tip of his wand and binding it in a tight grip. The same happened to Voldemort's wand, and the Dark Lord flinched in astonishment. Sparks flew from the ball of golden light, halfway between the two opponents, and Harry could hear the air sizzling. The wild, unrecognisable magic made his wand buck in his hand, and he clasped his other fist round it, trying to control it. Something told him that breaking the connection would be a bad idea.

The Death Eaters started to move, advancing on them, and Voldemort screamed at them: "Do nothing! He is mine, do nothing unless I tell you!"

They fell back, and Harry and Voldemort locked gazes once more. From somewhere, possibly not even inside his own mind, Harry felt the urge to push. He shoved his magic down his wand, and the ball of light began to move, very slowly. Voldemort hissed, and the golden light halted. Harry could feel a pressure at the tip of his wand; presumably, Voldemort was exerting his own influence on the light. Harry redoubled his efforts, but they appeared to be in vain. Slowly but surely, the light travelled back along the line of magic, towards him.

Sweat began to drip down his face, the fight surprisingly physical. He pushed as much of his will into it as he could, but the light would not move back towards Voldemort. The previous duel had simply exhausted him too much. Inexorably, the light moved closer and closer, and then it touched his wand.

He gagged as the magic spread through his body, soaking every part of him. He could feel the taint of Voldemort's magic seeping into him, and it revolted him. He tried to resist, tried to repel it, but it was simply too strong. He could feel nothing but the Dark Lord's magic. His eyes rolled back in their sockets, consciousness threatening to abandon him.

"Harry! Harry, you've got to fight it! It's soaking in, I can see it… HARRY!"

But Harry could not hear Titus.

Titus watched in despair as the foul smelling magic seeped around Harry's core like flood water. It lapped at the door to the cupboard, tasting it then recoiling, Harry's magic still resisting it, but he could tell that the fight would not go on much longer. Worse, he could feel himself responding to the invading magic. If ever he had doubted Dumbledore's explanation of his nature, those doubts were gone. Voldemort's magic was seeping around his feet, and it was strangely like coming home.

Yet at the same time, a larger part of him was revolted by it. He had 'seen' Voldemort duelling Harry, and he had been disgusted. There had been no glory in it, no honour. It had been the act of a bully, childish and petty, and he had no desire to be linked to such a person. Whatever his nature had been, Harry had changed him, intentionally or otherwise. He would die before he let Voldemort win.

Unfortunately, it looked like he would be dying anyway, and that Voldemort would win regardless of his wishes. He could not see any way to halt the spread of the magic through Harry's body, and Harry was in no position to fight it at present. Despondent, he watched the magic wash around the cupboard door. He was sure it would seep under it at any moment, ending the torment once and for all…

But it didn't happen.

Seconds, minutes passed, and still nothing. Titus stood alert, watching the magic curiously. Something about the door seemed to repel it. With a start, Titus recalled something, something Harry had heard in the past. There was more magic hidden behind that door than either of them fully understood. Perhaps enough to repel Voldemort's magic?

Titus had avoided the door for a while now, the magic behind it making his head ache. He accepted this as irrevocable consequence of living in Harry's head, and it was one of the reasons why he was quietly determined to gain a body of his own… But if the magic could help, then he had little choice in the matter. He strode forward, reaching out his hand to the door handle. He felt something wash over him as he touched it, and he paused. It felt curiously like he was being evaluated, and it was far from pleasant. The feeling passed though, and he clicked the handle open.

Behind the door, there was almost pure brilliance, and it flooded out past him.

Voldemort's magic hissed as the bright light touched it, sizzling and evaporating, burnt away.

Titus felt something stab through him, and his eyes widened in shock, sure that the pain of it would kill him… But it passed as suddenly as it had started.

Harry's magic spread throughout his body, washing him clean of Voldemort's taint, and Titus felt something awaken deep inside the core.

Harry was still standing.

Wind billowed around him, waving his hair and his tattered robes, but his eyes remained rolled back, unseeing. Around him, the Death Eaters were starting to panic, the situation utterly beyond their understanding. Voldemort himself was watching Harry intently, fascinated. His magic still spread through the strands connecting the wands, but now the ball of light was starting to move back, retracting from Harry's wand ever so slightly. There was no danger of it reaching Voldemort's wand, but resistance was coming from somewhere.

Harry opened his eyes. They flashed.

The ball of golden light exploded, blinding Voldemort to everything that was happening, and he swept his arm up, shielding himself from the blast. As the light faded, he looked back at Harry. Harry stood very still, magic pouring from him. He moved his arm, looking down at it in apparent confusion. There was a crackle of magic around his fingers, as if the very air was reacting to his movement. Harry looked up, and opened his mouth as if to say something.

There was a sound, unidentifiable, on the edge of hearing. Magic pulsed from Harry's body, spreading out around the graveyard. Tombstones cracked and splintered, trees shook, and Voldemort hissed as the magic brushed him with a burning touch. Around Harry's feet, the grass grew, withered, died, and grew again, all in the space of a second. Things shimmered into existence, half conjuration, half wild idea, before disappearing as quickly as they appeared.

Then, as quickly as it had started, everything stopped. The glow in Harry's eyes faded, although his eyes appeared brighter, as if the green was now lit from behind by something unearthly. The air stopped hissing around his fingers. He blinked, as if coming back to himself. He reached up and brushed his cheek; the cut on his face had healed.

Harry and Voldemort studied each other, neither moving. Harry flexed his fingers around his wand. He felt more powerful than ever, and he wasn't sure he could contain it all within in his body. He was filled to the brim with magic, every inch alive to the sensation. It stretched beyond his body; he knew the Death Eater standing behind him was weak, he knew that Sirius was preparing to attack, should he be needed. And he knew, unequivocally, that Voldemort was far more powerful than he could ever dream of. His power was not natural, the product of sacrifices and rituals on top of his not inconsiderable natural ability. In a straight contest of power, Harry would still be destroyed.

Fortunately, power wasn't everything, something he suspected Voldemort had never truly realised.

He raised his wand, voicing the spell even though he knew he probably didn't need to now. "Animatus."

Behind Voldemort, the giant statue of the angel flexed its wings, and swung the scythe over its shoulder. Some of the Death Eaters saw it move, and drew their wands.

Harry twitched his own again, and gave a familiar command. "Oppugno."

The statue leapt from its plinth, the scythe swinging. It wasn't a sharp blade – it wasn't even a real blade – but it was heavy, and when the Death Eaters were hit with it, they went flying. Voldemort whirled to face the new threat, slashing the ugly green light of the killing curse at it, but such spells had no effect against the statue.

Harry watched the chaos with a slightly detached air, still drunk on his own power. Rationally though, he knew that he could not fight them all, and he raised his wand once more.

"Bombardia! Cremo!"

The blasting curse struck the ground and exploded, scattering the Death Eaters; the wall of fire that followed it washed over them, setting robes and grass ablaze. The chaos spread, and Harry ran. He could hear Voldemort screaming behind him, and the deep pounding of spells against the statue. Spells whipped over his shoulder, and he aimed his wand over his shoulder, firing off a smattering of jinxes and hexes, more complex magic a little beyond him in his desperation to get away. A spell clipped his shoulder, and he staggered, wishing he was invisible.

He felt his magic twitch, and then he could see through his wand arm. He grinned to himself as the effect spread over his body. That was useful. He quickened his pace, ducking and weaving through the gravestones. There were more statues here, and he waved his wand again, bringing them to life as well, and setting them to attack. He charged past without waiting to see what would happen.

The gates to the graveyard swung open at a touch of his wand, and he darted into the main street. He ran to the corner, thrusting his wand out, confident that in a moment, he would be on the Knight bus out of here.

Nothing happened.

He looked around frantically. Where was it? Despair struck him as he realised that of course it wouldn't be coming. Voldemort was arrogant, not stupid. He would have made sure that Harry would not be leaving tonight. There would be all kinds of wards around the place. Now what to do?

Before he could consider his options, two Death Eaters burst through the gates. One flicked his wand, and Harry felt something wash over him.

"He's over there!" one of the Death Eaters cried, and they both cast spells in his general direction. Harry didn't stick around to find out what they would do, but started to run, not sure where he was going, but knowing it was better than staying still. He heard something above him, and looking up, spotted clouds of black mist dotting the sky. It was a wonder the local muggles didn't spot all the magical activity.

He tripped over something, and then he understood. It wasn't usual for rotting corpses to be lying around the streets of quiet villages, Harry was fairly sure. There probably wasn't anybody but the Death Eaters left alive in the entire village. His stumble had attracted attention though; a column of mist descended in front of him, a grinning face shifting into view. With a jolt, Harry realised his invisibility spell had dropped. He swiped his wand, and the Death Eater was knocked off his feet, spiralling away and thudding against a high wall.

Two more columns flew down, curses flying from their midst, and Harry sent a bright ball of light from his wand. The columns veered away, and he ran once more, making his way towards the big house at the top of the hill. It was only when he was halfway there that he remembered Spitewinter had been in this house. It was the centre of operations.

"Which means it'll probably have a working Floo system, get going!"

Harry grinned at this, and set off once more. He abandoned subtlety, blowing the doors from their hinges as he approached. He leapt over the wreckage, landing lightly in the hallway. He cast a floating ball of light, nervous of the pervading gloom of the house, and looked around. There were footprints in the dust on the stairs, heading upwards. That seemed like a good bet. Before he started to climb though, he heard something. A man, crying out in pain.

He hesitated, looking around. A trick? The cry came again, and Harry sighed. If it wasn't, then he would never forgive himself for abandoning someone to Voldemort. It was coming from the cellar, and he headed to the stairs, descending cautiously.

It wasn't a trick. Someone was chained to the wall, waist length hair obscuring his face. His chest was covered in blood, and he was suspended from a pair of wrist shackles. Harry darted over to him, tapping his bonds with his wand. They snapped open, and Harry caught him as he fell to the floor. The man looked up at him, blinking in bleary shock.

"James…?"

Harry started. This man knew his father? "No, I'm Harry – his son."

"Harry… Harry Potter…" The man's eyes widened, as if he was just waking up. "Harry Potter! Voldemort, he's alive, he wants you for something - "

"I know," Harry responded grimly. "He got it as well, most of it. What's your name?"

"Dearborn… Caradoc Dearborn. I… You need to get out of here Harry, go!"

Caradoc Dearborn. The man everyone had thought was a traitor. Harry hadn't thought about him since last year; he supposed that if Sirius had been a traitor, it was unlikely Dearborn was as well. And if he had been… Well, then he should face justice. He was clearly no threat to Harry at the moment. Dudley could probably have beaten him in a magical duel at this point.

Harry hoisted him up, draping one arm over his shoulders, and started to walk out of the cellar. There was a noise on the stairs, and a Death Eater came clattering in, his wand raised. Harry's spell met him the instant he set foot over the threshold, and he sank to the floor, blood dripping from a chest wound. Harry moved slowly up the stairs, lumbered by Dearborn's weight. More Death Eaters were around the destroyed doors, and they began to throw spells at Harry, making him duck back through the doorway. He stuck the tip of his wand round the corner.

"Fumis! Solaris Diem! Cremo!"

The hallway was instantly flooded with smoke, light, and fire. He dragged Dearborn out, and flicked his wand again. With a cry of "Ascendeo!" they soared through the air, landing on the upper level of the building. There was an open doorway, and Harry could see a fireplace inside the room. Dragging Dearborn with him, he made his way towards it. His heart leapt joyfully at the sight of a jar of Floo powder by the fire. He flicked his wand, and the fire lit with a crackle of wood. He took a pinch of powder, and threw it into the flames. They sparked green.

"No!" Voldemort's high-pitched scream of fury rang round the room, and Harry whirled, sweeping his wand around him. A wave of fire streamed across the room, catching Voldemort full on, and he recoiled.

"Hogwarts!" Harry pushed Dearborn into the fire, and placed one foot inside himself. He took one last look behind him as he vanished, and the last thing he saw was Voldemort, his red eyes blazing with fury behind the flames.