The air picked up to the force of a gale storm in less than a minute, blowing detritus into faces and causing Umbridge to fall to the ground. There was the sound of troops marching coming from throughout the forest, and the howl of dogs singing into the ears of those that had wished to witness. The sky, lit with stars and the full moon only moments before, grew black and clouded over with an unnatural mist that zoomed over the ground.

There in front, leading the slow-marching vanguard, was the limping Iseult Blackone leaning against a quarterstaff. Transforming her eyes into those of a hawk, Airmed observed that her enemy was wearing a similar suit of leather as she was. Her sword was stuck into her belt, and in her other hand was the handle of her morningstar, the chain and ball slung over her shoulder as she walked. Her grin was gone, for once, but the seared sneer on her smug face made Airmed's hackles rise.

On either of Iseult's sides walked twenty of the Cwn Annwn, the last of their kind. Their pure white fur was offset by the blood-red of their eyes and ears. The alpha immediately to the right of Iseult let loose a howl to the hidden moon, sending chills down the spines of everyone present.

After Euan's death, Airmed, Marcus, and Niamh had made it their personal vendetta to destroy them all, in retribution of all of their family those hounds of the Otherworld had slaughtered. Obliterating their numbers from the hundreds to only twenty made Airmed smile grimly at her accomplishment.

Behind Iseult and her loyal hounds, dark sorcerers, garbed all in black and armed to the teeth, and dullahans, hooded and cloaked, walked in an intimidating formation. The dullahans were armed with their otherworldly swords only, their hidden eyes staring out at their next possible victims. In amidst the sorcerers, many of whom Airmed had grown up with at the Academy or who she recognized from the battlefield, were people were white masks. From Dumbledore's intelligence, these mask-wearing folk were Death Eaters, Voldemort's contribution to the vast army that they now faced. At the back were ten giants, dragging their clubs behind them and looking dimwittedly brutal.

As the Dark Army neared the lake where Airmed and her scraggly band of witnesses stood, the black mist along the ground coagulated into a human form at Iseult's left side. Voldemort's serpentine face smirked at Airmed as he fingered his wand. His glaring red eyes made him appear to be of the Sidhe, but he was nothing more than a perversion, an abomination to magic. He seemed eager for the approaching battle.

When the massive army finally stopped a football field's length away from Airmed and her witnesses, Iseult walked forward casually, as if this was nothing more than a simple conversation between old acquaintances. Airmed walked forward into the neutral zone to meet her. "It's a lovely night to meet with the Morrigan, wouldn't your agree?" Iseult's hand rested on her sword's pommel, as she looked across the lake.

"It would be, but I have no plans to meet with her tonight." Airmed's voice was just as light, belying the steel blade that she twirled in her hand.

"Your side seems to be a little bare tonight, she-wolf." Iseult's smirk returned. "Do your people think that you were too arrogant to accept this arrangement of ours, or are they just afraid to see their champion fall?" She chuckled a few times, her sneer growing deeper.

Airmed cocked an eyebrow as she turned to look at her witnesses. "Really, Iseult? Are you sure that you're not just seeing things?" Airmed put two fingers into the corners of her mouth and whistled sharply.

As if a massive curtain had been pulled aside, the entire first company of the Manx Armed Forces appeared as if out of nowhere: three hundred battle-hardened knights and soldiers, dressed and armed for the fight of their lives. Ferrovax and his dragon kin stood side by side with Airgead-Sciathán and her griffins at the back, numbering easily two hundred all told. The soldiers and knights were in tight lined formations, giving away nothing in their faces or postures. The entire group was augmented with both armies of the Unseelie and Seelie Courts, five hundred additional troops. All of the soldiers and creatures standing behind Airmed were stone-faced, and they were almost double the number of Dark Ones on the field. That did not include the thirty or so wizards that Dumbledore was able to summon. The Order of the Phoenix would fight alongside the Manxmen, although many looked queasy at the thought of fighting alongside the foreign mages.

Iseult nodded her head, tossing her staff to the ground. "I'm impressed, Airmed. But come now… let's to business."

They moved to the area between their two forces, the two old foes motioning to their forces to remain where they were. Voldemort took this moment and spoke up, the disdain dripping from his voice like corn syrup. "Well, Dumbledore… It appears as if you were unsuccessful in telling the world that I was back." He chortled. "Pity… I was hoping for more of a challenge."

Umbridge's jaw fell in horror. "But… but… you can't be real! You can't be back! This must be a trick!" Her head twisted between Dumbledore and Voldemort so fast, that if she spun any quicker, her head would have fallen to the ground. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide. Then, the anger kicked in. With a red face akin to Filch, she turned on Dumbledore and whipped her wand out, its tip pointing at the Headmaster. "You brought He-Who-Must-No-Be-Named here? What about the students? You traitor!"

"I grow tired of your whining." Voldemort lifted his hand to point at one of his Death Eaters. "Shut her up, would you, Yaxley? Keep her alive, though, until after this duel."

"Your wish is my command, my lord." A man in a white mask flicked his wand. "Silencio!"

Voldemort turned to Iseult, a quick look on his face that morphed from disdain to contempt. "You had better be quick, Manxman. I wish this to be over with soon."

"Patience, ally of mine. Rituals run deep in our race." Iseult raised her voice from where she stood. "You will have your battle, but not yet."

Conn and Donnchadh moved at an unseen signal, unsheathing their swords and drawing a twenty-foot circle in the rocky shore. "Let no one enter this circle while both inside still live. Let no man, creature, or spirit enter while both combatants still live. Only once one is dead, may this circle and ward be broken." When the circle was completed, both men cut their palms and activated the ward with their blood. Green and red flames lit up around the fighters, burning in a massive circle with the combined force of the magical powers.

As soon as the ward was complete, Iseult moved in with the attack, tossing a ball of pure flame at Airmed, but she was too slow to aim at the Airmed-wolf charging at her. Airmed lunged at Iseult's knees, but was taken down with a roaring blow from the morningstar. Airmed flew back and landed just inside the wards and transformed back into a human. Iseult sneered at the sight of Airmed laying on the ground, cradling her ribs as she stood up and grimaced. The crack against her torso broke ribs, but she still fought on.

Working as quickly as a lightning strike, both drew their swords and the duel began in earnest. Airmed used a high guard, while Iseult employed a low guard. Both women were well matched in all ways, reacting to their moves and working through the unseen patterns of the sword's dance. Attacking and defending, both knew of every move that the other was going to make. Both had been trained by the same man for six years, with the same technique and same weapons. The advantage kept switching from one woman to another, never wielding more than an inch. They traveled around the entire circle, never touching the flames but coming close constantly.

Harry stood aside, watching the parries and ripostes come and go, watching the crescent swings of the steel blades glow in the moonlight. Blood began to pour as the blades made contact with skin over and over, always in areas that would be lethal if the blows were deep enough. Airmed was at a disadvantage with her broken ribs. Still, she never gave an inch. The look on her face and the way that she held her blade was enough to made normal men wet themselves in abject terror.

Manxmen, however, were not normal men. They had been pounded against anvils their entire life, knowing nothing but service to their country, to their monarchs. For a race that was declared backwards by magical Britain, they were some of the more selfless people that Harry ever had the honor of meeting. Even now, as Airmed was fighting with all that she had against someone that had taken everything away from her, she was not doing it just for herself and for her oaths. She had sworn an oath to the Isle to give up everything, if that was what was needed, to serve.

Iseult's sword glowed with power and became three glowing black blades against Airmed's one, each fighting independently of the other. His teacher, however, saw through the illusion and tried to stab Iseult in the stomach. It was not deep enough, leaving only a long gash. It was Iseult's turn to cry out in pain, but she growled at Airmed and stood straight for the fight.

The sword duel continued, but no one saw Iseult reach for the hilt of her sword and dislodge something. The crowd only saw the sword transform into the morningstar and crack against Airmed's leg, injuring her knee. No one in the Manx 1st Company moved a muscle when Airmed screamed in agony as she dropped her sword and cradled her knee against the fall.

Airmed fell to the ground with a stifled cry, and a cheer of victory rose from the dark army. Iseult stood over the fallen form of her foe, her sneer wide and grimacing. Harry and Neville held back Niamh from interfering, although they wanted nothing more than to join him. Airmed had given them both strict instructions, and they had no choice but to follow her command.

"You stupid girl. I should have killed you, when I took your eye." Iseult raised her sword and skewered Airmed in the meat of her leg, getting another scream of agony from her foe. Being petty, Iseult cocked her fist and punched Airmed's temple, dazing her. "You meddlesome little fool. Well, now we know that the Light will never win! The Darkness is stronger, more powerful, and we will always win!" She raised her head and laughed to the skies.

Iseult did not take into account that the duel was still on, or that Airmed was not dead yet. She was glad to enjoy the moment, to savour her victory near at hand. She stood and turned her back on Airmed, basking in the cheers of her vast army.

Iseult never noticed Airmed come to stand on her good leg, or reach for the glaive that she had tossed on the ground at the very beginning of the duel. She never saw the crescent swing of the blade's razor's edge as Airmed walked on shaky legs and struck her from behind. She only felt unexpected agony of her own as Airmed sliced through her back. The cheers from the dark army became horrified and surprised silence as they saw their leader fall to the ground.

"Lesson the first, Iseult: never turn your back on your enemy until they are dead." Airmed's voice was the only sound on the field. Her breathing was ragged as she watched her once-friend's legs crumple underneath her and fall to the ground. Airmed tilted her head, a look of calm rage on her face. "Your once-father taught us that."

Iseult managed to turn onto her back and try a last burst of fire magic, but Airmed deflected it with a wave of her hand. "How… it's not possible!"

Airmed did not listen to her pleas. "For my parents… for my brothers, Cian, Padriac, Drustan… for my sisters, Nuala and Saoirse… for Marcus…" Airmed's glaive glowed with blue light. She raised the blade and severed Iseult's throat. "For Euan." Blood gurgled from Iseult's throat as the dark sorcerer tried to gasp and speak. The red stained the sand and rocks as Iseult breathed her last few breaths.

The whole fight felt anticlimactic, but it was over. As quickly as she could muster, Airmed sprayed the corpse of her foe with Ravenclaw blue flames. The heat of the flames seared the air and roasted Iseult's body until it was charred black. Behind him, Harry heard a few people vomit at the smell.

The wards around the dueling circle dropped, and Airmed summoned her sword to her hand. Raising the steel high, Airmed let loose a battle cry. "FOR MANN!" The ringing of steel rang out as the entire Manx force charged forward, roaring the cry. The dark ones reeked of fear, but also of rage. They retaliated, and both forces crashed together like a tidal wave.

And so it was that the final battle between Light and Dark began.

Spell and swords flashed as both sides screamed in defiance. Ferrovax and Airgead-Sciathán led their kin in destroying the Cwn Annwn and dullahans, roaring swatches of fire and talons raised to attack. Death Eater and dark one attacked chaotically, falling to the blades and arrows of Manxmen. Dumbledore engaged Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy at once, swinging spells left and right with a vigour that defied his age. Tonks and Remus took on Fenrir Greyback and his werewolves, joined by the Seelie Queens and one hundred warriors. Sirius and Molly Weasley killed Macnair after a bloody duel.

Harry felt the pull of Voldemort and his magic, and remember what Airmed told him two weeks prior…

"Voldemort used a Manx ritual and the strength of the Darkness under Nudd and then Iseult to gain long life. He uses energy from the darkness to stay alive… It was an old Manx ritual of bone, blood, and flesh that gave him form three years ago. As long as the Darkness was holding great power, he could survive without a body… The only reason that you nearly defeated him as an infant was because your mother sent all of her magic into you in a force of love, and it almost destroyed his link with the Darkness… With Iseult dead, and the Darkness in disarray without a single form to coalesce around, he will be weak… Take the energy from him somehow, and he can be defeated with a single strike of a sword…"

During his time training at Longbottom Cottage, Airmed had taught Harry how to access the knowledge of black robes deceased and gone without going insane. One of the black robes of his familiar line, Sir Myrddin Griffinswing, had created a spell to leech energy from his foes. It was not a complicated spell, but the will must be strong, and the thoughts could not be interrupting.

Dividing his mind in two, Harry focused on the sword fight at hand, but also on latching onto Voldemort's magical core. As Harry fought, he kept a strong hand on the threads of magic that he had sent out to drain Voldemort. The energy he was draining away was oily and slick against his magic; it felt completely alien and wrong. Harry contained it within himself, working quicker as he fought his way through the anarchy.

Voldemort, like Iseult, felt it too late as he saw his spells grow weaker and weaker. The mighty Dark Lord felt as though he was fighting in quicksand, slowly losing his ability to focus. Like Airmed before him, Harry raised his blade high and sliced down Voldemort. The Dark Lord never saw the blade that sliced his back from shoulder to hip.

Faling to his knees, Voldemort's disbelieving face turned and took in Harry dressed in his Manx uniform, his sword bloody and his chainmail shining in the moonlight. "You… you can't be…" Harry saw it writ clearly on his face: Voldemort did not recognize him. He thought that Harry was just some nameless Manx knight that had usurped the prophecy.

Harry did not even deign to respond to the dying man's pleas. Instead, he drove his sword through Voldemort's heart, its tips stained black and bloody as it appeared through his back. It went through cleanly, but it resulted in a whiplash of energy and magic as Harry simultaneously released the pent-up energy that he had taken away. As Voldemort's body turned to ash, all of his followers fell underneath the sonic wave. The dark sorcerers turned to flee, but they fell to the Manx blades. Splinters of wands littered the ground.

There was no time to celebrate. The Manx soldiers, all bloodied and bruised and some broken, gathered the Death Eaters and snapped their wands. Airmed emerged from the battle leaning on Prince Fionn as she limped to where the remaining dark ones and Death Eaters were made to kneel. For every dark one (one hundred sixty-four, by the final tally), there was a Manx soldier with a blade ready.

Airmed let go of Fionn and stood as straight as she could next to her King and queen, coughing up some blood from her broken ribs. Her leg was dripping blood, but it appeared to be not as dire as it was first believed. Her wounds were many, but only her leg and ribs appeared to be in dire need of a blue robe. "You, who allied with the Dark Lord Voldemort and Iseult Blackone, are guilty of war crimes against the sovereignty of the Isle of Mann." She was silent as King Nuada shouted out his declaration over the battlefield. "As such, you are sentenced to death. May the gods have mercy on your souls."

Dumbledore tried to protest, but it was too late. Every soldier lifted their blade and executed every remaining man and woman on their knees. There was no trial, because it was not necessary. Every one of them had fought against Mann under Iseult's command of the Darkness and by her alliance with Voldemort.

Neville and Harry, both blood stained and battle-weary, were near Airmed when she fell to the ground. All of the knights near her, Fionn, Niamh, Conn, Donnchadh, rushed to her side in slow motion. Niamh tried to shake her, but she was slow to respond. Her hands reached to cradle her side, protecting her broken ribs from being jostled further. Harry saw the confused look on her face, before she opened her moth and let loose a scream of agony. Sorcha ran to her and had her cadre of blue robes transport her to the infirmary.

He only heard a few words, before he closed his eyes and prayed to the gods: "Her wound is poisoned."