A Beautiful Lie

by MaybeMayba

As the looming shadow of Voldemort's threat grows, Harry prepares for their inevitable showdown. At Dumbledore's side, Harry travels through the mysteries of the past and the conflicts of the present, all while growing into the wizard he was destined to be. The life of the Chosen One is not what he expected, as choices and challenges and the weight of war test his strength of will.

47. Chapter 47

A Wand of Death

London was a city that could fit in a globe. Cars puttered along crisscrossing streets like ants through a maze, its people, even smaller, only blots of ink on a page. The din of traffic of the busy metropolis reached their ears in a distant buzz even from here floating among the cover of the clouds.

"Can you see it?" he asked, and he could feel Fleur shake her head from where she was pressed against him.

"We're still too high," she said. "You need to go lower."

"We'll need to put this on." He looped the invisibility cloak around their coupled figures, Fleur moving in even tighter than she had before.

They hovered over the heart of London right in the prime hours of the day. There was only so much they could do to avoid Muggle eyes, and a cloak that fluttered like a flag in the wind was surely better than nothing.

"It's there, I see it!" Fleur pointed to a shabby street where a wall of graffiti ran next to an empty pub. In front of it sat a telephone box, broken down and faded to a washed out pink rather than the vibrant red it once was.

Harry lowered them to the ground and tossed the broom on top of an overflowing bin. Checking up and down the street and in the windows of the dingy offices overhead, he pulled open the rusted door and crammed inside the booth alongside Fleur.

"Dial six, two, four, four, two," Harry said. Fleur reached around his back and he could hear the corresponding beeps through the receiver.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry Potter and Fleur Delacour, come to kill Voldemort."

There was a pause, then the monotone voice of a woman returned, "Thank you." The payphone rumbled, shook, then dispensed a pair of metal badges where coins would normally be. Harry Potter – The One He Fears, his read in silver letters.

With a jolt, the floor of the phonebooth began to groan and descend, the light from outside narrowing to a slit before vanishing entirely to the cover of the pavement. As they slipped further beneath the ground, the soft staticky sound of music sparked overhead, and a raspy woman's voice he recognized as Celestina Warbeck's warbled along to a jazzy melody.

Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?

Fleur wrinkled her nose, and Harry laughed.

"I hate this woman," she grumbled. "Is there no one else you English listen to?"

Harry shrugged.

After a minute more of Celestina's crooning, light began to flood the floor at their feet, spreading higher and higher as they sunk to the dark tiles of the Ministry below. "Atrium," the woman's voice announced. "Have a pleasant afternoon, and remember, Magic is Might."

This time it was Harry's turn to make a face.

The doors slid open and they both piled out, walking straight into the point of a wand. In truth, the wand was angled towards the ground, trembling without threat in an uncertain hand, but still it was enough to bring them pause.

"Oh… it's you," the voice of Dedalus Diggle squeaked. Sweat beaded along the brim of his funny little hat, and his eyes were awash with relief. "For a moment I thought…"

"It wasn't me," Harry supplied.

"Yes," he said and hastily put away his wand. He paced back and forth, wringing his hands nervously. "Alastor left me to guard this entrance—and to wait for you, of course. All the others were shut down when the Ministry was evacuated."

"Do you know where Mad-Eye went?" Harry asked intently.

Diggle shook his head. "I separated from the rest early on," he said unhelpfully, while dabbing at his forehead. "I don't know what happened to any of them. It's been utter chaos. I worried I might have been seen, especially when the ICW arrived." Clenched in his hand was an old, partially faded invisibility cloak. Frayed silver tails of Demiguise hair poked from a scattering of bald patches over its surface.

"Was Krum with them?" Harry asked. He looked down the stretch of hallway in front of them which ran to the atrium. It was dim, lifeless, the dark stone cold as the row of fireplaces set into the walls sat empty.

Diggle nodded his head.

"Do you know where Grindelwald went?"

He shook his head again.

"Do you know where anyone is?" Harry snapped.

"I—I do," the man replied in a small voice. "Downstairs… in the courts. They went down to free Muggle-borns kept there." There was a pause where he squinted and flicked his gaze between Harry and Fleur. "Where is William?"

"He…" Harry stopped, feeling a pit open in his stomach.

"He was slowed down at the bank. He could not make it with us," Fleur said hastily, the truth clear in her eyes. "But we must hurry, Monsieur, there is little time to waste. Come, come."

Diggle pointed to himself. He looked flabbergasted. "You want me?"

"Why not?" Fleur said. "Three pairs of hands are better than two, non?"

"But what about…" He pointed back at the telephone box which slowly rose to the ceiling.

"There isn't anything else to guard," Harry said soberly. "Let's go."

They walked in stiff silence. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Dedalus staring blankly at a point in the distance. The man stopped a few times, opened his mouth, but inevitably closed it again and kept following without saying anything. He knew better than to press any further, and Harry was glad for that.

Upon entering the atrium, a great stone monument rose from the ground like a crudely made mountain. In the place of the wizard, elf and centaur who once stood together in harmony, was a hulking slab of grim, grey stone with the now familiar phrase 'Magic is Might' etched in gold into its side. The handsome likeness of a witch and wizard were cut from the rock and crushed beneath the immensity of their pride was a twisted throne made of the tiny bodies of muggles contorted into grotesque and humiliating positions.

Fleur wrinkled her nose and Doge stared disturbed. Harry kept walking, not sparing the statue a second look. He stepped to the gilded gate of one of the lifts and pressed a button to its side.

A queer, hollow silence hung over the atrium. Not what one expected when stepping into battle. It felt more like an illusion than anything else, as if something were there but remained hidden just beyond the sight of their eyes.

The clanking of the lift and it's arriving ding directed his attention back to the parting grilles.

"What floor?" asked Fleur as she stepped inside.

"Level nine," said Harry. "The courts are a floor lower, but we can only reach them by the stairs."

The moment the button was pressed, the lift dropped as though the floor had been stolen out from under it. His gut was thrust into his throat. The lift banged and rattled and then halted abruptly. "The Department of Mysteries," the woman's cool voice said overhead as the doors slid open.

A single, dark door stood at the end of a tunnel-like hallway. Harry let his eyes slide over its polished surface, and a shiver ran down his spine as it drew him in with the pull of a familiar dream.

"This way," he said, shaking his head free. He led them around the corner and down a narrow staircase.

The entirety of the Ministry was hidden deep beneath the heart of London, safe from the busy lives of the Muggles above, but no floor was deeper than level ten. It felt the deepest too. The air was stale, and where floors in other departments might have enchanted lights and windows charmed to show scenes of the outdoors, there was none of that here. They were enclosed in black brick, and it was torches that flashed gloomily along the walls like they would in a dungeon.

"I've never been down here before," Diggle said, looking warily around them. He rubbed at his arms trying warm them from the chill breeze that seemed to come from nowhere.

"I think it's a good thing you haven't," replied Harry with a dry laugh.

The hall twisted in a long spiralling track with doors opening on its outer wall to offices and smaller chambers intended for more informal matters. The air grew increasingly frigid with each step, clouding their breaths in front of their faces, and what little light lit their path appeared to be stolen by hungry shadows. Eventually, some distance further, they reached a lone door which opened from the inner wall of the hall.

"What is it?" Diggle whispered. He watched Harry carefully, who stood silently in front of the door.

"This is where the Wizengamot meets," said Harry. "They hold criminal trials in here."

"I remember reading about the Death Eater trials held in there at the end of the last war. They were all over the papers," Diggle remarked.

"Is this not where you had your hearing in front of Fudge?" Fleur asked, and Harry nodded. "C'est fou! They treated you like a criminal."

"A lot of them thought I was," said Harry. Reaching forward he pushed on the heavy wooden door and found that it swung open with a lazy creak. "Someone's already been this way," he said.

Rising around him were the towering stands of the courtroom where once a series of pale faces had stared down at him in condemnation. Standing here again, he could see why he'd been so intimidated on the day of his trial. This was no place for a child, with its chair of iron chains and rotten history. Even now, he could feel a hopelessness crawl over his skin where any hint of joy vanished like the rays of a setting sun.

"Stop." Harry held out a hand and froze. The chamber felt as though it had been carved from ice. "I can feel Dementors. We're close."

Prongs leapt from his wand in a cloud of silver mist, melting the dread which had cased itself around his soul with the happiness that leaked from his shining fur. The stag pranced playfully around the room and spread his warmth over Fleur and Dedalus like the kiss of a roaring hearth. He stopped in front of another door at the far end of the chamber before nodding his snout as though encouraging them to follow.

They followed in his pale light, down into a dank cellar far beyond the floor of the court. A bestial moan crawled up the stone walls and to their ears, unearthly, and full of pain. Another moan, more human yet just as tortured reached out as well.

An iron door waited for them at the base of the steps, and as they approached the sounds from within modulated. One, the more monstrous, twisted as a knife did in the back of an enemy; the other, the more soulful, flipped with a pitch of hope.

The door swung open as easy as the first.

The room was shrouded in an inky darkness. Vague shapes were distorted behind its curtain, and it was only when Prongs stepped inside that he could make out the metal bars which stretched from floor to ceiling and discern the crumpled figures behind them.

Moans came from all sides: from the billowing cloaked figures which hissed and recoiled from Prongs in the cells to his left, and the nameless, faceless prisoners cramped in the cells to his right, who reached out to him with their dirtied hands. A singular moan, low and pitiful came from a lump on the floor in front of them as well.

"Elphias? Elphias is that you?" Dedalus called in a panic.

The lump moaned louder and began to thrash.

"Elphias!" Diggle hurried to his friend and, with great effort, flipped the man on his back and pinned his flailing arms. He looked up at Harry, who watched with a grimace. "What's happened to him?"

"He's stuck in a nightmare," Harry replied. Examining the man with a closer eye, he could see he was left without a wand. "Watch over him," he said to Dedalus, "we need to free the rest."

Fleur was already at the cages, mumbling under her breath as she worked her wand over a series of locks. A moment later, there was a definite click accompanied by a flash of gold, then she moved on to the next. Harry pulled open the cell door and took in a sharp breath without knowing. There were more people trapped behind the bars than he'd first realized, crammed together with hardly a space between them like animals in a pen. They watched him, huddled on the ground, still wearing the same sullied clothes they had when brought to this pit.

"You're safe," Harry said softly. No one moved. A sea of pale, frightened eyes continued to stare at him in unease. He motioned for Prongs to come closer, bringing with him his positive force. Some of the lines eased from their anxious expressions, but still they remained still.

Merlin, what did they do to these people? He shuddered with the thought.

"Fleur, do you see any chocolate anywhere?" he turned and asked. "They must have kept chocolate nearby if they were around Dementors."

"Perhaps in there," she replied, pointing to a small desk next to the door.

"Accio chocolate!"

The drawer rattled, then burst, and a large bar of chocolate flew into Harry's hand. He peeled off the wrapper and snapped it in two before tossing one half over to Fleur. "Here you go," he said, breaking off a smaller piece and giving it to brown haired witch in front of him. "That's it, you'll feel better after. I promise."

Piece by piece and person by person they handed out the chocolate, and soon enough, nearly every prisoner had eaten their share and stood with new life colouring their skin. Harry had nearly come to the end of his bar when he stopped at the sound of one individual arguing adamantly with Fleur outside the cell next to him.

"I told you already, I'm fine. Others need it more than I do."

"Do not be foolish, you can hardly stand. Take it, there is enough for everyone."

"What's going on?" Harry asked as he walked over to Fleur. He stopped suddenly. "Dean?"

"Hi, Harry." His dorm mate of six years gave him a shaky smile. "It's good to see you."

Harry blinked, but recovered quickly enough to help his friend to his feet. Dean looked largely the same as he remembered, tall and handsome with pleasant dark eyes, but peering closer he noticed a frailty that hadn't existed before. Those same dark eyes held something in their guarded depths, a loss of innocence, a trauma.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Only a couple of weeks," Dean grunted as he leaned heavily against the wall for support. "Others have been here for almost a month."

"A month?" Fleur repeated in disbelief.

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line and gave a jerky nod.

"Merde."

"What happened?" Harry inquired.

"They found me… the Ministry. I'm not sure how," he said, still shaky. "I went on the run after I got my Hogwarts letter. I knew it wasn't safe anymore." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, his face twisting painfully. "I went with my Mum… I couldn't leave her behind, but when they found us… they… she—she…"

"Take the chocolate, Dean." Harry pressed his last piece into his friend's hand. "It'll help—at least a little. The Dementors prey on our worst moments."

Dean took it without word and placed it hesitantly in his mouth. Harry looked away, giving him a moment. The cells were empty, the captured Muggle-borns now free and chatting in hushed tones with one another around Prongs as if he were a great silver bonfire. The pointed fingers and furtive glances in his direction did not escape him either.

"We'd lost hope," Dean said after a break. "It's too easy when you're stuck in here. They tortured us. Every day they would come down here to pick someone to be tried. Sometimes they'd pick someone out just to bring them back down again. I'm not sure who was luckier, them or the ones who didn't come back."

"Who did it, Dean?" Harry asked, feeling his throat clench with anger.

"There was a blonde man. I don't know his name, but he'd come down here sometimes with Umbridge. She's the one who held the trials," he said. "They were actually both down here before you came."

"Where did they go?"

Dean shifted his gaze to Doge on the floor. "He came in and told them that Grindelwald was coming after the Minister."

"Of course, he did," Harry muttered darkly beneath his breath. Dean then looked back to him, and something in his expression made Harry pause. "What else happened?" he pressed.

"I… I can't be sure. It was dark, and there were the Dementors and I haven't been able to think straight until you gave me the chocolate, but… I think Hermione was here. I think Umbridge took her after leaving him." He was pointing at Doge again, who let out another pitiful moan. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"Don't be," Harry excused. "There was nothing you could do."

Taking the rest of Fleur's portion of the chocolate, he folded it in its wrapper and handed it to Dean and made to leave, only to be stopped short at the sound of his name.

"Harry," Dean called. A strange frown knit itself over his brow. "Is what they're saying true? That you're working with Grindelwald."

There was a moment of silence where Harry didn't say anything.

"Just worry about getting out of here, Dean," he eventually said. "Help Dedalus hand out the rest of the chocolate—" He flicked his eyes over Doge "—and don't worry about wasting any of it on him."

The journey back up through the courts of level ten did not feel as long as it had when they had come down. Harry's heart beat firmly against his chest, matching the echoing clip of their hurried footsteps across the dark stone floor. Neither of them had said a word since leaving the holding cells, but there was a silent understanding of where they were headed next. They climbed the steps to level nine, raced opposite the door to the Department of Mysteries, and stepped into the open doors of the patiently waiting lift. Harry jabbed the button for level one, knowing the Minister's Office was found on the top floor.

"Do you really think she's in there?" Fleur asked carefully.

Harry shook his head and frowned. "I don't know, but it's the only lead we've got.

"You've noticed it as well," Fleur said after a moment, reading something off of his face. "How strange it is. There's a battle happening around us, but we haven't seen anyone or heard anything."

"I don't like it. The Ministry is huge, and we're stronger together."

"Oui, but what about Voldemort? He must have known you would come. We know he is here from Hermione's message, so why drag it out? Why not simply wait for you to arrive and end it all then?"

Harry paused to think, the jangling of the lift nothing more than a distant noise to him. He looked up. "The rest of the battle means nothing to him," he remarked. "He's waiting for something. He must be. I just don't know what. I thought it would be me…"

Just then, the lift shuddered, jolted, and abruptly came to a halt.

"The Ministry of Magic apologizes for this inconvenience," the woman's voice announced above them. "Access to level one and level two are temporarily unavailable."

"Where are we then?" Harry said aloud.

"Level three," the woman said and there was a ding. "Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

The grilles pulled open and Harry stepped into a puddle. Fleur followed but managed to find a dry patch. It felt as though they'd stepped out into a dreary London shower, and looking up at the ceiling he realized they'd done exactly that. Water poured over them from tiny grey clouds which swirled in dark patterns overhead. They spat, drizzled, and chucked it down in sheets. From within her pocket, Fleur pulled out her cloak and threw it over their heads. The droplets which had been patting down the damp mess of his hair instead struck the enchanted cloth, sent tiny ripples over its surface, and were shed from its edges to the growing pools along the floor.

Fleur looked cheekily to him over her shoulder. "Your British weather knows no bounds."

As they searched the surrounding corridors for another way to reach the Minister's office, they found that it hadn't just been raining in the circular room which housed the lifts. In fact, the entire floor was caught up in this downpour.

"Do you think they blocked it?" Fleur asked from his side as a small spark of lightning shot from one of the clouds and singed the sopping leather of a couch next to them.

"I do," said Harry with a degree of certainty. He walked a little further down the hall where something had caught his eye. Burnt over the tile of the wall was a black mark still freshly hissing from the kiss of the rain. "There was fighting here not too long ago."

As he spoke, through the soft pattering of the rain against the cloak, he could hear the distant rumble of voices, so low that it was difficult to distinguish them from the groaning thunder overhead.

He drew his wand and continued to march forward, clearing each corridor with a cautious care. The voices grew louder and more distinct with every passing step, more familiar even, to the point that he suddenly faltered. It can't be, Harry thought to himself, now running, leaving Fleur and the protective cover of her cloak struggling to keep up with him. He found himself unable to contain the disbelief spread over his face. They always find a way…

Harry turned the corner at pace, and immediately stopped at the point of a half-dozen wands. They dropped in a blink, and the eyes behind them widened almost comically.

"Bloody hell, Harry! What are you doing running around scaring us like that for?" Ron exclaimed.

"What are you doing here?"

"Responding to your message, of course," his friend said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "'Attack on Ministry now'. You sent that over the galleon, didn't you?"

Harry ran a hand over his wet hair. "Yeah, but that wasn't exactly meant for you," he said.

Ron shrugged. "Well, we're here now."

Footsteps squeaked behind them as Fleur followed around the corner. She stopped beside Harry and looked over the assembled crowd with amusement.

"Look who we found on our way," Ron said with a smirk.

The small crowd in front of him parted ways, comprised by the same stubbornly loyal friends who'd helped him into Hogwarts only last night. It wasn't them who stole his attention, or even the continued surprising presence of Malfoy, but the tall lanky figure standing at the center of them all—a man he once thought to be dead, and then thought to never see again.

"Remus…" Harry breathed.

His father's old friend looked down at him warmly, a smile peeking beyond the edges of his greying beard. "You look well, Harry. Much better than when I'd seen you last."

"How?" It was all Harry could manage to ask in the moment.

"News of what is going on in Britain is quite popular on the continent," he said with a dry laugh. "There is a small wizarding establishment with a wireless that I would visit on most evenings. It wasn't something I particularly enjoyed, but I forced myself to listen simply because it was all I could do to keep myself from leaving. That is until news spread of Severus' death last night and I knew I had waited long enough."

"But what about your son?"

"He is safe with Isla, and I asked Nico to look after them while I am gone. He was desperate to come himself, but a one-legged werewolf has no place in battle. He asked me to tell you to repay the favour to someone more deserving this time."

Harry wanted to smile but found that he couldn't. "What if something happens to you?"

Remus' scarred face twisted painfully. "Then hopefully one day he will come to understand." He paused for a breath before continuing. "I view you as a son as well, Harry, and long ago I made a promise to James. I am not leaving one for another, merely doing my part to protect you both."

"How did you manage to get in here?" Fleur spoke up, and Remus turned and looked between her and Harry and smiled.

"That is down to a simple matter of good timing and fate," he said. "Upon arriving I went straight to Grimmauld Place only to find it empty. Fortunately, Kreacher was in the kitchen and told me of your plan. I came to the Ministry at once and ran into some familiar faces."

"It was Luna who recognized him first," picked up Neville with excitement. "I can't believe I didn't recognize my favorite professor."

"I thought the Ministry was locked down," said Harry.

"It was all Percy!" exclaimed Ron with a grin. "He's been letting people back in through one of the employee entrances." Partially hidden just behind Ron, Harry spotted a blushing Percy fiddling with his horned rimmed glasses. "He's been brilliant," Ginny added, making her brother's embarrassment turn a shade brighter.

"Many of us here at the Ministry have had enough of the corruption and barbarity," Percy announced with a slightly puffed chest, only for it to deflate a second later as his voice dropped below a mumble. "For once, it was the right thing to do…"

The rain was still pounding overheard, drenching their clothes and slapping against the growing pools over the tile, yet hardly anyone seemed to notice, so caught up in the shock of their reunion.

"Have any of you seen Hermione?" Harry suddenly asked.

"No, we haven't seen anyone from the Order," Ron replied with a frown. "Why? Is she alright?"

"I don't know." Harry shook his head. "She was taken by Umbridge."

"Umbridge!?" Ron exclaimed, and he could see the rest of his friends stiffen at the name. "They should've left her with the bloody centaurs," he grumbled.

"Last we heard they were going to the Minister's Office, but the lifts won't take us up," said Harry.

"I know a way," said Percy, drawing the attention of the group. "There's an emergency entrance to the upper levels in case the lifts are shut down. I can take you. Umbridge's office is—"

The sound of voices only a corridor away froze them.

"Where do you think all those people are coming from?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't like the idea of civilians getting in the way."

Harry held out a hand, and with the other drew his wand. He waited, listening as the voices edged closer and closer to the hallway they were in.

"I don't like any of this, we shouldn't be working with them."

"Just stop thinking about it. That's what I do. Just do what you're told, it's easier that way."

"But—"

There was a flash of red and the first man dropped before he even stepped fully around the corner. The second agent only had enough time to shout in alarm before Fleur's stunning spell struck him in the chest.

"We need to move," said Harry after binding the two men together.

No complaints came from the others.

Footsteps splashed and echoed loudly behind them as they raced across the length of level 3. Percy, despite his outwardly appearance, kept pace at the front of the group, leading them through the twisting halls. They were tracking back from the direction Harry had come, and eventually the golden grilles of the lifts could be seen gleaming in the distance.

DING!

The sound rang all around them. The lift jostled and rattled and then creaked as the grilles slowly pulled apart. A man stumbled out, wild-eyed and dazed. His robes were torn on one side of his body where flecks of blood were sprayed over its dark material. He stared out with only a hint of familiarity lurking beyond the madness in his eye.

"Heath, are you alright?" Harry stepped forward to help steady the man. "What happened?"

"Mad-Eye's dead," he said blankly.

Harry could hear noises of disbelief from behind him.

Mad-Eye dead. He never thought it possible. It always seemed as though the grizzled Auror would outlive them all, losing chunks of himself along the way but still managing to trudge on in battle, snarling, and complaining of a lack of vigilance with his whirling blue eye.

"Who killed him?" he asked.

"Voldemort," Fardale said, while continuing to stare forward into nothing. "We were ambushed in the Minister's Office." A moment passed before he shook his head and seemed to regain a sense of himself. "Everything was going perfectly. We took the Minister while everyone was distracted with the evacuation… I—I just don't know how they figured it out."

I do, Harry thought grimly to himself. And I hope he lives with that nightmare for the rest of his life.

"Where is everyone else?" he asked trying to keep Heath focused.

"They split fighting for themselves," Heath said. The haunted look began to creep back along the edges of his eyes. "Grindelwald left when the ICW showed up, and Kingsley fell back after Mad-Eye…"

"What about my brothers?" Percy demanded.

"I don't know about Bill—"Fardale glanced quickly over in the direction of Harry"—but your parents were off with Fred and George and the others causing the initial distraction."

"Where's Tonks?" Harry asked, and a discomfort fell over Fardale's features.

"She's not here," he said, while guiltily averting his gaze. "I took her to her parents last night. I couldn't have her coming here today, not with the danger, not with our baby."

"Your baby?"

Harry turned to see Remus staring in apparent shock.

"Remus, this is Tonks' fiancé, Heath Fardale," Harry introduced.

"Fiancé?" A funny smile spread over the older man's lips.

"Remus, as in Remus Lupin?" Fardale wore a matching smile as they shook hands. "It's great to finally meet you."

"Listen, as lovely as it is to see you all catch up, shouldn't we actually go do something," Malfoy cut in sardonically. The pale blonde stood off to the side next to Astoria Greengrass. His hand was gripped tightly in hers.

"I agree," Ron said, looking none too happy with the fact, "I've got a best friend to go save."

"We need to meet with the others rallying in the atrium," Percy pointed out.

"They'll need your help," Fardale agreed before clenching his jaw. "I'll find you after. I have an appointment with Yaxley I need to deal with first."

In the brief silence which ensued, Harry stopped and looked to Fleur finding that her eyes were already searching his own. Something did not feel right. The air was suddenly heavy, the space around them pressing in as though they were no longer alone, and turning around he understood why.

"IT'S POTTER!"

A dozen ICW agents stood at the end of the hall, the two at the front being the ones they had stunned and bound. Multicolored spells streaked through the air before smacking into a luminous shield like hail against a tin roof. For the moment they were safe by the lifts, but more agents could be seen flooding into the hall and joining the fray.

"Leave!" Harry shouted. He briefly lowered his shield to send out a wave of magic towards the agents who stumbled back with its force. "I'll hold them off!"

"Harry!" Remus called as he stepped forward to help.

"No," Harry grunted. "Help the others. Percy is right, we need to rally in the atrium."

Just as another wave of spells came flying their way, Fleur raised her arms and absorbed the blow with her own shield. Harry watched as Remus grudgingly backed away, and then turned to face his friends. From where he had kept it before, Harry reached into his cloak and pulled out the folded body of the Sorting Hat and rushed towards Neville who stood closest to him.

"Take this," he said, pressing it into Neville's hands. "If you see Voldemort's snake, kill it."

Neville looked at him confusedly. "How is this—"

"You'll know what to do when the time comes," Harry said seriously. "I trust you. Just kill the snake."

Neville gave a short nod and Harry turned away, not having a second more to spare. The ICW were steadily gaining ground on Fleur who couldn't hold them off for much longer. With a slash of his wand, he banished one of the heavy couches in the waiting area at the approaching agents. Several were knocked into the wall with a horrible crunch, but still they pressed on.

Checking over his shoulder, he could see the rest of the group had managed to get away. There was a hall to their left opposite where the ICW were coming from, but a wall of flames erupted from the soaked floor to block their exit. More agents came piling in until a sea of green was spread out in front of them, backing Harry and Fleur against the lifts.

They were surrounded, held at the point of dozens of wands and narrowed eyes, yet no one made a move.

Fleur spoke first, breaking the tense silence. "We do not have to fight," she said. "We share an enemy."

"Silence Delacour!" A voice from within the crowd shouted. "You're on the wrong side."

"Just let her go," Harry said as calmly as he could manage. He lowered the tip of his wand enough to show a lack of aggression but still defend himself if called upon. "It's me that you want, not her."

"We want you both," someone else shouted.

"She's one of you," Harry said.

"She's a traitor!" the first voice yelled again.

"The only traitors I see are the ones standing in front of me!" Harry erupted, feeling something fierce light within him. "How many of you have sat and watched as a country fell into darkness? You were supposed to be the ones protecting the people—"

"'Arry…"

"—but instead, you're choosing to protect Voldemort while innocent Muggle-borns are imprisoned beneath your feet! I don't see any difference between you and his Death Eaters."

"'Arry!"

He stopped and turned to see Fleur with her wand out. He took a step back. It was pointed at him.

"Fleur…"

"'Arry do not move," she said seriously. She edged closer to the wall of flames which flicked and hissed in the still pouring rain.

"That's it, Delacour, it's never too late to turn back," one of the agents goaded.

"I have no choice," she continued, as her eyes flicked about the room. Harry noticed the way her hand tightened around her wand, as the other gripped the hem of her cloak. Eventually, her gaze fell back upon him, rolling with emotion like the heavy waves over an ocean.

Harry felt his throat thicken.

"No matter what happens…" She paused and blinked something from her eye. "Remember that I love you."

Before anyone else could react, Fleur flashed her wand through the air and the three ICW agents nearest her fell in a dead faint. With her path now clear, she wrapped the enchanted material of her cloak around herself and leapt through the flames.

In the moment she had created for him, Harry struck. A half-dozen figures in green robes were forced together as though stuck by a magnet, and arms shaped from the pooling waters pulled down the men who chased after Fleur. He ducked and shielded from the multitude of curses sent his way, their caustic touch singeing the ends of his robes and hair, before snaking a thin string of fire through the air which cast down a curtain of steam.

Partially hidden by the rapidly thinning vapor, Harry slipped on his invisibility cloak and stepped into the chaos. Agents were blindly barking commands as others searched the spot where he had last been seen. Spells were flying at random, and for each that struck the storm overheard it churned and roiled and rained down harder. He stepped carefully between the rushing bodies and silently stalked through the crowd stunning them one by one. The shouts grew louder, more confused with every passing second as panic began to seep within their ranks as they noticed their thinning numbers.

It was only when the steam had cleared that he removed his cloak and confronted the few who remained. In a blink, the roles had been reversed; it was Harry who now held them at the point of his wand and the agents pressed against the lifts.

"Enough of this," Harry's voice clipped with impatience. "Where is Voldemort?"

Fearful eyes stared back, but nobody spoke.

He twisted his wand and the golden edges of the grilles sprouted like vines, circled their limbs, and constricted the agents in front of him.

"Where is he?"

Harry stalked forward and dug his wand into the throat of one of the agents. He was a young man, a boy, pale and weedy and likely not any older than Fleur.

"No one?" he asked, looking around without an answer.

The boy in front of him squirmed.

"Do not ask them questions they do not have answers to."

A voice sounded from over his shoulder, and Harry spun to see Viktor standing in the place where the fiery wall had once been. He let the vines slacken, but kept the agents bound tightly to the wall.

"And who has those answers, you?"

Viktor's hawkish eyes were narrowed in a sullen scowl.

"Vat happened in Gringotts?" he asked.

"Why do you care?" Harry bit back.

"Because I am the one who let you in."

Harry looked to the dark clouds curling overhead and rubbed along the scar on his jaw. He dropped his hand and then looked back to Viktor with an air of honesty. "I thought we had come to an understanding."

"Vat is there to understand," Viktor said without emotion.

"You let us go down to the vaults when we needed to," Harry continued. "You believe in what we're doing, even if you pretend not to. I know you do."

Viktor laughed, but the sound came out empty. "Vy vould you think that?"

"Why didn't you just arrest us this morning then? It would have been the easy thing to do. Voldemort would have rewarded you," Harry countered. "That is, at least until he thought it was time to betray you."

Somehow the scowl on Viktor's face managed to deepen. "I do not vork for him. I vork for myself," he said stiffly.

"What difference does it make when the outcome is the same," Harry said sharply.

They glared at one another for a long moment.

"I let you in because you spared my life," Viktor spoke evenly. "I do not owe you anything else."

An itch of irritation burned beneath Harry's skin. "So, that's all it was? A debt to be squared, nothing more. People have died today because of you, Viktor," he said harshly. "Bill, Mad-Eye… What did they do to deserve it?"

"I did not bring Bill to Gringotts or Alastor Moody to the Ministry," Viktor said with a cold smile. "Vas it not your plan vich put your friends in danger? You are not innocent, Harry."

"Neither are you," Harry replied, clamping down on his rage.

Something dark clouded Viktor's eyes. "I do not believe I am."

Harry took a step forward and slipped his wand away. "What do you want from me then, Viktor?" he asked, feeling suddenly very tired. The effects of the last few days were wearing on him, stiffening his muscles, and sending an ache over every inch of his body. "You won't duel me, you can't kill me, so why did you come find me?"

Viktor looked at him squarely. "I vant to end this."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "You do, do you? I was beginning to think I'm the only one who wanted that."

"Vat happened in Gringotts?" the Bulgarian repeated his question from earlier.

Harry sighed. "We broke into the Lestrange vault," he said, considering his next words carefully. "We needed to destroy one of the final anchors to Voldemort's immortality."

"Did it vork?" Viktor asked. "Is he mortal?"

"Nearly," Harry said. "Why?"

Without responding, Viktor turned and walked away. The water sloshed underfoot as he paced back and forth with a thick frown dug into his brow. He stopped sometime later and looked up, seemingly having made his mind up on something.

"Grindelwald is in the Department of Mysteries," he revealed. "Ve tracked him there not long ago. Go and find him and then ve vill end this."

Viktor pressed the down button on the nearest lift which shook to life. With a short twist of his wand, Harry released the agents from his vines who then fell to their knees and rubbed at their wrists. He watched Viktor carefully as the doors to the lift peeled open but found his expression as impossible to read as ever. Stepping inside, he pressed the button for level 9.

"It's foolish to try and kill him," Harry looked to his old friend and warned.

"I vould be a coward to not," said Viktor, just as the ghost of a smile he used to wear curled at the corner of his lip. "I could never have been Seeker if I vas."

The doors then glided closed between them, and the lift fell away pulling Harry into the darkness.

The trip was a silent one, the ever-present buzz of the rain vanishing as he passed through the many floors of the Ministry. Only the dull grinding of the rapidly travelling lift filled the numb air. He tried to think but found he couldn't. His friends were off somewhere fighting, and here he was not anywhere closer to finding Voldemort than when he'd first arrived, with Nagini was still alive, and the power he knew not all but lost to him.

A stone of life, a wand of death, a cloak of truth…

He ran the words through his mind as he had on countless other occasions. Had he overlooked something? Had Dumbledore thought the riddle to be more straightforward than Harry could see? The shadows from the corners of the lift began to creep forward and stretch over him with their doom.

"The Department of Mysteries," the woman's voice interrupted, shaking him free of his uncertainty.

Harry stepped out of the lift and into the narrow, dark corridor for the second time that day. The plain black door greeted him at its end. As he approached, it almost seemed to yawn, swinging open silently and stretching before him into a cavernous circular entrance room.

He closed the door and watched as the walls rotated around him. Identical black doors blurred together, and the blue flames of the candles which shimmered over the inky stone turned to bright streaks. A sensation of nausea rose up within him but quickly fell away as the whirling walls came to an abrupt stop.

Perhaps it was simply intuition, or a familiarity with what lay beyond the waiting doors, or even something else, but regardless of the cause, Harry felt himself drawn forward to the first door to his left.

He could hear the whispers before he even stepped through.

A stone pit opened up beneath him, deep and long, and lined by rows upon rows of steep benches. Harry stood at the top, overlooking the grim chamber. His eyes shifted to the center and he flinched. The Veil rose in a crooked arch, fluttering in the air like a strange curtain. Standing in front of it, gazing into its hidden depths, entranced, was Grindelwald.

Harry climbed down carefully, ignoring the whispers which cut coldly into his ear. They rose and fell in unintelligible hisses. There were more voices than he could remember from before, stirring from a place just beyond sight.

He walked steadily towards the dais, his footsteps echoing loudly throughout the chamber, when suddenly he stopped, a terrible chill gripping his spine. I was standing right here… he realized, looking up at the portal of death.

The Veil rippled just as it had in all his dreams.

"I can hear him," Grindelwald's soft voice broke the silence.

Harry joined the man in front of the archway. "Who?" he asked, though he was certain he already knew the answer.

"Albus," Grindelwald said distantly. His hand reached out and hung inches away from the gently swaying veil. "His voice is so loud, so clear, as though he stands on the other side of this curtain, but I cannot understand what it is he is trying to say."

"I think it's meant to tempt you," said Harry, who made sure to keep his distance from the threshold. "The only way to hear them fully would be to join them."

A meaningful silence settled between them. Each stood listening to the familiar call of far-off voices, which scratched with the faded warmth of a worn record.

"My godfather fell through. Sirius," Harry continued mostly to himself. "We were supposed to live together when this was all over. He was the last family I had… and then he just vanished. He was there and then he wasn't—just like all death I suppose." He dug his hands in his pockets and let out a bitter laugh. "For the longest time I thought he was just lost and that one day he would find his way and climb out."

"One does not escape the grip of death so freely," Grindelwald finally responded. There was a calmness about the man, a serenity. "The echoes of the magic in this archway stretch to the beginning of time. To step into death is to never return."

Harry nodded slowly. "I came to realize that later."

"'The next great adventure', that is what Albus considered it to be," Grindelwald pondered aloud after a pause. The grey-blue of his eyes were filled with something Harry couldn't quite place. "It is only fitting that he went first to explore its wonder and learn its secrets before I had the chance. We were always quite competitive in that regard."

Harry found himself chuckling at the thought.

Grindelwald then turned to Harry, breaking away from the Veil for the first time. "I am sorry to hear of the manner of your godfather's passing," he said in a way Harry could tell was honest. "Though, there are worse ways to meet your end. I imagine stepping through this gate must be no different than falling into the embrace of those waiting on the other side."

The Dark Lord's eyes flicked back to the swaying veil, and the aged lines of his face grew more pronounced, sinking into his leathered skin like long trenches. For a moment, without quite knowing why, Harry thought Grindelwald might walk through. But the moment passed as quickly as it came, and he remained still, only to look back at Harry and have his eyebrows draw together quizzically.

"Why are you so wet?"

Harry glanced down to his feet where a small puddle had formed from his dripping clothes.

"Faulty atmospheric charm," he replied, while taking his wand and drying his clothes as best he could. He glanced over to Grindelwald who looked much more like his usual self, having stepped off the dais. "How did you end up here?"

"When we were so rudely interrupted in the Minister's office I was forced to leave before your comrades were overwhelmed. There would be no one left had I not drawn the attention of the ICW down here. I am the apple of their eye, after all," Grindelwald smirked, before his lips tensed into a firm line. "We are severely outnumbered."

"Not anymore."

A flash of amusement kindled in the cold depths of Grindelwald's eyes. "Your schoolfriends I imagine?"

"And others," said Harry with a grin.

"A final stand…" Grindelwald let his words linger in the still air. "How heroic."

Harry's smile quickly faded, and a frown cast a shadow over his features. "We need to join them in the atrium. They won't last on their own," he said.

Grindelwald nodded and gazed about the room. "Where is your flower?" he asked abruptly.

"We were separated," said Harry. An uncomfortable feeling gripped his throat, something like dread, which dripped through him slowly like a poison. "I'm sure she's already joined with the others."

"You were successful then at Gringotts?" Grindelwald inquired.

Harry solemnly dipped his head. "At a cost," he revealed.

"Your regrets will not change reality," said Grindelwald, and Harry felt a hand come to rest gently on his shoulder.

"No," he said quietly, "but it's important to still feel, otherwise I'm no different than him or…"

"Myself," Grindelwald finished without a trace of emotion in his voice.

Harry nodded.

"Viktor told me where to find you," said Harry after a pause. "He wants me to bring you to the battle."

Grindelwald closed his eyes and stood still as stone. A softness grew along the edges of his lips, stripping away the years and making him look a young man again. Harry wondered if perhaps he was listening to Dumbledore.

"If what he wishes is to face me, then I can only oblige," Grindelwald eventually said, having turned his attention back to Harry.

"Come, let us end this."

Sparing only a final fleeting glance at the Veil over his shoulder, Harry followed Grindelwald up the many rows of the stone chamber. The door swung open without a sound and clicked back shut, silencing the whispers which faded like the distant call of the wind.

In the hollow silence that followed, Harry could hear his heart as it bounded against his chest. It beat faster than he'd expected, and by the time he reached the lift it quickened to where he could hardly keep count. He pressed the button and waited, and as the seconds ticked by, each slowing and stretching to where a moment could fit a lifetime, he reached for the comforting touch of the Elder Wand. The burn of the wood spread pleasantly over his skin, and he could feel his breath even and heart slow to a normal rhythm.

Harry looked to the side to see Grindelwald staring down at him vaguely; but before he could say anything, the door to the lift opened and they stepped inside.

"I caught a glimpse of this Voldemort for the first time before I left," he said, piercing the quiet.

"And?" Harry asked, waiting for him to continue.

"He is a beastly thing."

"Level 8, Atrium," the cool woman's voice announced overhead as the lift began to slow. "The Ministry of Magic hopes you had a pleasant experience."

There was a brief moment of calm which fell over them.

DING!

And then they were struck by the chaos of a storm.

A spell flashed between the grilles just as they were beginning to pull apart. Harry ducked, and when he turned, he could see a yellowish acid had already eaten away a significant portion of the back of the lift. Looking back around, Grindelwald had already stepped into the fray.

Where the Atrium had been vacant only an hour or so ago, it was now completely flooded with people. The monument of wizarding supremacy still dominated its center, but three factions faced off around its hulking figure.

A heart wrenching scream stole Harry's attention to where a tear-stricken Percy stood at the head of a crowd of witches and wizards he did not recognize. They charged forward to the sound of, 'For Fred! FOR FRED!' still wearing their smartly tailored robes better suited for deskwork. Across from them, a group of ICW agents stood stunned, unsure of who or what they should be siding against. Some fought half-heartedly against the rebelling Ministry personnel, while others stood against an encroaching rank of Death Eaters, who flung curses without discrimination.

It was a free-for-all.

Harry slipped into the seething crowd and was immediately swept up in the current of battle. It battered him this way and that, like a ship caught in the grip of a tempest. He shielded unsuspecting civilians from curses destined for their backs, before twisting and disabling the casters so that they might not hold a wand again. He quickly lost track of where he was, and whether they were gaining or losing any ground.

Stun, shield, disarm, block, it was a rhythm he could not break without risking those around him. He was pressed in on all sides, and should he dare use the magic the Elder Wand so craved with its insatiable thirst, he might do more damage than good.

Finding a break in the mob, Harry stepped free and took the opportunity to scan over the battle. Dark hoods and hats peaked above the turbulent sea in front of him, but there was not a hint of silver hair that could spotted in its depths.

"Fleur!" he shouted into the cacophony of spellfire. "Fleur!"

The sound was drowned, and he knew it was futile, but still he tried.

"Fleur!"

Though he couldn't find her, he noticed the crowd shift, and through it, he could see Grindelwald fending off a growing number of figures in green robes. Whatever battles they had previously engaged in were abandoned and their earlier uncertainties had vanished with their focus now turned on their most coveted prize.

Harry dove back into the crowd, attempting to force his way to where Grindelwald fought near the monument. But with every step, more Death Eaters took the place of the ICW agents who fell away.

There was a flash of green, and Harry ducked just in time to avoid a killing curse which narrowly flew over his head. A Death Eater with rotted teeth raised his wand a second time when suddenly a massive paw knocked him to the ground. A majestic lion prowled over the man's prone body, and behind it came a tall witch in tartan robes with a severe expression worn across her narrow face.

"Professor McGonagall?" Harry said in surprise.

The Transfiguration professor's lips tightened, and she dipped her head. "Mr. Potter, the trouble you find yourself in never ceases to amaze."

Harry laughed as he snared a Death Eater in a radiant gold net. To his right, the diminutive figure of Professor Flitwick darted forwards and struck the man he'd been dueling with a glowing blue spell that puffed out his cheeks and sent him floating weightlessly higher and higher into the air.

"What about Hogwarts?" he asked.

"Horace has everything under control," Professor McGonagall replied while casting a stunning spell. She then turned and looked deliberately across the Atrium. "I received word of students absconding from school grounds and have come to ensure their safe return."

He followed her gaze to where his friends were busy fighting, and immediately pushed his way towards Ron's mop of red hair which stuck above the rest like a flaming beacon.

"What happened to Umbridge?"

A dangerous smile, unlike one he had ever seen, spread over Hermione's lips as she pointed to the ceiling with her thumb.

Suspended by her ankle, screaming in utter terror from the roof of the Atrium, hung the pink blob that was Dolores Umbridge. Eclipsing her, helplessly, was the man Flitwick had jinxed.

"Levicorpus can be a very dangerous spell if you mean it," she said.

"You should've seen the toad's face when we got to her office and rescued Hermione," Ron exclaimed. Next to him, Dean had joined and was duelling together with Ginny, while Neville and Luna stood on their other side.

"Have any of you seen Fleur?" Harry asked, starting to feel the creepings of panic.

Both his friends shook their heads.

"We haven't seen anyone since we split with Percy," said Ron, whose brows knit together in a grimace. "Is he alright? What about my parents?"

"I don't know," Harry muttered, only half-listening. He was looking over the crowd again.

Great spurts of flame twisted in the air above where Grindelwald was duelling the ICW, the intensity enough to push back the majority of the crowd to the edge of the atrium. Along the edge, in the distance, he thought he could make out the blonde head of Malfoy arguing with Astoria as his parents tried to drag him away to the exit; and moving from one blonde head to another he could see Yaxley savagely duelling Remus near the foot of the stone monument.

"I thought we'd gotten rid of your kind," snarled Yaxley as he stalked forward with a stiff gait. Remus was doubled over, bleeding heavily from his brow. "I'll skin your pelt and hang it on my wall, beast."

A sinister streak of magic cut through the air only to be deflected to the floor where it carved a gruesome streak.

"I would run, Yaxley," Harry said as he slowly lowered his wand. "While you can. It served you well last time."

The blonde man turned his gaze to Harry. "I would recommend you the same, Potter," he sneered.

"Look around you, your numbers are dwindling. You can't win."

Yaxley let out a short, cruel laugh. "You are a fool, Potter. You have no idea what you've walked into. My Lord will come and kill you, and then I will kill your Werewolf just like I did your friend."

Harry stopped short and turned to Remus, whose eyes were red and wet with tears.

"Oh, yes," Yaxley grinned, "your Auror is dead. It seems the training they receive at the academy is… lacking."

The Death Eater didn't even have the chance to blink before the first spell hit him. The Elder Wand pulsed in Harry's hand, there was a blinding flash, a rush of air, and Yaxley came crashing to the ground some dozen feet away. Harry stepped forward and Remus growled, standing with him. The next spell caught Yaxley in the shoulder, slicing through robe and flesh as he just managed to turn his neck away. With panic in his eye, Yaxley fumbled for his wand and cast a caustic yellow spell. Remus batted it away with ease. Desperate now, he spun his head in circles, searching the room, and as he attempted to crawl away, Harry twisted his wand and a terrible crack sounded from Yaxley's knee. The man collapsed and let out a drawn-out wail.

"If anyone is a fool, Yaxley, it's you," said Harry. "Did you really think Voldemort would come and save you? Your master doesn't save anyone but himself. He'd kill you just as quickly as me if he needed to."

"He will come." Yaxley peered up through pain filled eyes and laughed again. "And when he does, I will savour the hopelessness of your last moments even if they are my own."

Coughing and spitting, the man made a show of struggling to his feet when suddenly he cut his wand through the air. "Avada Ke—"

Before the words could fully leave his mouth, a crimson streak cleaved through his thigh leaving nothing but a spurting stub in its place.

Harry turned from the man in distaste.

He looked around the Atrium and found the battle had stilled. A queer silence fell over the room, reminding him of the strange emptiness he had felt when first entering it. All eyes inside seemed to be focused on him. No, not on me, he quickly realized with a sinking feeling, something above me.

Slowly, he looked up, and then his heart stopped beating.

"Fleur," he managed to whisper, feeling his body freeze over with fear.

Hovering high in the air was a pulsing blue sphere and twisted unnaturally within he could see her limp, dangling body. Her hair was fanned, and her eyes closed peacefully, but little else could be made out through its nebulous, shifting surface. He watched as it slowly descended to some ten feet above his head, and only then noticed that it wasn't the sphere that was moving, but something inside.

"I had heard you were looking for me," a chilling voice called from the shadows. It rang about the room despite being nothing more than a hiss.

Slipping into existence before his very eyes was Voldemort. He drew the pale length of his wand and lowered the orb further.

"My offer is simple," he said, as his crimson eyes glinted cruelly. "Surrender yourself to me, Harry Potter, or I will kill her."

Harry could not breath, could not move, could not think.

"Lord Voldemort, are you such a coward you cannot face him on your own?"

"Who dares speak this way." Voldemort tensed as though to strike, before turning to the voice and flashing his teeth in a cold smile. "Ah, my predecessor, Gellert Grindelwald. To think how far you've fallen to follow at the tail of a child."

"I conquered Europe while you were still learning levitation spells. Tell me, how long do you think you'd last in a duel?"

There was a hunger in Voldemort's eye. "Only one of us managed to defeat the great Albus Dumbledore."

Grindelwald laughed as he did in the face of all those he thought beneath him. "You killed an old man, unarmed and already dying."

Voldemort hissed something under his breath, and from within the orb, the shadow of a monstrous head encircled Fleur and tightened around her neck.

"No!" Harry shouted. "Stop!"

Voldemort held up a long, thin finger and the shadow froze. "You know the price," he said, watching him with a calculating stare. "Your life for hers."

Harry nodded without hesitation. There wasn't anything for him to consider. She was all he had.

"I'll do it… just let her go."

Voices of dissent burst from behind him, but none louder than Grindelwald who stepped forward next to him.

"Have you lost your mind," he whispered furiously. In the grey-blue of his eyes, beyond the wear of time, he could see the anger of the Dark Lord which lurked beneath. "You cannot surrender yourself at the final stage."

"You did," Harry replied calmly, catching the man off guard. "With Dumbledore. You told me."

"That was for love!" Grindelwald exclaimed, and gripped his arm tightly, desperately.

Harry set his jaw in determination. "And is this not?"

Something shifted in Grindelwald's expression, an anger melting to a panic. His eyes flicked from Harry to the Elder Wand in his hand.

"You cannot," he said breathlessly. "The wand—you are its master. Its power cannot go to him. It cannot leave us. You would not dare lose our ownership."

"I don't care about ownership," Harry snapped, and pointed his finger to Fleur. "I care about her!" He tore his arm free from Grindelwald, who cursed and fell to his knees.

Squaring his shoulders, he steadied himself and turned to face Voldemort, but caught the eyes of Neville who stood just off beside him. His friend gave him an imperceptible nod, and Harry swallowed nervously.

"So quick to lay down your life for others. Your parents must be so proud," Voldemort mocked, but frowned when Harry did not respond. "So meek in defeat. I am disappointed you did not pose to be the challenge I once hoped you'd be."

He lowered his finger and the shimmering blue sphere vanished, revealing the paralyzed figure of Fleur wrapped in a mass of poisonous green skin. Nagini slipped from her as though she were a cloak, and slowly slithered towards her master's feet.

Stirring slightly, Fleur's eyes blinked open lazily. She peered out first confused, before freezing at the sight of Harry. He could see the bleak realization fall over her in an instant.

"No… No! NO!" She screamed as she thrashed wildly within the invisible binds Voldemort kept her in. "'Arry, no… don't—ne le fait pas pour moi…"

He tried to smile. "If not for you then who else for?"

"'Arry… please," she sobbed.

He tore his gaze from her crystalline blue to Voldemort's red.

"Lay your wand before me, Harry," Voldemort ordered.

Harry bent forward and lowered his hand to the ground. The Elder Wand came alive in his grip, burning, searing, and somehow tightening his fingers around the wood in spite of the pain. He bit down on his lip, drawing blood, and forced it free with his other hand. It clattered to the ground, leaving him empty inside.

Voldemort laughed, high and shrill. "Now you see," he announced, holding out his arms wide in display to all those in view, "Harry Potter is nothing to me. No one can stand before Lord Voldemort, not even your Chosen One. Here he is, frightened, like a little boy, ready to die by my hand."

Harry shook his head and smiled.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Harry," Voldemort cut in dangerously.

"I'm not scared," he said softly, his voice echoing off the walls. "Not of my death, anyway. Not like you."

Something flickered in Voldemort's expression before disappearing behind a hateful mask. "Enough!" He drew his wand and levelled it at Harry. Nagini prowled closer, flicking her tongue in anticipation of her next meal. "Fate has brought us together again, and I shall be freed forever. Goodbye, Harry Potter, your memory will not be remembered."

"AVADA KEDAVRA"

There was a flash of silver before the green, which swung in a shimmering arc. Voldemort turned, drops of crimson touched his snowy skin, and then he screeched.

Harry dove for his wand, just as the Killing Curse flew wildly overhead, crashing into the face of the stone wizard. The Elder Wand ignited with his touch, making him whole again. He drew it upwards, levitating the headless body of Nagini and intercepting another Killing Curse, this time headed for Neville, who stood breathless with the blood-stained Sword of Gryffindor in his hand and the Sorting Hat at his feet.

"Come, Tom," said Harry, "fulfill your destiny."

A jet-black wave stole the shadows from the shaded corners of the Atrium, swelling and pulsing with malignant energy as it surged forwards in an impenetrable wall. In a blink, however, the wave was split before it faded to wisps of dark acrid smoke.

Grindelwald stepped forward next to Harry, the two of them facing down a snarling Voldemort.

"I had thought you to be a fearful man," Grindelwald called. "Yet all you have shown yourself to be is one insecure with their power."

A deadly green streak flew at the man who deftly conjured a stone slab to block it.

"Such barbarity," he tutted. "Do you have any imagination?"

Voldemort lashed out like a wounded beast. From the tip of his wand erupted a gush of flames which shaped itself into the head of a Basilisk. It opened its jaw and struck, but Harry beat it back, only for it to rear its head and attack again, as though channelling Voldemort's own fury. Sweat beaded down Harry's neck as he fought the flames, and in the distance, he could see the golden gates of the lifts beginning to weep.

"Get back!" he shouted to those still standing at the edge of the Atrium. He could see Mr. Weasley and Kingsley working with McGonagall and Flitwick as they tried to evacuate those too close, while a collection of members of the ICW were fighting to contain the flames which flashed out in hunger.

At the center of the room, Voldemort and Grindelwald wrestled for domination, their faces shining with madness, illuminated by the hellish blaze.

Stepping back, Harry felt himself press against the base of the monument. Looking up at the towering figures of the witch and wizard marked by stray spellfire, he stabbed the stone with the Elder Wand and felt it ache in his hand. The ground shook. It started as nothing more than a tremor before the walls began to tremble. There was a groan, then a terrible grinding sound as the figures of the witch and wizard stretched and twisted and melted into one another. Soon enough, it wasn't a human that rose from the throne of Muggles, but the coiled body of a snake which matched Voldemort's one of flames.

It struck without warning, diving into the storm of fire and straight at Voldemort in its heart. The Dark Lord twisted from its reach with unnatural speed and set the Fiendfyre on the stone construct. Engulfed in flames, the stone began to glow then blacken then crack, but the snake did not flinch and dove back at Voldemort. With a downward flick of his wrist, the fire vanished leaving nothing but the stench of sulfur, and snapping his wand back up again, Voldemort blasted the snake to dust.

Capitalizing on this moment of weakness, Grindelwald cast a pale spell which phased through Voldemort's hastily erected barrier and struck him in the side. Voldemort recoiled and touched the inky fluid which welled up along the edges of the wound as though he could not believe it were real.

"It bleeds," Grindelwald said with a cold, predatory smile.

The Killing Curse sped towards them but was intercepted by a piece of rubble. Voldemort vanished in a thin puff of smoke before appearing at the other end of the chamber casting it again. His wand was a blur, and an eerie green glow filled the air, reflecting off the mirrored surface of the dark tile.

Harry and Grindelwald pressed forward together, evading each Unforgiveable as they shot forward with more ferocity. For a moment it felt as though he were next to Dumbledore. They moved the same, carried the same grace and threaded their spells together like it was a sweetly sung melody; only Grindelwald wielded an edge Dumbledore did not, or perhaps refused to. There was a brutality, one Harry thought he had experienced himself but was nothing compared to what he was witnessing. His spells struck with the force of a canon, each setting up the devastating effect of the next. Voldemort countered savagely, defending himself from death in a manner Harry could scarcely believe, but still he was brought to his knees.

"You are the one Albus fought for so long and could not beat?" Grindelwald was laughing. "Perhaps he did mellow in his age."

Blood ran down the folds of Voldemort's shadowy robes. "You have no idea the power I possess," he said, bringing himself to his full height. The marks in his skin appeared to knit themselves over, and his eyes glinted with murder.

"I have seen no power that can match my own," Grindelwald sneered. He raised his wand, but before he could continue his assault there came a shout from somewhere behind them.

A dark blur was all Harry saw from the corner of his vision before a curse struck Grindelwald in the back. The old man's eyes shot open and shifted to Harry with a look of shock before he fell limply to the ground.

"No!" Voldemort screamed. "He was mine to finish!"

Harry turned to see Viktor standing with his wand drawn and pointed to the spot where Grindelwald had stood. He stared at his fallen enemy, a scowl still strewn heavily across his face, empty, broken, and lost in the act of his vengeance. His friend did not stir, not even as there was a flash of green and he collapsed, dead.

"Enough distractions," Voldemort spat. "It is you and me, Potter."

Harry did not waste a moment, before taking the Elder Wand and slamming it into the ground with all his rage. The ground shuddered and split, opening a chasm beneath Voldemort's feet. The Dark Lord reappeared behind him, and Harry ducked a jet of green and summoned a gale which swept him in its howling winds. The winds died and from them arcked several bolts of black magic, which hissed and sizzled through the air. A luminous gold shield sprung to life, and when the bolts struck there was a blinding flash and the very foundation of the Ministry seemed to rattle.

Through the ringing of his ears, Harry could hear the soft buzz of an approaching spell and dove to the side just as it crashed into the wall behind him. Dust and broken pieces of tile showered over him as he rolled to his feet and let out a blast of air which pushed Voldemort back even as he shielded. Blinking his vision clear, he saw the shadows around him dance menacingly, and from their swirling depths, a hound leapt for his throat. A wall of cursed flame burst from his wand and dissolved the beast before it could strike, but another curse cut into his thigh dropping him to one knee. He looked down, and the mutilated skin was already rotting at its edges.

Harry swallowed the pain and cast an explosive hex that forced Voldemort further back. He cast another and another, each more powerful than the one before as he channeled the terrible ache he felt in his soul from all those he'd lost. He could see the grimace on Voldemort's face as the power threatened to overwhelm him. He'd pushed him to the brink, but still it wasn't enough. The wand wasn't enough. Even with its ancient power flowing through his veins, burning in his fingers, he still couldn't break him.

Voldemort weathered the storm he sent his way, standing firm even as the walls started crumble around him. His teeth grit together, his eyes burned as though they were pits of fire, and with a guttural roar he reflected the final spell Harry had sent his way.

Facing the full force of his own might, Harry hunkered down and braced himself as the world exploded around him. He did not feel the first impact, but he felt the weightlessness as he flew and the crunch as his head crashed into the unforgiving tile.

His vision blanked, and he wasn't sure how long it had been before he finally came to. When he did, everything was green. His wrist twitched just enough to tear up a piece of the floor and block the incoming spell. Sharp fragments dug into the skin of his face. He tried to stand, but a spell carved mercilessly into his chest.

Gasps were all he could manage, desperate and empty of air. His chest was slick with something that continued to pour and pool around him. His fingers were red and his wand… he wasn't sure where it had gone.

Oh, there it is, a bubble of hysteria burst from his throat at the sight of the two broken pieces of holly in front of him. Some use that'll be. Through the haze of his vision, he could see that his Mokeskin pouch had been torn in two, and its contents spilled over the floor.

His head felt very light and he wondered how it had come to this.

A stone of life, a wand of death, a cloak of truth…

He heard the words circle in his delirium, and he wanted to cry.

A stone of life, a wand of death, a cloak of truth.

Stop! He wanted to shout, and perhaps he did. If these were to be his last moments, he did not want to hear of his failures. The Master of Death come to die.

A stone of life, he thought that a funny name. In life, it had taken both Dumbledore and Flamel with its false promises, yet still it had managed to save his own.

A wand of death, he found that to be more fitting. No man survived its cursed touch. Its power was fabled, but what was power if it only brought death, even your own. It had saved him, but it had also failed him. He was a fool if he thought it could defeat Voldemort, and now it was about to fall into his hands. It was better off destroyed…

His eyes fell back to the shattered remains of his original wand, when something came to mind.

Destruction… The answer lies in destruction. The second half of Dumbledore's riddle.

It had not been the Resurrection Stone which saved his life, but its destruction. Flamel had realized this and devised a way to rid the Horcrux inside of him… But what if the riddle wasn't just speaking about the stone? What if the riddle was intended for the wand as well? Destruction. Just like in his dream last night, when Dumbledore and Grindelwald had destroyed the hallows. They were curses from Death devised for dark ends, was that not the lesson taught to children from the story? They were gifts better left untouched, better left for those corrupted by greed, better destroyed.

It was brilliant, yet so incredibly simple. A genius that only Dumbledore could manage.

He blinked, and in the distance, he could make out a pair of pale feet approaching.

Shifting his arm with great effort, he felt his hand knock into a familiar, long length. His fingers fit around the carved elderberries and he knew what he had to do. With a careful turn of the wrist, he whispered, "Reparo," and with a soft flash of gold and the sound of a distant trill, the two pieces of holy mended together as though they were never broken.

The feet were now directly in front of him, and a stabbing pain tore across his body, sending Harry convulsing across the floor.

"Rise," Voldemort hissed, and Harry moaned.

"Don't take it… please… you can't," he whispered as weakly as he could. "It's power… please, don't…"

"What power, Potter?" Voldemort asked with a sudden interest. He flipped Harry onto his back with his foot.

Harry looked to the Elder Wand in his hand. "Please," he begged. "Not the Deathstick."

"Is that what this is… The Wand of Destiny?" A shrill laugh pierced the air. "Is that how you managed to oppose me? And still you were defeated."

Harry only gripped the wand tighter.

"Hand it to me," Voldemort ordered.

"Please… no," Harry repeated as he struggled to his feet. He glanced upwards and could see Voldemort's red glare shining with greed.

"I said give it to me!"

The ashy skin of his palm was extended in front of him. His other hand held the bony hilt of his true wand.

Harry carefully handed it to him.

Voldemort closed his fist and the wand burned like an iron rod. He pulled, but Harry did not let go. The look in his menacing eyes shifted with uncertainty. "What are you doing, Potter?" he demanded, and Harry grit his teeth into a smile.

Smoke escaped between their clasped fingers. The power of the Elder Wand surged with mythic strength, searing their skin and filling the air with the stench of burning flesh. Voldemort screamed and so did Harry, but neither could let go. The wand pulsed as though it had come to life, and Harry could tell it knew what he had planned. It fought back just as any living thing would, just like the Horcruxes did, protecting the sliver of humanity it held. His skin bubbled, and Voldemort's blackened, the heat spreading over their bodies and sinking in with its fiery teeth.

Harry closed his eyes, fighting to push the pain to the corner of his mind. It crashed over him like waves, battered him, and threatened to drown him in its agonous depths, but still he fought on. I am the Master of Death, he told himself, and the pain suddenly stopped. Only Voldemort's screams remained.

Feeling his fingers for the first time since the numb of the pain took over, he clenched them over the wood and crushed the Elder Wand just as he had the stone.

An almighty CRACK tore through the room as though a rift had been torn between worlds. White filled Harry's vision, there was a rush of heat over his face, and he was launched backwards.

He landed unceremoniously on his back and blinked his vision clear. Across the Atrium was a smoldering wreck of dark robes, and in the raw mess that was his hand was one of the smoking ends of the Elder Wand. A smile almost crossed his face in relief, when he saw the body stir. Horribly charred limbs picked themselves uneasily from the floor.

In the second he had, Harry slipped beneath his cloak.

"Potter…" Voldemort called as he stumbled forward. His skin was no longer white, but black and withered and peeling from the bone. It hung from him like the wax of a dripping candle. "Why won't you just die."

"You're scared, Tom," said Harry, as he slowly circled his enemy.

"Show yourself!" he snapped and turned in the direction of Harry's voice. He drew his wand, which was as black as his skin and nearly burnt to a crisp. A long crack splintered along its length.

"You're alone," Harry continued, scanning the floor as he moved. His holly wand lay a dozen feet away. "Betrayed."

A spell crashed violently into the space Harry had just been standing in. Voldemort wobbled as though the spell had been too much for him.

"Snape was never yours," he taunted. "And Bellatrix destroyed the artifact you sent her to recover."

"Failures," Voldemort hissed. "Mistakes that will never be repeated."

"Your Horcruxes are gone," said Harry, moving carefully as to make sure Voldemort could not tell where he was headed next. "But I'm sure you already knew that. You can taste the death in the air, can't you?"

"I do not need immortality to kill you," Voldemort replied.

"Yes, but I've needed you mortal to kill you."

His wand was only a handful of feet away.

"Dumbledore was right, you know."

"Was he?" Voldemort spoke low and dangerously, coiling like a snake.

"There are worse things than death," he said, remembering the barren void of fear that threatened to swallow him at the thought of losing Fleur. "But not for you."

Throwing off his cloak, he dove for his wand, which sung in his grip with a feeling that felt just right.

AVADA KEDAVRA

A green blur shot towards him, and just like it had on two other occasions, a golden beam connected the two brother wands. Sparks flew in the air, but unlike any other time, the golden beam turned to flames. Voldemort shouted in panic, but the flames had already eaten through his damaged wand, turned it to ash, and crawled up his arm. He was bathed in these golden flames, before they consumed themselves in their thirst and he fell to the floor a burnt-out husk.

Harry stared in silence, before he walked over and gazed down at the body of Tom Riddle. He was dead.

Bending over, he picked up the other remnant of the Elder Wand which still lay smoking on the ground. As he pocketed it, someone came running up behind him. He smelled lavender.

"You did it," Fleur breathed as she wrapped herself around him.

He gently lifted her chin and stared into the pool of her blue eyes. "We did."

"I thought I'd lost you," her voice wavered before she brought her lips to his.

"Not yet at least." He smiled and took her hand and led her to where Grindelwald lay.

The man was still, his skin pale and waxy, and a large festering wound ran along the length of his ribs. Cursed in the back. The only way to kill him. His eyes were still open, the grey-blue nearly faded. Harry reached to close them when a rattling breath shook through a weakly rising chest.

"You solved his riddle…" Grindelwald's voice was nothing more than the puffs of his few remaining breaths. Harry couldn't believe he'd held on for this long.

"It took me long enough," Harry laughed lightly, and the old man turned his lip in a smile.

"I… could never…"

"Because of the wand?"

Grindelwald nodded and held out a trembling hand. Harry passed him the equally splintered pieces and watched as he brought them preciously to his chest. The warmth and power were gone, but still they seemed to have a soothing effect on him.

"Would you have tried to take it from me?" Harry found himself asking a question he'd long been wondering.

"I am not sure… perhaps…" Grindelwald said between shaking coughs. "I promised Albus, to earn his forgiveness… but—its thirst never leaves you…" His eyes softened on Harry's, showing a humanity he had kept hidden until now. "I came to care for you, Harry… It is best we never found out…"

Harry felt Fleur gently squeeze his hand from his side.

"I can hear him again…" Grindelwald whispered as his eyes fluttered shut with the tenderness of sleep. "It is not the Veil, but it will do."

"Thank you," Harry whispered softly, as his partner closed his eyes a final time.

In the stillness that followed, a voice floated to him. Perhaps it was an odd moment to hear Dumbledore's words, or maybe rather fitting, but they came to him with the wisdom they held in life.

Live and love, my son

Harry turned his head and looked to Fleur, thinking the time had come for him to finally honor his words.

The sound of his name drew him away from thoughts of long held dreams. It came in whispers and familiar calls, as faces he knew and others he did not approached with jubilant expressions that could not believe they had won. He flicked his gaze back to Grindelwald and then his friend Viktor, who was surrounded by a cluster of agents now also moving towards him.

"I understand," Fleur said, reading him with a simple look.

Harry smiled sadly and dipped his head to kiss her softly. He wiped a tear that escaped her eye. "It won't be for long. Not like before," he whispered softly against her lips. "We'll be together, I promise."

With his holly wand in hand, the boy who'd cheated death a final time summoned his cloak, the one true gift of all, and vanished from sight.

AN

Apologies for making you wait so long for the final the chapter, but I hope you all enjoyed. It took a lot to write. Your reviews are always appreciated.

An Epilogue will follow.