Chapter Twenty-Six is here and ready to delve into the last battle.

And yes, this IS the last battle. I drag it out any longer and I'm going to have a riot of reviewers on my hands.

And...it's actually shorter than I thought. I guess seeing it play out in my head is quicker than putting it into words.

Ah well.

Sonia Mines Lowry- Well, I figured if I'm gonna start something, and it's as popular as this has turned out to be, I'd better freaking finish it then. As for Huntington, I kept leaving little hints that I tried to make not obvious but was afraid someone would be "Waaaait..." Didn't happen, though, and at any rate I'm glad people were surprised at the outcome.

Dobbylover68- Thanks, and here ya go!

rhmac12- I think last chapter will be the last cliffhanger...though this one may be one, depending on how one views it.;

Aggiegurl12- Here you go! Hope it suits!

tryntee13- The thing many stories fail to have is a good ending fight. This is a trait going into books, and it bothers me a little. Why have build-up if the payout is not worth it? That being said, I saw this playing out longer in my head, but I think people will enjoy it. I like to have my stories end with a bang, unlike some authors nowadays (cough cough Stephanie Meyer cough cough).

ObsessedRHShipper- It's not alternate, it's just warped. Huntington has some abilities that are stronger than what most wizards have, as I've shown before. What are they exactly? Not too sure, but I'll figure it out some day.

So without further ado, here we go.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Stay Dead

The rain was pouring, the thunder was loud, and Ron was standing at the top of the Astronomy Tower looking for a murderer that may not have even been up there. Every shadow looked like a person, but was only just the walls toying with his mind, and every flash of lightening made him jump, for one can easily pull something off with a thunderous roar drowning out the sound.

The voice had led him here. Its owner was nowhere in sight. Ron crept forward, looking around all the while trying to ignore the numbing pain in his hand. There were not many places for him to hide up there; so where was he, if he was even here at all?

thunk!

He howled as the knife was thrust underneath his shoulder blade in his back, just behind his arm. He pulled away, the knife ripping apart the clothing and part of his skin as he pulled, and pressed his hand against it as he faced the assailant.

Huntington twirled the blood-stained blade around in his hand twice before clenching the hilt firmly in his right palm. The rain had made his usually bed-messed hair sopping wet, and parts of it had fallen down over his face. In the flash of the thunder his eyes looked strangely demonic, and his grin, missing teeth and all, just made the appearance more satanist and less humane.

"I wanted a more grand theater," he said in a hoarse voice over the rain.

"My wand versus your wand and knife...not exactly a fair fight," Ron gasped through the pain.

"I gave up on fair a long time ago. Now I'm just going to go with whatever finally gets you out of my hair the fastest."

"Alright then." Ron stood up as straight as he could, trying hard not to think of the searing pain in his back and ignoring the dizziness he was beginning to feel. "Come and get me."

Huntington's finger was gone- either it had fallen off on its own or he had just cut it off to be rid of the nuisance. He did not even pay it any mind; it was as though it were still there, and its loss caused no pain to him. Ron could barely keep his vision straight, the blood flowing from his hand and back seeping down his coat. He would have to make this as quick as he could.

Without warning, Huntington jumped forward and took a swing, missing Ron's chest by inches. Ron staggered backwards, catching himself before he teetered over the edge of the tower, and fired a curse that went past his head and into the night sky. Huntington swiped again, twice, missing.

Ron fell against a pillar and raised his wand when the blade swiped his arm. He recoiled, clutching the wound, and gave Huntington room to swipe at the other arm and retract without having to fear a punch.

The punch did come, a second too late, as Huntington ducked it and left a nice cut on Ron's leg. He allowed him to scatter away, hands clutching the small wound. He was aiming to hurt, not necessarily to maim or leave a scar. Not too deep, just enough to cause pain. Do it enough times, however, and it would leave its toll.

And sure enough, Ron was feeling it. He was losing blood fast, and the constant cuts at his arms and leg were only slowing him down further. Huntington, on the other hand, was not slowing down even slightly. What the hell, he wondered, where does he still get his energy from? Was killing that much of a rush for him?

He had no time to register it, as Huntington took out another knife-where the hell was he getting these from?- and lurched forward. Ron ducked, and the knife sunk into the wall and stuck there.

Ron kicked Huntington in the gut, knocking him away, and pulled the knife out of the wall. Now with wand in one hand and knife in the other, he was equal in equipment to his rival. Question was- and it was a lingering one in his mind- would he be able to equal the other's speed?

Huntington gave him a questioning look, but Ron just indicated for him to go ahead and make his move, so he shrugged and took a swipe. The red-head dodged it, and took one of his own, which was avoided with such ease it was as though he had not even moved.

He's mocking me...

As Huntington went for a double-swipe, Ron somehow found the strength and speed to duck down under them, push himself up, and make a hard slash upwards. The blade cut across the killer's face, leaving a thin scar going from the right corner of his chin, up across his lips and broken nose, just over his left eye and chip a portion of his left eyebrow.

Huntington staggered backwards, stunned. He put his hand to his newly acquired scar as the blood began to trickle down from it. He chuckled lightly, faintly, before nodding in approval and returning to his pose.

Ron's strength felt sapped after that. The blood was starting to run faster, and his vision just was not agreeing with him anymore. Any more of this, and he would not need Huntington to finish him; his own stupid blood loss would cause his own death, and his corpse would just be rolled over the side as a precaution. Nice to have something to look forward to.

He was teetering against the edge again, and no sooner did he realize he was closer to falling off than he was to staying on than Huntington took another swipe that sent him and caused him to lose his balance. His foot slipped against the wet ground and he felt himself leave the platform, falling feet-down off sanctuary to the ground-

His mutilated hand caught on to the ledge and held to it long enough for him to swing his other arm up for support. The knife fell out and down towards the ground, never to be seen by him again. Quickly, he stole a glance downwards, and immediately wished he had not. He had been up here so many times with Harry and Hermione, and not until now did he finally comprehend why this the tallest tower in the castle.

He could only barely make out Hagrid's hut out of all the brown and green dots below him. Falling from this height, he wondered if he would be able to figure out the charm to keep him from hitting the ground before he actually did, or if he would plummet straight to the center of the earth before he would get the chance. Blimey, it was high...and then there was his dislike for the heights, coming in then. From a broomstick, heights were no problem. Here...Good God, was it bad.

(Lord, take care of me, because if you don't, you're going to end up with me on your hands)

He looked back up and saw Huntington standing over him, twirling the knife around between his fingers.

"How's about this, then?" he asked. "Role reversal, me standing over you, about to push you off into nothingness. Fitting."

He lifted his foot and slammed it down. Ron inched his hand away, but winced as his pinky and ring fingers caught the impact of what felt like an anvil smash into them. How much more damage could his hands take, he wondered, before they would finally fall off?

Well, he answered himself as the foot was raised up again, he was about to find out.

The second time, he took his hand off entirely. Hanging by one hand and looking down certainly gave him a new perspective on his life, though the only thing that he knew for certain was that if he ever made it out of this, he would ensure that his job would never end him up dangling from a tower. Even if he had to quit, this was never going to happen again.

He brought his hand back and took the other off as Huntington tried a third time.

"Hold still, damn you!" Huntington screamed over the rain. "Let me kill you in peace already!"

Yeah, I'll get right on that, mate, Ron thought begrudgingly, knowing that the freak would be getting his wish in a matter of minutes. How long could he hope to keep this up? Not very, with one hand pretty much out of comi-

He yelped as Huntington's foot came down square on his punctured hand and remained there, pressing firmly into the wound and made it feel like he was tearing it wide open. He gritted his teeth, the tears flowing down his face along with the rain. Gods, that hurt...

He looked up at Huntington's psychotic grin as he felt the foot drag his hand off the ledge, and it was at that point that the dawning realization of what was about to happen. His wand was in his other hand, just by his two fingers, but he could not conjure any spells to his mind; and really, what was the bother? It was done, he was sure of it at this point. He felt his hand going off the ledge, bit by bit, until his finger and the foot that was about to kill him was the only thing keeping him holding on...

And then McAllen ran from the side and tackled Huntington and threw him to the floor. Ron felt himself fall, but held on by his other hand, grasping at the bump between the ledge and the floor that at the moment was the only thing keeping him from falling a couple thousand feet to his death.

He grunted, trying to swing his leg onto the bricks jutting out of the wall, but the rain combined with his lack of foot-eye coordination made it difficult. The more he tried, the faster his foot slipped off and dangled over thin air.

He felt like a fool, and he was sure he looked like one. Here he was, a full-time Auror, no longer a clumsy Hogwarts student, now dangling single-handedly off the side of the Astronomy Tower, covered in cuts and bruises, his whole body feeling on fire, his hand mauled to the point of no saving, while the worst mass murderer since Voldemort was battling it out with one of his men. Well, he thought, it could have been worse. He could have had toilet paper stuck to his shoe.

No more feeling sorry for himself. McAllen could not take Huntington by himself, he would surely be killed. He had to get up there and pry them apart; the two of them together could possibly do it.

With a loud grunt, he swung his foot onto the brick. It slipped a little, but he forced his foot to hold in its place with a stern mental message. He took a deep breath, making sure his foot was steady where it was, before swinging his other arm back onto the ledge. His fingers grasped at the bump in the ledge and held fast, held hard, while he secured his foot into a crack in the wall to keep him for a little while.

Grunting and panting, he raised himself up to peek over the side of the tower. Holding himself up, he could see Huntington and McAllen rolling around, grabbing at each others throats, one over the other. The knife had landed near the middle of the tower, out of their reach. Sometimes they came close to the edges, but they always managed to steer away and roll around the circular perimeter.

McAllen punched him in the face, picked him up by the collar, and slammed his head back down onto the concrete. He raised his fist to punch again, but Huntington flipped them over and slammed him against the wall. He hit his head against it twice before McAllen flipped them back over and punched him once, twice-

On the third punch, Huntington moved his head. The result was the fist hitting the wall, making a loud cracking noise.

"OW! SON OF A BITCH!" McAllen screamed, falling backwards and clutching his hand in pain.

Huntington leapt back upon him, knife back in his hand, blade pointed downward. McAllen caught his arm in time, but the result was him laying on his back, both his hands struggling against a knife that, at any wrong move, would go plunging right into his eye.

Ron kicked his feet up off their resting places as he scurried to get back over the wall. Clawing at the slippery surface surface, he reached forward, with every ounce of willpower trying to get himself back up onto solid ground. His chest worked with him, his stomach heaving as he hoisted himself up. With nothing to grab onto, and the rain hampering his progress at every turn, it was difficult.

He positioned his foot on another brick, and it slipped, once again throwing his lower half into open air. He slid backwards a little, but he dug his nails into the granite, scratching them against it until they were almost nothing, but he kept his place as he swung his foot back onto the brick and yanked himself up.

It was mind over matter, and the faster he made it up there the better. McAllen was in a losing battle, as the knife was inching itself closer and closer to his eyeball and to the point of going right through. Huntington's free hand was aiding the other arm, pushing down with all his force, while the Auror tried to push against it with one good hand and one broken hand. The blade inched ever so closely...

With a loud, pained grunt, Ron rolled back onto the solid ground, giving a quick blessing for finally being off the ledge, rolled to his feet, and slammed into Huntington at full force, knocking him away and allowing McAllen to breathe.

He felt pain in his side as he felt the knife slide into his left side and come out, taking a bit of flesh with him. He yelled out in pain and fell back, clutching his side as blood flowed freely from the wound.

He looked up as Huntington stood, face splashed with blood, bruised and scarred and broken, grinning a missing-toothed grin. He raised his wand so that it was pointed straight at Ron's face, giggling softly but slowly building in volume. Ron still had his wand in his free hand and he raised it-

"Expelliarmus!" The words of the Disarming Charm flew out with the red-colored spell as it sent his wand sprawling towards McAllen, away from its owner. Defenseless, Ron just glared up as Huntington continued laughing, prepared to say the curse that at any moment would be finishing the fight.

"Deviggi-"

The words were quenched in his throat as an arm reached out from behind and wrapped around, and a second hand plunged a small knife into his side, in between his rib cage. The smile slid off Huntington's face as a look of pained shock fluttered across it, and a small gasp escaped his lips.

And then Skip DuMont's face appeared from over his shoulder, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, his brow furrowed, his red-stained teeth gritted harshly. For the first time in the years he had known him, Ron was actually afraid of his friend; he looked every bit as murderous as any Death Eater had ever had.

Skip then began to stab Huntington repeatedly in the same spot, and with every stab he took he gasped out the words:

"You two-timing," stab! "back-stabbing," stab! "lowlife," stab! "Cowardly son of a BITCH!"

At the last word, he ripped the knife out and plunged it into Huntington's back, right into his spinal cord. He then fell backwards, knife dropping to the floor, his hands returning to cover his wound that was flowing rivers of blood all down his front.

Huntington gasped for air as he staggered backwards, then fell to his knees just before he was to go over the cliff. His eyes were still wide with surprise as he tried to form the words that were just not coming out anymore. They could see the emotions dance across his face- first disbelief, then fear, and finally pain- as he tried to keep his eyelids from closing, a job that was becoming more and more impossible with each fleeting second.

(I...they killed me? Son of a...)

Ron held out his hand to McAllen, who threw him his wand, and stood up and crossed over to him, stopping directly in front of him. Huntington looked up as he raised his wand so that it was pointed directly at his face.

In that moment, Ron saw that last moment with Cunningham on the edge of the lake. The feeling of ending it was just as strong now as it had three years before, when he had sent his former partner over the edge of the cliff and put his legacy to rest. He glared down at this new man, the follower of Cunningham, and he bent down so that they were face to face for the very last time.

"This time," he growled, his voice filled with snake's venom, "stay dead."

And in one final fluid move, he stood up straight and planted a kick right in the center of Huntington's chest that sent him spiraling off the edge of the tower and down into the void below. He stood over the ledge and looked down at the rapidly decreasing dot that had been his friend-turned-enemy and did not look away until he could see it no more, and did not move until he was sure, finally, that he was dead.

Kinda short, but mix it with the fight from before and I think it's a good way to go.

Yup, Skip's still alive. Come on, guys, I'm not THAT heartless. Give me SOME credit, jeez.

Well, anyway, not quite done yet. I still got two more chapters for you guys to read, so stay tuned, review, and I'll see you very, VERY soon.