NB: It's here folks, Chapter 28. I was considering postponing the finale to make room for more character development, but I found I couldn't put in anything meaningful without just having it be pointless filler, so it's all kicking off next chapter! Expect a three to four part finale, enough to slake even the most thirsty of readers. This chapter is NOT beta'd, as my good friend Monty is out of the country, but I hope it stands up to your harsh critique!

Enjoy, and please review!

Chapter 28 – The Beginning of the End

"So..."

"Plans are in motion, Harry. The Minister has got hold of the Unspeakables' test results on the Portkey you retrieved, and they have uncovered some complex Arithmancy to do with Portkeying through the Fidelus on the Riddle Mansion; Tom's work, I can only assume. I feel this will help us work out how to break the wards on Voldemort's stronghold."

Harry shifted in place where he was sitting in Dumbledore's office – he had snuck in under his Invisibility Cloak, which Dumbledore had retrieved from Grimmauld Place, along with the Marauder's Map. Harry was garbed in his pure white robes, while Dumbledore was in a typical eclectic green set. The portraits on the wall were all obscured with black cloth, a convenient privilege the Headmaster was able to command over his companions. The black marble Portkey sat on Dumbledore's desk, along with various scraps of parchment with Arithmantic scribbling on them, and the Marauder's map lay between them, crawling with tiny ink dots.

"I'm planning to take mainly Muggles. I'm not going to cleanse the place from the inside – I'm going to just blow the house up. Maximum confusion in the ranks."

Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought. "Not a bad idea, as it happens. Tom is powerful, but you have proven to be able to stand up to him in the past; forgive me for saying that you haven't won every time..." he looked at Harry's corpse-white skin and bloodless lips with a regretful face, "but trying to take on him in his base of operations would be sheer folly. Destroying the house would be a needed show of force and a massive boost to morale, as well as fostering Muggle-Wizard relations through the combined operation. How do you intend to do this?"

Harry paused for a moment. "I'll probably break the wards, have the Muggles hide in cover, and then just start throwing spells at the house, I suppose. I can't imagine it will have that many defensive shields in the brickwork – the Fidelus would probably be assumed to be enough. When the Death Eaters come out, I'll have the Muggles shoot them. If things get too hairy, we run. I don't intend this to be the "end of all things" or whatever, just a show of force."

"Better to not commit ourselves at present. We have no idea what Voldemort has in his arsenal, unfortunately. The only spy we have is Severus, and he gets Obliviated after every meeting, and I can only discern rudimentary things through Legilimency. We know Tom has Dark creatures, perhaps three hundred Death Eaters, and is aiming to kill both Rufus and I as soon as possible; of course he is unaware you are still... alive, for lack of a better word. Of course the only downside to this plan is that Voldemort will likely relocate should he survive, meaning we will have to find his base again."

"But in the meantime we could pull every Death Eater we have tabs on and interrogate them all before killing them. Thin his ranks as much as possible, put the wind up him. If we can make him do something stupid in desperation, then we could win this thing quicker than we thought. Or, at worst, cripple him so we can have more room to manoeuvre."

"Ah, me..." Dumbledore said with a heavy sigh. "I've had to make choices with people's lives for as long as I can remember, Harry. Grindelwald was just the beginning. I lost so many people... we didn't have an Order back then, I was attached as a young wizard to one of the British Governments magical intelligence corps – strictly for the war, and as secret as the Pacification Force is now. I remember some of the attacks... passed off as incendiary bombing, but it was often far worse. Inferi prowled the streets of some of the most devastated cities at night – London saw a few, Stalingrad was... horrible, Dresden was infested towards the end of the war, part of the reason for the firebombing... the War itself helped to cover the Wizarding World's tracks, but of course Grindelwald and his Europe-wide organisation just revelled in the destruction. Dark times, Harry..."

Harry sighed. "And we'll see them again if we don't stop Riddle this time around."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "We'll see worse."


Little Hangleton Graveyard

The graveyard was deserted; truly a place of rest at that point late at night. The moon was shining, nearly full, and dim silver light barely illuminated the gravestones and their inscriptions. A black-cloaked figure strode through the large wrought iron gates, a large hood obscuring his face as he stalked between the headstones of the dead. Before long he found himself in the centre of the reasonably large plot of land where the deceased of Little and Greater Hangleton ended up, and he stood still for a moment.

Then the strange man reached into his pocket and withdrew a white stick of yew, before walking towards a random headstone and pausing, as though gathering himself.

Then Lord Voldemort spoke. He spat a whispered incantation, before crouching and tapping his wand onto the earthy ground of the graveyard, and hissed some more complex Latin spells. Finally, he pulled some silver powder from an inner pocket in his robes and tossed it onto the ground, where it flared brightly and then vanished. For a moment nothing happened.

Then the skies darkened, and cloud swirled as if from nowhere to blot out the moon, leaving the graveyard swathed in true midnight darkness. Voldemort smiled from beneath his hood, and tapped the ground again with his wand, whispering a final series of words.

After a few seconds a sound of scraping and scrabbling could be heard, before finally the earth itself began to churn and small pits of sinking dirt and mud formed over the majority of graves in the cemetery. Voldemort watched as, slowly, hands and arms began to force their way through the gravelly dirt and onto the surface, and bit by bit corpses began to dig themselves out of their graves.

Young and old, male and female, in varying stages of decomposition from surprisingly fresh bodies to desiccated skeletons propelled by magic; the Inferi numbered in the dozens, and all had a chilling red glow in their eyes, or sockets if their eyes had rotted. Once they had dug themselves out, the Inferi stood to attention by their graves, as Voldemort looked on. Notably a few graves remained untapped; that of Tom Riddle Senior, and two other Riddles. Voldemort knew that familial bone magic could be potentially useful.

He observed his Inferi army, admiring his handiwork in the fluidity of their motions; these were not the clumsy crude creations he had made to guard his Horcrux back when he was a youth, no, these were impressive creations wrought of Darkest magic and enhanced by virtue of his own power.

He hissed a command and the Inferi obeyed, kicking and scooping the earth they had disturbed back into their graves, before Voldemort finished up with a spell which swiftly replaced the grass that had been uprooted, leaving the graveyard as it had been before; simply now devoid of occupants. The Inferi, at another command from Voldemort, then turned to march swiftly up the hill to the Riddle Mansion, which overshadowed the cemetery like a brooding giant. From where Voldemort stood the house looked abandoned, but he knew once he walked through its ward boundaries the place would come to life with lights in the windows and Death Eaters patrolling the grounds. He intended to move the Inferi to the warded eaves where the Dementors had roosted before the blasted Phoenix – Potter - had destroyed most of them.

The Ministry wouldn't know what had hit it when sixty Inferi ended up in the Atrium. He was making his move soon, and soon the Wizarding World would be his, and then...

Well. Why stop at Britain?


The International Confederation of Wizards, Atlantic Ocean

The small island where the ICW was to be found was situated in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean, contained in a magical barrier which ensured calm waters. Roughly the size of Vatican City, the ICW was a collection of grand gothic buildings; a library, an assembly hall and a reception building being the most prominent.

At present the ICW had been called to an emergency meeting by Albus Dumbledore, the Supreme Mugwump; the third such meeting in a few weeks, an amount that was practically unheard of. The thirty main representatives of the major magical nations, prominently European, with the USA, China, India and Russia as the big players elsewhere, were all seated in the assembly hall awaiting Dumbledore. Most of them were impatient; no doubt it would be concerning the damnable Voldemort again – why Britain couldn't deal with its own problems, no one knew.

The assembly hall was a large modern space with a horse-shoe shaped set of seats, enough for fifty people, all facing a central podium where the person addressing the ICW stood. The various venerable wizards present filled the majority of the seating. Dumbledore himself stood, resplendent in his purple and gold Mugwump regalia, at the podium.

"Good afternoon," he said, enhanced by a Sonorous charm, once everyone was seated. "Representatives of the major magical nations, I have called you together as the Supreme Mugwump to ask you, one last time, for your aid."

There was an eruption of jeers and babble, as various delegates made known their displeasure at apparently having their time wasted once more.

"Please, let me finish," Dumbledore said calmly. "The Dark Lord Voldemort," several people flinched, "is growing in power and influence day by day. You must have heard of the massacres in our Diagon Alley shopping district, and the village of Hogsmeade, where several of my students were killed. The one man who seemed to be able to stand against him in single combat, the vigilante commonly known as the Phoenix, has been killed by Voldemort's hand. I come before you as the Supreme Mugwump, but also as a Headmaster worried for his students, and a man fearing for the wellbeing of his friends. Britain is holding out, but the influence of such a man as Voldemort is potent indeed, and international help would be greatly appreciated."

There was silence for a moment following his statement, before a dark skinned wizard in brown robes stood up from his seat; the delegate from India. "Supreme Mugwump," he began in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, "I have heard disturbing rumours from Britain. Is it true you have liaised strongly with the Muggles? You have accepted a Muggle military force into your Ministry?"

Dumbledore nodded, and there was a sharp intake of breath from the assembled wizards, and several shook their heads. Dumbledore frowned at this. "And what, if I may pose the question to Delegate Chopra, is wrong with this?"

The Indian representative paused for a moment, before seemingly choosing his words carefully. "Mugwump... they're Muggles. I-"

Dumbledore's frown deepened, and the air grew cold in the meeting chamber. "And that is part of your justification for condemning Great Britain, oldest of the magical states, to potential ruin? Your dislike of non-magical folk?"

There was a general murmur of assent and anti-Muggle sentiment, even from the more liberal of the delegates, such as the United States and France. Dumbledore knew the overwhelming majority of those assembled were considered pureblood, and there were certainly no Muggleborns in the ICW. He shook his head sadly, gripping the pulpit with both hands. "Just remember this, those who have refused my pleas for aid thrice," Dumbledore began darkly, "whatever happens to Britain, who apparently must stand alone in this, the consequences will affect you all. Racism at the heart of our community... you're all worse than the Muggles you look down upon. At the very least they acknowledge their prejudices and don't hide them behind supposed tradition."

There were several sharp intakes of breath at that. With one last look, Dumbledore tapped his wand on the pulpit and there was a flash of scarlet light as Dumbledore disapparated, indicating the end of the sitting of the ICW.


"My... Lord?" the enhanced Dementor known as Umbra hissed, hovering in front of Voldemort's seat in the Dark Lord's opulent private quarters in the upper floors of the magically-expanded Riddle Mansion.

"We attack in two days," Voldemort said calmly. "You are to lead the assault on the Ministry, via the main Atrium. I will organise the Floo to be fixed to this mansion. You will command several Death Eaters, and the majority of the Dark Creatures under my control, including the Inferi. Do not fail me." The last statement was said with such finality that even the Dementor felt stirrings of apprehension. The Dark Lord was staring at the creature with his intense, unblinking eyes, until finally the Dementor hissed its assent, and Voldemort turned back to his work.

"Remember, Scrimgeour is your primary target, and the Auror leaders second. Spill their blood. There is no vigilante to get in your way this time."


One Day Later

Scrimgeour looked Dumbledore in the eye, sitting at his desk in his office, with Dumbledore's head nestled in the fireplace. "So... you think we have an attack coming, potentially tomorrow. An attack on the Ministry."

"Yes," Dumbledore said calmly. "Severus was able to overhear a conversation between Voldemort and his... creation, Umbra. Although he was routinely Obliviated on leaving Voldemort's stronghold, I managed to glean the gist of it using Legilimency – unfortunately Severus was knocked unconscious during this and experience a good deal of pain, and is unable to present evidence personally; he is still recovering."

Scrimgeour rubbed his eyes. "This is it, then."

Dumbledore sighed. "I would say it is, Rufus. I would say it is."

"And what of Potter?"

"He is going to lead an assault on Voldemort's headquarters, using the Magical Pacification soldiers as best he can. Either we can pre-empt any attack, or we can do maximum damage while Voldemort is absent."

"A risky move, Dumbledore. Potter is one of the few that can actually duel V-Voldemort," he swallowed, now finally using the name everyone feared, "we might need him. And now you've put me in a fucking difficult situation. I can't evacuate the Ministry, as Voldemort will a) realise you have a spy and potentially kill Snape, and b) probably just attack somewhere else, maybe even a Muggle area. So I'm having to balance on a knife-edge, and try to keep as many of our forces as possible in the Ministry building so if Voldemort attacks, we're able to meet his assault. This is too much, Dumbledore. I have to sacrifice innocents."

"As have I, in the past. It's just something we have to do, as the leaders of these people. The ICW is not going to help us, they're racist and rotten to the core, I have unpleasantly discovered. Should we make it out of this in one piece, I intend to... put pressure on the international community to be more liberal in their views."

"Scare them shitless through the fact you could take them all on and win, you mean," Scrimgeour said with a snort. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, and gave a small smile, but said nothing.

"Right," Scrimgeour said, getting out of his seat. "I will get the Unspeakables to set up some nasty surprises in the Atrium, probably under the pretence of ward maintenance, and inform Shacklebolt of a... need for vigilance, as Mad-Eye would say. What of your Order?"

"They will remain in Grimmauld Place and assist if necessary. I have a growing feeling that Hogwarts herself may also be a target should Voldemort attack, but I have no idea about how he thinks he could breach the castle."

"He did it to Potter before the boy time-travelled." Scrimgeour pointed out, running a hand through his lion-like hair.

"Yes, with the help of a potent dark artefact that I know for a fact he hasn't been able to retrieve, or may not even know about – I have kept in contact with the Ministry of the country where the artefact is currently hidden, and they have reported nothing out of the ordinary. No... I feel if he attacks Hogwarts, it will be through hitherto unforeseen methods."

"Something escaping the great Albus Dumbledore?" Scrimgeour said with a raised eyebrow. Dumbledore shook his disembodied head with a small smile.

"There is, lamentably, a first time for everything."


Harry stood on top of a medium-sized hill overlooking a sleepy village, the sun beginning to set in the sky. He sighed as he observed the twinkling lights begin to turn on in the collection of buildings below, in anticipation of the darkening sky. With keen eyes Harry picked out a graveyard, an abandoned mansion and a small scrub of woodland behind said mansion, which was on top of a raised patch of land overshadowing the village. Little Hangleton had no idea what was about to happen to it.

Harry paused for a moment and then sat down, garbed in his pure white robes and with his obsidian-black mask securely fixed in place. He looked at his white-gloved hand and pulled off the leather glove and held his hand up to the dying light. It was so pale it was nearly translucent, and the skin was papery and dry, sustained and held together through Dumbledore's potent magical ritual. He had been feeling a bit more... human since he had visited Hogwarts and lived around the castle for a few days – Dumbledore had informed him the ambient magic of the castle and ground had invigorated his magically-charged body, and it helped that the Headmaster of the school had been the one to resurrect him. Harry had felt his heart pump sporadically – a strange feeling to be aware of – and had been able to breathe, albeit very asthmatically, for short periods of time. His body was showing signs of life, but was hardly going to restore itself through virtue of being near Hogwarts.

Still, it was nice to feel alive again, even if it was just to feel his heart struggle to pump congealed blood around his clogged vessels.

He cast a spell with his left hand, noting the time from the misty blue timepiece which appeared in the air before him, and counted under his breath for several seconds.

"Three... Two... One..."

There was a rush of wind, and thirteen figures materialised beside him, the majority of them falling unsteadily to the ground as the Portkey dumped them unceremoniously onto the hillside. Harry got to his feet and observed the twelve Magical Pacification soldiers and one wizard gather themselves and turn to face him, most of them looking a little unnerved. Harry, however, hissed in shock when he saw the wizard.

Sirius.

"Harry?" Sirius said weakly, seeing an imposing black-masked figure standing on the hillside.

"Sirius..." Harry said, and took two steps forward before embracing the black shaggy-haired wizard. "I'm alright, Sirius. I just want to end this," he said tightly, before they separated and Harry looked at the assembled Muggle soldiers.

They were all tall men of varying ethnicities, but all garbed in the same black outfits and carrying the same equipment; some Ministry protective talismans, grenades, a backpack filled with Merlin knew what, and several firearms. Harry nodded at them, his featureless mask hiding his face, and the soldiers nodded back, some nervously.

"We will strike soon," Harry said crisply. "The target is that mansion," he guestured at the Riddle Mansion below in the valley. "It is heavily warded, and filled with hostiles. The objective is not to capture, but merely to sow confusion, break morale and cause as much damage as possible. Some of the soldiers seemed to perk up at the prospect of this."

"Sir," one of them said, an imposing black man who looked like he could bench press Hagrid, "The house looks uninhabited."

"Part of the wards. I will bring them down."

Sirius, standing next to Harry in black robes, looked at him oddly. "Break a Fidelus?"

"Dumbledore and I have been working on it." That was enough for Sirius, who nodded.

"It is nearly nightfall," Harry said, as the sky began to darken. "Twenty minutes after sunset, we will make our move. First to the graveyard," he pointed it out, "and then onto the mansion. Sirius and I will break the wards and began to bring the place down, your jobs are to protect us and kill any aggressive Death Eaters. There may be Dark Creatures present; shoot to kill, but warn me should you see anything out of the ordinary."

"Dark Creatures?" the black soldier, seemingly the de facto leader of the group, said quizzically. "Werewolves, Vampires?"

"You should have been briefed on these," Harry said, "but I would forgive you for being sceptical. Yes, they exist, yes they might be there. As I said, shoot to kill."

With that, the Muggles began to check and double check their equipment waiting for the sun to set, while Harry sat on the grass to talk to Sirius.

"So Harry... Dumbledore told me what he had done..." Sirius began awkwardly.

"Just try not to think about it, Sirius," Harry said wearily. "I've gotten used to it already. I'm a walking corpse, nature itself hates me, all magical creatures instinctively flee me bar the Thestrals... and I don't breathe, I don't eat, my heart doesn't beat... my body is rotting, yet I'm still here. Harry Potter, eh?"

"Boy Who Lived," Sirius said with a small smile. There was another awkward silence. "James and Lily... they would be pretty damn proud of you, Harry."

"What, proud that I've fought this war once and lost, and then got myself killed on my second chance?" he said with a hint of bitterness, staring out at the sky, which was now glowing with muted reds and yellows of a sunset.

"No, no... proud that you endured it all, and are still fighting for what's right. You've done more than us, and more than any of us ever will, to bring down V-V... Voldemort, and that's what matters."

Harry looked at Sirius and smiled behind his mask, before looking at the sunset. "Its beautiful, isn't it?" he said wistfully. Sirius nodded, and they sat there for a moment watching the sun slowly sink behind the horizon, infusing the sky with bright autumnal colours.

"Gryffindor colours," Harry said with a short laugh. "Good omen?"

"We can only hope," Sirius said. "We can only hope."

"Well, its time. Lets head out."


Voldemort stood in the main magically expanded entrance hall of the Riddle Mansion, surrounded by his troops and subordinates. The full magical might of the Heir of Slytherin was arrayed in that one room, suited and booted and prepared for battle. Werewolves, Veela (to the delight of the vat majority), Vampires, Death Eaters, Inferi (to the disgust of all those present), a couple of trolls and the remaining handful of Dementors (reining in their abilities) were all facing the Dark Lord, who stood with his back to the front door.

"My followers," he began, "tonight is the night. You have all dreamt of a cleaner world, a word without the filth of blood pollution. A world where the right beings have power, and the weak are swept away and cleansed. Tonight is the night where this world is created. You all have your transportation devices, you all have your destinations and objectives. A dozen of my loyal Death Eaters and several of Fenrir's wolves," he nodded at the savage Greyback, who was surrounded by his hairy brethren, "will remain behind to guard the mansion. They will be... rewarded for their loyalty in this. For the rest of you... do not fail me."

With that final word, the Portkeys activated and nearly all the Death Eaters along with a handful of dark creatures, including Voldemort, vanished. There was one long beat, and the rest of the congregation, mainly dark creatures, vanished in a plume of green Floo fire, leaving the entrance hall of the Riddle Mansion empty bar the guards, who sauntered off to man their posts.

The Dark Lord's attack had begun.


The Ministry

The operations room was quiet that evening, and there was only one wizard on duty manning the scrying screens. The wizard in question was sipping some coffee and scanning the Minister's Defence Column in that morning's Prophet, when the scrying screens suddenly lit up, and caught his eye.

The man's blood ran cold, and he began to feel sick as he processed what he saw. On the Hogwarts screen, nothing had changed. The Hogsmeade screen, however, now showed a black mass of "Unknown" which had just Portkeyed in and was surrounding the Muggle forces camped there, including two unfeasibly large dots which could easily be giants. But worst of all was the Ministry building scrying screen. The Atrium was now full of dots, and the worst thing was that they were all clearly labelled.

Dementor? – Unknown

Dementors – Azkaban Renegades – WARNING. WILD DEMENTORS.

Werewolves – Germanic Origin

Veela – Eastern European Origin

Death Eaters – Unknown – WARNING. KNOWN FUGITIVES.

Inferi – WARNING. NECROMANTIC MAGIC.

"Oh..." the ministry worker said, as he scrambled to hit the alarm buttons mounted on the wall next to the screens. He watched in horror as the dots labelled as Ministry workers manning the front desks, and using the main lift, winked out of existence as the people they represented were killed.

"Oh fuck."