Disclaimer: I obviously don't own the idea of Harry Potter or any of the money making forms of it.

Questions Concerning:

Voldemort: There is only one Voldemort. Because the horcruxes are of Voldemort, Voldemort can use them to bring himself back without much trouble (which is the whole point of them). Voldemort used the diary to get the strength he needed, which was why he had Crouch Jr. carryout the ritual on the diary (Bk2 Pt 14). The Voldemort from first year and the Voldemort from the diary came together. Hope that answers any questions about it.

Again, there is only one Voldemort around. There is not a spirit Voldemort lying in wait to strike.

A/N: This part is a little shorter than most of my others, but I decided I couldn't leave you all hanging from the last one. It is also probably written at a faster pace than some of my others. *shrug* Enjoy.


- - - Book 4 — Part 6: Taken

10:30 am

Draco tried not to roll his eyes when he passed by lovesick girls stalking Viktor Krum. He felt bad for the guy, but was privately grateful he didn't have to deal with idiotic females doing that to him. He was also glad Krum and the others from Durmstrang were no longer staying in Slytherin House. The tension between them and a few of the Slytherins had been so thick it had been hard to breathe at times — wondering when curses would start flying.

Draco shook his head. Despite that bit of drama, things were going quite well, even Harry's setback seemed to be resolving itself.

With Dumbledore's one-on-one instruction, Harry's skills were becoming honed and refined. Harry's improvement in spellcasting was quite amazing, and the fact he was passing his new acquired knowledge to them made it all even better. None of them, save Harry, had much of a handle on wandless magic yet, but they were determined to at least get simple spells down before the end of the summer.

During the break, Dumbledore had received some books from Mako to provide further help to Harry. Draco was sure they were putting the books to good use, though right about now the lesson was usually finished. Harry was probably telling him. . . .

Draco shook himself, hoping Dumbledore would take it well.

Heading to the library, Draco wondered if Vince and Greg had started on their Potion's assignment yet. He knew he needed to get it started soon, since the 5 feet of parchment on the Draught of Peace was not going to be an easy thing he could complete in one night. The others were currently in Transfiguration or resting in their common rooms, but they had planned on meeting in the Come and Go Room some time before dinner.

Rounding the corner, he heard it before he saw it.

"You Filthy Halfblood!" a fifth year Slytherin girl screeched as a red beam of light went past her.

Draco rolled out of the way as the curse barely missed him. Pulling out his wand, he quickly took in the situation.

Five people, all with wands out. It currently seemed to be two versus three, two of them being students from Durmstrang. They were at least sixth years.

"I'll kill you! Diffindo!" Nott bellowed, firing at the one who had likely cast the unknown red curse. Draco wasn't so sure that it had been a simple stupefy.

Draco, not knowing what else to do, but not wanting to see blood spilt, immediately conjured a protego in front of the Durmstrang student. The curse was deflected into the wall.

"Stay out of this Malfoy!" Nott snarled. "This is none of your concern!"

Several more curses flew, Draco dodging several as he tried to stupefy those who seemed to be firing the more harmful curses. At that point, he just wanted them all to be unarmed. However, he soon learned more spells were being fired . . . from behind him.

Turning, he was just able to make out four more Slytherins, three of them going for the other Durmstrang student who was somehow still defiantly holding his own against them. The other Durmstrang boy was currently on the floor, unconscious.

The fourth Slytherin had his attention on Draco. He was a seventh year Slytherin named Chris Warrington. Draco had very little doubt that he was a death eater in training, if not one already. An instant later, Draco was forced to defend himself as a nasty spell rocketed forth from Warrington's wand, right at him. His shield managed to hold, but he was slammed back. Hard.

Draco went to parry, but was bashed again with another spell. The next thing he heard before his vision darkened was more spells being fired, and a horrible pain filled cry that had immediately followed one of the last curses he ever wanted to hear.

"CRUCIO!!!"

O o O o O

Fifteen Minutes Earlier

"Very good, Harry," Dumbledore praised.

They were working on Charms, trying to turn a sheet of parchment into an origami dove.

"Hmm, looks a little lopsided though," Harry said, critiquing himself. "I mean, look at its wing. It's all warped."

"Well, this is your first attempt. Don't be so hard on yourself," Dumbledore reminded with a smile.

Harry shrugged a little, feeling his Makra going back into his skin from his wand. He looked down, realizing the lesson was nearly over and that he was going to have to keep the promise to himself soon and tell Dumbledore. Everything.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked, noticing something was off.

"Professor, I—" Harry paused, trying to figure out how to start. This was not something he could simply blurt out, after all.

"What is it, Harry?"

"I've wanted to tell you something for a long time now, but the longer I've waited . . . I don't know, it just became harder to share. It's complicated, and I'm still afraid of what will happen once I tell you. I don't want things to change, but things will change once I tell you. It can't not change."

Dumbledore frowned. "Harry, there is nothing that you can tell me that will change how I see you. You will always be Harry to me." Dumbledore smiled softly, his eyes holding an even softer twinkle. "Hagrid told me what you had said when he first met you. 'Just Harry'."

Harry closed his eyes at that, his heart pounding so hard he was afraid Dumbledore could hear it. He opened his eyes and stared at a moon on Dumbledore's sleeve.

Dumbledore steadily grew concerned at Harry's silence. What was he so afraid to tell?

"Harry?"

"'Just Harry'. . . . I haven't been 'just Harry' for a long time. Not since first year," Harry managed, deciding easing into the truth was all he could do — while silently hoping Dumbledore would catch on and he wouldn't have to say the truth outright.

"Harry," Dumbledore said softly, taking a step toward him. "It is not our abilities that make us. It is our choices."

"I know, and that is what is making this so hard. Our choices do not only make us, but can make others. Telling you this cou—"

Harry gasped, his wand hand rushing up to grip his chest as if he had just been struck. His eyes widened as he felt a rush of emotion and magic from Draco through the bond. His Makra twisted in his center.

Fear and outrage, confusion and pain.

Something horrible was happening. Something right that moment.

"Draco!" he rasped, pulling out his wand and bolting out the door.

He ran to the library, knowing Draco had planned on starting his essay there, as he had promised to meet him there later.

Dumbledore was right behind him, and not ten steps out the door they heard the pain filled cries. Cries that could only be caused by one thing. Both Harry and Dumbledore knew the unique piercing tone that was only produced by a victim under that curse.

"Get behind me, Harry!" Dumbledore ordered, somehow passing him without much trouble as they came to the hall not far from the library.

Nott was standing over a Durmstrang boy, still holding his crucio on him. Draco was slumped against the far wall. There was two other forms on the floor, still – a Durmstrang boy and a Slytherin girl.

Harry had never seen anyone cast so quickly and furiously. Dumbledore was livid.

Harry only managed to disarm one of the others as Dumbledore took care of the rest with lightning fast casting. The attackers had barely been able to lift their wands toward Harry and Dumbledore before they lost their wands, were slammed back and forced down with ropes wrapping around them.

"I will only ask this once," Dumbledore fumed. "What has happened here and why?"

No one answered, but held their heads up defiantly, even as the ropes coiled around them.

Harry hurried to Draco, who was slowly trying to lift himself from the floor.

"Draco, are you hurt?" Harry asked.

"No-no, check on him though. He was . . . under it for a long time," Draco managed, motioning to the now twitching boy a few yards away.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at the obvious culprits as he flicked his wand. Something silver shot out and away. Harry recognized it as a messenger patronus, which he had seen done before by Sirius and others.

Harry turned his attention to the Durmstrang boy Draco had motioned to. He had seen him a few times hanging out with Krum, but had not really had the opportunity to even learn his name.

He knelt beside him, gently taking hold of his shoulder.

"Just relax, Madam Pomfrey is coming," he said, noticing a few more people entering the hall. Shocked students and professors.

Trembling, the Durmstrang student moved his hand toward Harry, though it was more like a flop. Harry grabbed it, finding that the older boy had tears in his eyes. But something . . . didn't seem right.

The boy suddenly grinned. Grinned — after just having been subjected to a crucio for a solid twenty seconds. Harry was about to pull away, but couldn't as the boy met his eyes and something yanked.

"Gotcha."

The last thing he saw was the hallway floor, contorting in a bizarre fashion as what could only be a portkey took hold of them both. . . .

O o O o O

Harry landed on hard gravel covered in a fine layer of snow. The Durmstrang student coughed, not moving from where he had landed — partly on top of Harry. He still had the grin on his face. Harry pulled his hand free and was about to look around, his breath visible in the cold air. Snow was falling.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, so kind of you to join us," a voice said not twelve feet away from him.

Voldemort.

Harry slowly raised his face, clenching his jaw as he found himself surrounded.

Voldemort was directly in front of him, a dozen masked death eaters on either side of him.

"MacNair, help your nephew up and bring him to me," Voldemort said.

A large death eater stepped up from the ranks and went to him, heaving the larger boy up and away from Harry. Harry slowly stood up and backed away, only to bump into a large stone object behind him. Harry glanced up, only to find the very last thing he would have ever thought he'd see at a time like this.

His mother's face.

"You look surprised, Harry. Don't you know where you are? You are in Godric's Hollow . . . the place where you had become The-Boy-Who-Lived," Voldemort said as MacNair brought his nephew to him. "You have done well, Poliakoff, very well. You will be rewarded. Hold out your left arm."

Poliakoff, still riddled with tremors after suffering the Cruciatus, gazed up at Voldemort before going to his knees and somehow lifting his arm. Unsteadily, he held his arm up, until Voldemort grabbed it and whipped out his wand, placing his wand's tip firmly at the center of Poliakoff's inner forearm.

Poliakoff gasped, but it was not of pain, but elation.

"Thank you, my Lord. Thank you," he gushed as the Dark Mark appeared on his skin.

Harry felt sick, disgusted, and horrified.

Voldemort smiled back as MacNair helped Poliakoff away. Harry remained as he was, his right hand still gripping his wand he had thankfully not put away before. Voldemort turned his eyes back to him, before looking above him at the statue of the Potters.

"Such a wasted piece of stone," he sighed, before focusing back on Harry. "Well, Harry, I'm afraid I don't have time for pleasantries, and the way you are gripping your wand, I'd say you're not in the mood for them."

"You, pleasantries?" Harry couldn't help but retort.

Voldemort chuckled. Actually chuckled. "Oh, come now, Harry, surely you know by now I am not without repartee."

Harry didn't respond as he continued to feel the cold air seep through his robes, snowflakes gathering in his hair. He whispered a warming charm on himself. If he was going to fight, he was going to ensure his hands were warm at least. Numb hands were not good for dueling.

Voldemort paused, taking in Harry's eyes, no doubt having taken notice of the gold outline and the dark green star. He paid no mind to the simple warming charm.

"I find myself . . . intrigued, Harry. What did you do to make your eyes as they are?"

"I didn't really do anything actually," Harry answered honestly. No harm would come with that reply.

"Oh? A prank then? I have heard your father was into such trivial things."

Harry shrugged, deciding to simply let Voldemort believe what he wished.

Voldemort smiled, taking a step forward. "You must be wondering how I have managed to take you from the one place most people believe to be beyond my reach."

"It doesn't look like you had much to do with it. It was Poliakoff who got me."

Voldemort lashed out, suddenly furious, slashing his arm through the air at him. "Fool! It was I who orchestrated it! I who created the enhanced portkey!"

Harry felt magic try to force him back, and he felt a large concentration of it at his neck. He focused his Makra to hold Voldemort's angry magic back, also conscious of the fact his battle robes had taken the brunt of it. This caused Voldemort's eyes to widen slightly in surprise.

"I admit, getting you was difficult. It had taken my spies several weeks to pin down a rough schedule of your habits and special lessons with your pathetic godfather of yours so they would know when and where to act."

"So the fight was planned then," Harry stated. It wasn't a question, he had come to that conclusion soon after arriving.

"Yes, quite humorous actually. The hostility between the few members of Slytherin House and Durmstrang must have been quite convincing. I know most of Durmstrang was siding with the few from their school that had been in on it. It had even convinced that foolish half vampire of theirs into thinking there was an actual issue."

"Headmaster Baronel Vladim is a half vampire?"

"Yes, a Dhampir. At first, I had been hopeful that I would be able to convince him to stand at my side, but he refused. The fool."

"So you had spies?" Harry asked, deciding talking was better than fighting. No time for pleasantries, eh?

"Just a few in one of the three visiting schools each time. It was really quite easy to gather the necessary information. Some of my spies didn't even know they were spies. Had Dumbledore not been so paranoid concerning your safety, I may have been able to bring about this day sooner. But he withheld the visiting schools from sharing the Gryffindor Dorms for the first week every time. It really put a damper on the gathering of information, but in the end, it didn't matter. You are here now."

Voldemort's wand fell from his sleeve and into his hand.

"You've been taught how to duel, I presume?" Voldemort asked as he motioned his death eaters to step back. They obliged.

"Yes," Harry answered stiffly, his eyes boring into Voldemort's, still not having moved from his stance.

"I want there to be no mistake in anyone's mind who of the two of us is the strongest. So you and I will duel here, Harry, when there is no Dumbledore or Mage to help you, and no mother to die for you."

Harry tightened his grip on his wand. He was not at his best. The spells at his disposal were limited now because of his Makra. He had many simple spells down, of course, but anything considered advanced, such as spells beyond fifth year. . . . He currently only had a handful of them. It was like for each powerful spell he wanted to be able to cast, he had to climb a great wall every time, learning how to use his Makra properly to get out what he wanted. If only there had been a way to break through that wall. Maybe then he would not be so unprepared now.

"We bow to each other, Harry," Voldemort reminded gently, as if teaching. "Dumbledore would not want you to forget your manners, would he?"

Harry straightened, stepping away from the statue, a testament of the night where death had been defied. He would not let his disadvantage hold him back now.

"Bow to Death, Harry," Voldemort said.

"I have," Harry answered before he gave a brief bow, which Voldemort returned in the same fashion, never letting his eyes stray from him. "He bowed back."

"Did he now?" Voldemort sneered, not impressed.

"I survived a bite from a Basilisk, you tell me."

"I had been most displeased that you had managed to escape death then. But no matter, you are going to die very soon now, and by my hand."

Harry went into a dueling stance. Today was the day he would either die or kill. He knew it.

"Straight-backed and proud, the way your father died . . ." Voldemort said, pleased. "And now -- we duel."

Voldemort started swiftly, but didn't go all out. Harry knew Voldemort was testing him, seeing how much he knew and how skilled he was.

"Very good, Harry!" Voldemort praised in a taunting tone. "But is dodging and blocking all you've been taught?"

The death eaters had backed further away, encircling the square of Godric Hollow and keeping what Harry immediately identified as a ward circle. They had formed it the moment he had arrived. It blocked all magical traces and roots. Traces and roots were essential to portkeys, apparation, and even other forms of travel, including floo travel and house elf travel.

No help was coming, and he would not be leaving.

Well, if he couldn't leave that meant they could not either. And though he was not at his best, they still did not know what he was capable of.

Throwing simple offensive spells, Harry hoped to make Voldemort underestimate him further, giving him an opportunity to strike.

"You disappoint me, Harry. I had been told from many of your fellow students that you were something of a prodigy."

"Well, I guess you heard wrong," Harry answered simply, dodging another curse. "Does it disappoint you to find that a boy that has defied you time and time again is nothing special? Do you feel as if you are an inadequate Dark Lord? I mean, come on, I'm not even an adult yet and I've faced you more than most, and I'm still here."

"You've been lucky, nothing more. But your luck is about to run out!" Voldemort snarled, now evidently running out of patience. "Diffindo! Crucio!"

Harry dodged them, barely. The crucio hit the ground behind him, and the diffindo tore a chunk from the statue.

Harry could feel sweat gathering on his brow, despite the chill in the air, and he now had to heave in the cold air to catch his breath. Makra lessons always tired him some, but having a serious duel afterwards was utterly exhausting.

Voldemort could tell he was growing tired, so he paused. "I'm going to kill you, Harry Potter. I'm going to destroy you. After tonight, no one will ever again question my power. After tonight if they speak of you, they'll only speak of how you begged for death. And how I, being a merciful Lord . . . obliged."

"You really are a lunatic," Harry stated. "Do you think you can intimidate me like that? I'm not afraid of death like you are."

"I have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality!" Voldemort yelled, now advancing with no restraint. Thrusting his wand forward and twisting it about in the air, sharply. "I have conquered death! I have no need to fear it!"

A dark, nasty magic shot out, like a whirlwind of black sand.

Harry reacted, forcing his Makra out through his wand in attempt to bat the advancing onslaught away. Harry gasped, feeling it punch through his initial defense, slamming him back against the statue, but he was not about to remain idle.

Releasing an enraged shout, he pulsed his Makra outwards from his center and thrust his free hand hard to the left. The black tentacle-like wisps licked at his robes, trying to encircle his limbs, but he continued to lash out, all the while feeling sharp pain run up his skin where the darkness had touched.

For a long moment he was surrounded by it, and he could not even see the snow falling, couldn't feel the cold air on his face, but then his Makra overcame it.

"AHHH!!!"

The darkness ripped away from Harry, like a swarm of enraged wasps, and rocketed toward an unsuspecting death eater in the circle. It had been that death eater who had screamed.

Harry collapsed, his hands easily sinking into the inch thick snow as he tried to gather his strength once more. He knew Voldemort had only just started.

"Keep the circle! He is mine!" Voldemort ordered, before looking down at Harry.

Harry didn't lift his face, still looking at his hands pressed in the snow as he tried to catch his breath. He had red, whip-like marks along portions of his skin where the evil spell had been able to touch. He did not want to think how the death eater looked who had taken the full brunt of it.

"You see, Harry, you are no match for me. Even now, you are on your knees before me, and though you managed to repel a good portion of that spell, you have exhausted yourself in doing so. I can sense it. You have no magic left. I have just checked."

"No magic doesn't mean no match," Harry stated as he slowly got to his feet. "ARDESCO!"

Voldemort was almost too slow, having to overcome his astonishment to respond in time, but he managed to deflect the huge fireball, into yet another ill prepared death eater.

Voldemort, now utterly and completely enraged, brought his wand up and about, his eyes unrelentingly sharp. Voldemort was no longer playing games. He was no longer amused.

"CRUCIO!"

It was so fast Harry wasn't even able to turn. It hit him.

Harry knew it would be bad, but it was worse. He felt so much pain he couldn't even scream out. Though an instant later, he felt something even more powerful, welling up inside of him, enraged.

Voldemort stopped, Harry finding him suddenly right over him.

How long had he been under the curse? How long had he been arched in the snow? When had his nose started bleeding?

"You are a fool, Harry Potter, and you will lose . . . everything," Voldemort whispered, bending down closer to him. He was so close, his breath, visible in the cold, actually brushed against Harry's cheek.

Voldemort pulled away and stepped back, his wand now held aloft.

"I will show the world what happens to those who defy me," Voldemort said, Harry now struggling to get up once again as Voldemort continued to distance himself. "Starting with their beloved 'boy-who-lived'."

Harry lifted his hand and gripped the edge of the stone statue.

"A fitting place, wouldn't you say, to end you? At the foot of this statue," Voldemort said as he actually waited for Harry to use it to raise himself up to stand. "Good bye, Harry Potter."

Harry held his ground, knowing there was nothing he could do to dodge the unmistakable cursed fire rushing toward him.

Fiendfyre.

It was relentless, surrounding him and quenching all moisture, the roar of the flames covering up all other sound. The statue cracked and the edges crumbled before Voldemort extinguished the living fire.

There was nothing left where Harry had been standing, save a charred phoenix wand.

Voldemort smirked and summoned the wand to him wandlessly. "A nice prize."

O o O o O


A/N: Well, I suppose some of you are now wishing I had just left you all with the previous cliffhanger. . . . Sorry. . . . Also, for those of you wondering why their wands didn't connect--they hadn't cast at the same time.

Next Part: Hopeless