Disclaimer: Being neither British nor Japanese, it should therefore come as no surprise that I own neither Harry Potter nor Naruto, nor anything from their respective franchises.


Morning came, and Iruka rose more tired than he'd hoped to be; he'd been going over his part in the ritual with Albus (or more often Orochimaru via mirror, and wasn't that a fun experience) for the past several days, and knew he'd probably need every drop of chakra he could muster. A bit of fatigue was still better though than whatever would have happened if he and the others hadn't been awakened in the wee hours of the morning. As far as choosing to take the intruders on alone, he stood by that decision - it wasn't like he'd actually had to use chakra for anything but a bit of tree-sticking and speed enhancement. The day either of those became a serious drain on his reserves was the day he handed in his hitai-ate for good.

The cleansing ritual would be performed in the Room of Requirement: Very few people knew of the Room's existence, making it one of the most secure and secret locations in the castle, and its mutable nature had made setting up a suitable space much easier.

For this purpose, the Room's configuration was a fifteen-meter-wide dome with two alcoves, one of which held the entry door while the other was covered with a curtain. From his time working to prepare the ritual chamber, Iruka knew that even these alcoves would be sealed off by blocks of stone that would slide into place to create an unbroken hemisphere. Every surface was made of gleaming pure-white marble. At the exact center stood a waist-high block of stone, about two meters long by one across, its sides covered by intricate runic scripts intertwined with sealing formulae, a pattern which continued onto the floor, walls, and ceiling. Several concentric circles, diagrams, and alchemical sigils had also been drawn on the floor in chalk, with candles at key points.

It had taken months of meticulous work by Iruka, Albus, Filius, Remus, and Sirius, with contributions by Bill and Moody whenever they could be dragged in to help and the Room wasn't occupied by Malfoy. They'd had to tweak things a few times as further last-minute refinements came in, but the last three days' work had been purely occupied with a meticulous inspection of the entire design, often with a two-way mirror allowing Orochimaru to check over the seals, and the occasional correction.

Harry made a beeline for the curtained alcove, while most of the rest of those present were chivvied into marked points along a ring about halfway to the wall. They had Sirius and Remus, of course, and the other student members of S.E.N., along with Filius, Minerva, and Hagrid. Wendell and Monica Granger had been brought in, Albus somehow finding a way to get them past the castle's anti-Muggle wards, though the secrecy of this occasion meant that they'd not really gotten to see anything of their children's school aside from the Room, the Headmaster's office, and the path between the two. Dobby stood proudly in one spot, while in another Crookshanks sat calmly at the foot of a perch from which Hedwig surveyed the Room imperiously, and Fawkes circled lazily overhead. Another "position" was occupied by a stand holding the activated two-way mirror, through which Naruto watched from an office currently packed with those close to him. Everyone aside from Hedwig and Fawkes had to move around on a set of plank walkways placed to keep them from accidentally disturbing any of the countless markings drawn on the floor.

Harry emerged from the curtained-off alcove wearing only a plain white cotton robe that only came down to around his knees and elbows. His spectacles had been left behind as well, so he was squinting a bit as he tried to resolve his destination, and the makeup that usually covered the Fūja Hōin had been removed leaving the seal on full display. He shuffled somewhat awkwardly towards the center of the room, his nerves over the ritual to come gradually overriding his embarrassment at being the center of so much attention, particularly while wearing so little clothing.

The teen hopped up to a seat on the stone platform and laid down, closing his eyes and visibly trying not to fidget. Albus drew his wand and Vanished all of the walkways, before motioning to Iruka, who stepped to stand at Harry's left, with the headmaster on his right and Fawkes coming down to perch at his head. He tapped several of the carved runes with his wand, causing them to glow with a shimmering white light, then put his wand away.

The ritual had begun.

"For water," Dumbledore intoned formally, "the Water of Heroes." At this prompt, Iruka pulled a small glass phial from his own robes and poured its contents into a golden dish placed on the innermost circle directly behind him. Naruto had somehow, somehow managed to get Takigakure to part with a few milliliters of their greatest treasure.

"For wind, the Golden Snitch and the first flight." Albus stepped over behind Fawkes to lay down the first Snitch that Harry had ever caught, alongside a toy broom recovered from the Potter home in Godric's Hollow.

"For lightning," he stepped around to the foot of the block, "yew wood, thunder-split." A gold plate received several large splinters of singed yew wood.

"For fire, the feather of a phoenix, freely given." As Albus returned to his place, carefully stepping over the marks on the floor, Fawkes pulled a feather from his own tail and held it out to the Headmaster, who reverently placed it in another dish behind his position.

"And for earth, the stones of Hogwarts, forever sheltering and nurturing those within her walls." At this, one of the runic arrays on the plinth flared to radiant life.

He placed his wand-tip to a particular rune in front of him, as Iruka began flashing through a sequence of hand-seals. "The magic of a wizard, a guardian in the light, and the chakra of a shinobi, protector from the shadows." As the Headmaster spoke this last word, Iruka completed his seals and placed the tips of his right index and middle finger to the tip of a sealing array, channeling his chakra in as Albus did the same with his magic. "The love of friends and family living calls to the love of those gone but still vigilant - Auferes Malum, Servare Innocuum!"

At Albus's shouted incantation, Harry's body seemed to relax into sleep as both the runic script and sealing array they were feeding power into glowed brightly, the light racing along the lines of carved runes and inked characters. Within moments, every marking in the room blazed with silver light, as the contents of the four dishes around them burst into silver flame. Albus's voice settled into a low chant in some presumably long-dead language.

With this, their part was mostly done; all that was left for Iruka was to keep up the flow of magic and chakra and put their trust in Harry.

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Harry found himself on Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch, which made him glad he was clad in trainers, blue jeans, and a jumper rather than the fairly minimalist robe he was actually wearing. He was positioned about a third of the way between the two sets of goals, with another figure standing a similar distance from the opposite goals, wearing black robes. Seeing his apparent opponent start striding forward, Harry began his own cautious approach.

As he walked, keeping one eye on his counterpart, the teen looked up into the stands. The usual four sets of House banners had been replaced with just two sets that he'd never seen before: From the far end of the stands hung black banners bearing a green Dark Mark, while the rest held white banners with a red-and-gold phoenix.

Behind the far goals was a narrow slice of black speckled with silver - a group of robed and masked Death Eaters - while the rest of the seats were packed with a more colorful group. Most of the spectators were little more than vague blobs of color, even those close enough that he should have been able to see them more clearly, but a glance at the area behind him showed much more distinct features. Everyone present for the ritual was there, along with other friendly acquaintances. One entire stand was filled with mostly-unfamiliar faces, but the Leaf headbands made their origins obvious. What truly struck him, though, were those in another stand, many of whom he had last seen when their echoes had emerged from Voldemort's wand, including both of his parents who gazed down at him with love and pride in their eyes. For the moment, all of these 'spectators' were silent, the very air still in quiet anticipation with the only sound that of grass under his trainers.

The two wizards approached the center of the field, reminding Harry of how the captains of the House Quidditch teams would meet at the start of a game. Given who he expected to be facing, though, he wouldn't bet on a civil handshake or the "clean game" Madam Hooch always demanded and sometimes actually got.

Harry's expectations proved only somewhat accurate, as rather than the reptilian features of Lord Voldemort or even some version of Tom Riddle, the wizard opposite him looked like, well, him. He had the same bone structure inherited from James Potter, the same unruly black hair, stood the same height, bore the same scar, wore the same spectacles, but it didn't take much of a closer look to see the differences: The scar on the black-robed figure was an angry, swollen red that contrasted sharply with his too-pale skin. Where Harry's mouth was set in a grim line, his opposite wore a smug, condescending smirk. Most telling however were his eyes, not the vibrant green of Lily Potter née Evans but the luminous scarlet of Lord Voldemort. One glance into those hate-filled orbs wiped away any doubts Harry might have had about who stood opposite him.

"Well, well, well, Potter..." The face may have been Harry's but the voice was that of the teenaged Tom Riddle. "Such a tremendous undertaking to reach this point. It seems a waste, really; if you wanted to die so badly there are countless ways that would have required far less effort. Regardless, I will offer you this one chance: Kneel before me and I will make your end quick and painless and grant you the comfort of knowing that your death served a greater and more noble purpose than your life ever could."

Harry glared at the avatar of Riddle before him. "If you know about things that have happened since you were split off, then you know that the response I'd like to give you would have Hermione chastising me for my language while Luna questioned whether it was anatomically possible. In more civilized terms then, Tom, why don't you go take a long walk off a short pier?"

As close as the range was, it was only his years of training with Iruka-sensei that allowed Harry to dodge the angry orange curse thrown at his face from the very familiar holly wand that had suddenly appeared in his opponent's hand. Rather than back up to open that range, however, he instead stepped forward. Wanting a kunai, he felt cloth-wrapped steel in his hand, combining his second step with a rising slash at the Horcrux's outstretched wand hand. The crowd erupted into cheers and shouts, and the fight was on.

Riddle yanked his hand back, barely avoiding the cut, and started to quickly retreat in an attempt to turn the battle into his kind of fight. He was fast, his borrowed physique an exact match to Harry's own, but he lacked training and experience at using that physique. It didn't exactly help that flowing floor-length robes, while impressive, weren't ideal for moving around in. As much as Tom tried to open the range, Harry stayed right with him.

Harry tried to draw his wand to make use of his magic, but nothing happened. He figured it must be something about the rules of this battle, perhaps that there couldn't be two copies of the same object, though that would later beg the question of how such a rule allowed the Horcrux to wear a copy of Harry's body. In the moment, it just told him that he was without access to his magic, which meant that he had to keep the fight close-in and physical. If Riddle could open the range, Harry knew he probably wouldn't stand a chance.

The teen wizard kept the pressure on, throwing cuts and thrusts with his kunai mixed in with punches, kicks, and attempted grabs. His opponent frantically backpedaled, evading some strikes and blocking others with small snap-cast shields. All the while, people in the crowd called encouragement to one combatant or the other. Harry's relentless assault denied Voldemort the opportunity to use long incantations or complex wand movements, restricting him to spells that could be cast quickly and simply. Even with his repertoire of available spells restricted, however, he was still able to shoot off attacks of his own from time to time, often forcing Harry to interrupt a move in order to dodge. The two seemed almost evenly-matched, until one of Harry's slashes opened a long but shallow cut on Riddle's left hand and forearm.

"ENOUGH!" The Horcrux's enraged bellow was accompanied by a magical shockwave blasting out in all directions from his body, hurling Harry back through the air. It was a solid five meters away that Harry finally returned to Earth, bouncing violently off the turf and tearing up grass and soil with the impact. After his second bounce, he managed to take control of his tumble and turned his third landing into a stable crouch, using chakra-sticking to halt his movement before he lost any more distance. His attention returned to Riddle just in time to roll sideways out of the path of a powerful curse that blew a small crater in the pitch, knocking him onto his back in the process. The small sliver of cheering from the Dark spectators was almost totally drowned out by the boos and jeers of the Light.

As he pushed himself into a roll back to his feet, Harry dimly noted a twinge of pain from his left hand, but dismissed it in favor of dodging the Killing Curse that would have hit him in the face. Voldemort laughed. "If you insist on fighting like a worthless Muggle, then you can die like one!" His appropriated wand blurred into action, spewing forth a torrent of multicolored spells.

While the gap between them made attacking Riddle pretty much impossible, it wasn't all bad for Harry: Even as fast as the incoming curses traveled, he had a lot more time than before to react to them. This was cold comfort, though, since the sheer volume of incoming fire made dodging a serious challenge. Harry began to dash to the side, circling around Voldemort in order to make aiming that much more difficult for him, though he still frequently had to dive under or leap over incoming curses, occasionally pausing in his run or even reversing direction to avoid spells. Sometimes he'd turn and try to close range again, but Riddle was having none of that, pushing him back with a barrage of deadly magic.

After several close calls, many of which provoked reactions from both sides of the audience, Harry barely failed to dodge a curse that cut a burning gash into the back of his right hand. The cheers from the Dark spectators stopped abruptly, however, when they noticed that Voldemort had stopped casting, looking instead at his own right hand that was bleeding from a wound identical to Harry's. Recalling the twinge he'd felt earlier, Harry snuck a quick glance down at his left hand, finding a cut like the one he'd inflicted on Riddle with his kunai.

The Horcrux's eyes narrowed. "This is useless," he hissed angrily. "If our injuries are mirrored on each other, then how am I supposed to kill you? How did Dumbledore expect his precious student to win this fight? Oh..." His angry expression morphed into a vicious smirk, "but who's to say he did, hm?"

"Yes," Riddle chuckled cruelly, "I see that I've underestimated the old meddler. Why, it's almost cunning enough to be worthy of a Slytherin!" His eyes focused on Harry. "The only way to destroy a Horcrux is to destroy its container beyond any hope of repair. He knew what you were, what your fate had to be if he wanted any hope of defeating me. Why else would he have discarded you with those worthless Muggles? He didn't need you to be happy, or healthy - he just needed you to die at his direction. What better method than to subject you to a life of misery, only to swoop in and carry you off to a world of magic and wonder? How better to control you and ensure your blind loyalty than to appear as your savior?"

Harry scoffed. "Yeah, and he spent how many months working himself to the bone to create this ritual?"

"Did he?" Voldemort's grin widened. "Did he really? Is this ritual truly an attempt to save your life, or is it just another sham like his 'caring grandfather' persona? Like his 'benevolent elder' or 'wise teacher' masks? 'I'm sorry,' he'll say to your little friends, 'we all tried our hardest, you saw how hard we tried, but I'm afraid dear Harry just couldn't be saved. The poor boy must have sacrificed himself to ensure Lord Voldemort's defeat, and we should all redouble our efforts in defense of the Light in honor of his sacrifice.' And they'll all cry and mourn and say 'There, there, Headmaster, it's all right; we know you tried.' Then he'll lead them on, leaving your cold corpse in the pile of all those he's led to their deaths in his futile attempts to thwart me."

As determined as he was, Harry still hesitated. He knew, he knew that Voldemort lied as easily as he told the truth, but his words made too much sense to simply dismiss. Could it be true? Had Dumbledore been setting him up to die this whole time? Was that why he'd really brought the Philosopher's Stone into Hogwarts the same year Harry arrived? Was it why the obstacles in the third-floor corridor could be passed by some determined First-Years? Did he know about the diary, about the basilisk, and left them free rein in hopes they'd kill Harry? How hard did he really fight to keep the Dementors away from Hogwarts? Was he really unable to keep a man they thought was a mass-murderer out of the castle? Was he really unaware that an actual mass-murderer was already sleeping in Harry's dorm? The questions just kept slamming into him, his mind racing and bringing up piece after piece of evidence that made him wonder if the kindly old wizard had ever really had Harry's best interests in mind as he fought to keep tears from his eyes.

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Iruka was sweating hard, continuing to feed chakra into the ritual array as Albus's voice flowed into yet another repetition of his chant. In the past couple of minutes, bruises and scrapes had begun appearing all over the visible parts of Harry's body. Blood was running down both sides of the stone platform from cuts on the teen's hands.

Looking at Harry's face, he saw a tear running down his student's cheek. "Fawkes," he called out, "anything you can do, now is the time!"

The phoenix glanced at Albus, whose eyes narrowed before he nodded resolutely. Fawkes then began trilling out a song that echoed throughout the chamber and into the hearts of everyone present, somehow speaking of determination and victory without needing words. Iruka, feeling revitalized, grit his teeth and pushed more chakra into the array. "Everyone focus your thoughts on Harry, call out your support! Come on, Harry..."

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Suddenly, a wall of flames roared to life along the centerline of the pitch, dividing the impromptu battleground precisely in half. Both combatants leapt back on reflex, though neither was close enough to be in any danger.

"Another pointless obstacle," Voldemort snarled, still somehow clearly audible and visible through the flames, raising his wand once more. He fired off a handful of spells, including a Killing Curse, but all were burned away the moment they hit the barrier. Harry manifested a handful of shuriken and threw them, but metal fared no better than magic against the fiery wall.

"Perhaps Dumbledore is senile after all," the Horcrux sneered. "What possible purpose does any of this serve? We cannot harm each other without feeling the same harm in turn, a battle neither side can win! Although- hmm... perhaps we've both been going about this all wrong... We may be manifest as physical representations, but in truth this is a battle between souls. I don't need to kill you; I just need to break you." He grinned viciously. "How fortuitous that I have such extensive experience in such pursuits."

"I doubt that this pathetic trick," the fragment of Riddle gestured towards the burning barrier, "will last much longer. If it could, it would undoubtedly have been here the whole time. I need only wait, and once the flames die we can resume your lesson in true power." Sure enough, the fire of the wall did seem to be dimming, its height gradually shrinking. "Just because I can't damage your body doesn't mean that I lack for options. There are oh, so many delightful ways to torment you without leaving a mark. Should I trap you in your worst memories? Or perhaps I'll show you some of my memories; I'm sure you'll enjoy slaughtering your parents as much as I did - you will, after all, be living it as me. Decisions, decisions..."

"Still," Voldemort's taunts continued, "I suppose I should thank you - once I've crushed you and destroyed your soul, I'll be able to claim your body for myself, and with it all of your magic and your memories. I'll awaken, appropriately joyous and grateful for being freed of my terrible burden." His demeanor changed, suddenly, becoming a perfect mirror of Harry's own. "He's gone!" he gasped in Harry's voice, "You did it, Professor!" The smirk returned. "With full access to your memories, even the old meddler won't suspect a thing until it's too late. It might be a bit tedious to play the good schoolboy again, but I doubt it'll be long before I use your face and name to utterly destroy Dumbledore and his worthless Order. I wonder if any of them will realize, before the end; it would certainly be entertaining to torture your little friends to death while they beg their precious Harry to stop, that delicious mix of hurt, confusion, and betrayal in their eyes before the light fades."

Harry had long since gone beyond simple anger by this point; he'd passed through that storm and into the calm, icy realm of resolute rage. It was in this paradoxical serenity that he noticed his chakra surging far stronger than he'd ever experienced before, yet still just as controlled as usual. His mind raced, trying to figure out how this came about, before giving a mental shrug and putting it down to some property of the ritual or this vision-battlefield.

More important, he realized, was the fact that he now had more than enough chakra to actually perform ninjutsu, something that could possibly close the gap in offensive power between him and the Horcrux's avatar. There was just one problem:

Harry didn't know any offensive ninjutsu.

With how little chakra his students had, Iruka-sensei hadn't ever tried to teach them anything beyond the most basic of Academy-level ninjutsu alongside control exercises. None of those three would help him much here: On an open battlefield, there wasn't really any point in changing his appearance. The only object of suitable size to Substitute with was his opponent, and living beings naturally resisted that technique because they had chakra of their own; given their identical bodies, Harry knew he didn't have the raw power to overcome that resistance, and neither did he have enough skill with the jutsu to make up the difference. A few basic Bunshin might draw off a couple of curses each, but at Riddle's casting speed that wouldn't even buy him five seconds' respite.

A particularly loud cheer from the stands of "Kick his ass, dattebayo!" sparked Harry's memory. Hermione, curious as always, had once asked the Seventh Hokage about his signature attack. Naruto had proceeded to launch into a dramatic retelling of how he first learned the basic Rasengan. Under ordinary or even extraordinary circumstances, trying to recreate a jutsu purely from a verbal description would be insane, but given that everything here was only real for a very loose definition of "real"...

That, and Harry was out of options. Love may be supremely powerful, but desperation has a magic all its own at times.

Tuning out the fragmentary Dark wizard's boasts and extending his right arm, Harry loosely cupped his palm, curling up his fingers as if he was holding a grapefruit-sized orb in his hand. He channeled chakra, and was almost immediately rewarded with a visible ring of swirling whitish-blue energy hovering over his palm. When he tried to start up a second circulation, however, the first ring started to wobble and distort, losing stability and cohesion. Just as Harry was about to panic, however, he felt... something.

It was as if somebody was suddenly standing behind him, a warm, comforting, and strangely familiar presence reaching over his shoulder towards his Rasengan-in-progress. The nascent jutsu stabilized its first rotation, feeling sharply contained and controlled, and as the foreign chakra touched his own Harry somehow knew that it was Naruto's.

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In the real(-er) world, several people gasped in shock. Following their gaze, Iruka glanced into the two-way mirror to see a glowing golden figure. From the expression of surprise and confusion on the Seventh Hokage's face, the chuunin figured that Naruto had no more idea of the cause than anybody else.

Beginning a few moments later, one at a time, people all around the room would feel a strange pulling sensation start up in their chest and stomach.

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Just as Harry was about to make another attempt at starting up a second direction of rotation, he felt another presence nearby, this time standing to his right, and the second rotation formed on its own, carrying the feel of Iruka-sensei's chakra. Harry's mind went to how Naruto had originally needed the assistance of his clones to carry out the complex task of spinning his chakra in numerous directions while keeping the whole mass tightly contained.

The presence to Harry's right seemed to flicker, and another rotation formed by Neville's chakra. Another flicker, and Hermione added her own contribution. Faster and faster, more and more people seemed to somehow join Harry on the pitch, each aiding him in forming the jutsu: Luna, Ginny, Dumbledore, Flitwick, McGonagall, Hagrid, WendellMonicaSiriusRemusDobbyHedwigCrookshanks...

James.

Lily.

A swirling, humming vortex-orb of chakra hovered over Harry's hand, weightless and yet somehow hefty at the same time, carrying in it all the love and support being sent his way. Glancing up through the still-dwindling flames at his opponent, Harry saw that Riddle had stopped talking, instead watching with a wary gaze. Another look down at the Rasengan in his hand brought Harry to a sickening realization:

It wouldn't be enough.

As powerful an attack as it was, the Rasengan was still a melee attack. Once the wall of flames died down, even if Harry was standing right beside it, he'd never be able to cover enough ground to reach Voldemort before the Horcrux could incapacitate him with spells. Even now the manifestation of the soul fragment was edging back, putting more distance between itself and this strange new development. There was only one possibility that Harry could think of, a reckless long-shot move that even Naruto would probably flinch a bit at.

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The boy gazed into the ball of swirling energy he'd conjured, seemingly deep in thought. Lord Voldemort didn't know what that spell was, which meant that it made Him nervous. Not afraid, of course, no, the greatest Dark Lord in history was never afraid, but He did feel some prudent concern that this unfamiliar magic might be a problem for Him in some way.

Potter closed his eyes, took a deep breath and sighed it back out, then turned to face him. When his eyes opened, even Lord Voldemort took an involuntary step back at the steely resolve He saw. The foolish boy stepped forward, a walk that sped into a run, dashing ever-faster towards the impenetrable flaming barrier that still separated them. A chill went down Lord Voldemort's spine: Did he intend to commit suicide, to kill them both?

Extending his strange orb of energy before him, Potter roared as he charged. The sound was odd, seeming to somehow join in with the roar of the crowd of fools and weaklings cheering him on.

The orb struck the blazing wall, but instead of burning away as everything else had, it seemed to grab the barrier, stretching it like a finger pressed into a hanging curtain. As the flames licked at Potter, immolating yet not consuming him, they also seemed to be drawn into the spiraling sphere, swirling inward as the sphere's glow intensified and began to warm in color. The barrier even began to draw in at the top and sides, as if the entire thing was one giant sheet of cloth now being pulled through a small hole. Through it all, Potter kept coming, his stride never faltering even as he was engulfed in flames.

Lord Voldemort backpedaled as fast as He could, throwing every spell in His arsenal at the boy, to no avail. Spells aimed directly at or around Potter continued to burn away in the ever-tightening curtain of magical flame that surrounded him. Conjured spears and transfigured beasts fared no better. It burned through a wall of stone called up from the ground as if it wasn't there, and a poisonous corrosive fog barely had time to form before the flames and the swirling winds around that accursed sphere blew it to useless wisps. The flames wiped away both the ice and the needle-sharp stones the Dark Lord had used to try and take away Potter's footing. A stream of overpowered blasting curses smashed the ground in front of the boy to rubble, causing him to veer hard to his right to dodge around it. Even that delaying tactic soon wore thin, as the Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Bloody-DIE-Already began simply running across the churned-up areas, barely slowing down but demonstrating a borderline-inhuman level of agility in doing so.

He continued backing up, trying to make the most of the ever-diminishing gap between the two combatants as He desperately tried to think of some way to slow or stop the boy, some way to ward off the increasingly worrying orb that was now glowing a fiery orange and still brightening. The only chance He could see, the only chink in Potter's armor, was the way that the flaming barrier he was still dragging along continued to shrink. If He could drag this chase out a second or two more, it should constrict enough to expose the boy to spells once more. After that, even a simple Leg-Locker would halt his insane charge. Once Potter was helpless, he would learn in excruciating detail why one should never defy a Dark Lord.

Suddenly, one of His steps back faltered as His back foot caught on something. It was then that He realized that his retreat had taken Him in among the craters and gouges left by spells He'd cast at Potter when the infuriating boy had tried circling around Him. Could it be that those evasions earlier in the brat's charge had been not caution but tactics, deliberately steering Lord Voldemort's strategic maneuvering into the torn-up part of their battlefield, hoping to force Him to stumble and halt? That thought came too late to help, however; in another moment, Potter was upon Him.

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Harry was in what could debatably be called the worst agony of his life. While having his entire body set on fire wasn't quite as painful as Voldemort's Cruciatus, it did have the distinct downside of knowing that he'd done this to himself. Nevertheless, he ran on, desperately trying to reach Riddle and end this fight one way or another. He pushed the pain aside somewhat in his near-absolute focus on the need to defeat this soul fragment, to protect all the people who cared about Harry and supported him and were counting on him to keep them safe from the monster hidden in his oh-so-bloody-famous scar.

The Horcrux was once more throwing spells of all sorts in Harry's direction, but he plowed forward, counting on the flames that had enveloped him to serve as a defense. Voldemort's stumble on ground torn up by his own earlier spellwork bought him the opportunity the teen needed to close the remaining gap between the two of them, and strike, his left hand lashing out to grab Riddle's right and point his wand away into the air. The fragmentary Dark Lord screamed in agony as his hand was engulfed in flames and his stolen wand burned away.

It was then that Harry noticed the last remnants of the burning barrier being pulled into the sphere, his own pain beginning to fade as the fire flowed away. Seconds later, the last of the flames had disappeared into the swirling orb, which was now glowing like a miniature sun and putting out heat to match. Voldemort had only a moment of clarity to gape in horror before, with a roar, Harry pulled him forward and shoved the blazing sphere into his chest.

Apparently Riddle hadn't screamed earlier, more like just crying out in pain and shock, because now he really screamed. As the Rasengan drilled into his chest, he was engulfed in flames. Strangely, while the magical fire clearly hurt him, it wasn't doing any visible damage; Harry distantly noticed then that he too had been left unmarked despite having felt like he was being burned alive.

After a few moments, however, the Horcrux's visible flesh and hair began to char and crack, burning away the copy of Harry's form to reveal the pallid visage of Lord Voldemort. This too blackened and flaked away, leaving something even more horrid: It looked as if someone had taken the grotesque childlike form Riddle had inhabited before his restoration, and then flayed all the skin from its body. Harry felt his gorge rise, but pressed on, knowing his friends, his family were counting on him to end this.

It didn't take long. Bare seconds after the burning Rasengan had first made contact, all resistance suddenly vanished as the avatar of the soul fragment burst apart into wisps of smoke, its screams spiking in volume and pitch before trailing off into silence. Harry barely had time to realize he'd won before everything around him dissolved into darkness and his grasp on consciousness slipped away.

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In the Room of Requirement, all present were startled when Harry's scar burst open, spraying a black tar-like sludge over those performing the ritual. A black, smoky, vaguely humanoid form streamed out with an inhuman scream that seemed to echo away into the distance as its 'body' dissipated into wisps and disappeared.

Moments later, Albus Dumbledore collapsed, trickles of blood flowing from his nose, eyes, and ears.


A/N: Monologuing. Not even once.

I threw in the bit about Harry deliberately herding Voldemort into previously-churned-up ground to slow him down to bring a bit of strategy/trickery into Harry's win, my own infinitesimal sliver of the kind of mental battles that characterized many of the best fights in Naruto (especially early in the series).

Fic Recommendation: "Letters from the Asylum" by NarutosBrat - Bored and frustrated by the lack of contact from the Order and his friends over the summer, Harry decides to start writing to Voldemort.

Posted 8 March 2020