Posted 10/21/2022

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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.


Chapter Eighty-Five - Riddle

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It had become increasingly difficult to move around the battlefield. In their wild flurry of spells, Harry and Voldemort had reshaped the area many times over, transfiguring ground to cover and blasting it apart that nothing was left untouched.

Rolling out of the way of yet another barrage of Voldemort's attacks, Harry cursed his luck once more. It had often been an issue of sorts in the past, swinging massively between good and bad with little in between, and it just so happened that it had turned against him once more.

With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a huge swarm of birds to block and harass Voldemort. It wouldn't win the fight, they both knew as much, and it worked as much in Harry's favour as it did in Voldemort's preventing a clear spell path and hiding each from the view of the other but it would do. It would buy Harry some time, and time was what Harry still needed.

All the pieces should have been in place, Harry groused. Everyone knew what to do, so why didn't Snape send his message? Was he held up? Had he failed? And where were Kingsley and his army of exiles?

All Harry could do was hope for the best and trust that his allies were still safe.

A spell hit the ground feet from Harry, and a clump of writhing metal wires as thick as a finger formed out of the torn-up earth and grass around it. Yet another trick of Voldemort's Harry was unfamiliar with. Only the lightning-quick reflexes after years of Quidditch saved Harry – the wires lashed out, each strikes cleaving the ground.

Harry sent a waves of fire at this creation of Voldemort's but it had the opposite effect – now Harry had to dodge searing hot metal wires thrashing the area.

If he survived, Harry would figure out how to do that spell.

He managed to get out of the wire's reach just as Voldemort blasted the bothersome birds to bits.

Back to square one, Harry thought with a wry smile. Both eyed their opponents.

The fight had gone on for far too long for their liking, but their reasons were different. Harry had already run out of gadgets to use and had to resort to a somewhat fair fight but couldn't end it until he knew Nagini to be dead. Voldemort likely worried that someone was able to stand up to him for so long. And both knew Harry had used some of Voldemort's tricks in the fight, so the self-proclaimed Dark Lord would likely also know Harry had studied Voldemort's arsenal.

Voldemort moved first, transfiguring the ground at his feet into a hail of flechettes – not enough to kill Harry, obviously but still something to deal with one way or the other – and their fight regained its momentum.

Harry had just narrowly avoided a nasty bit of magic – arcs of lightning pulverizing everything it touched into a cloud of dust – when noise from the castle's front door echoed across the grounds.

A group of students had fled towards the Forbidden Forest a handful of Death Eaters in pursuit. Spells were flying over the students' heads who constantly twisted and turned to avoid becoming predictable targets. Two among the crowd seemed older, likely sixth or seventh-years but the rest were no more than third-years.

Halfway to the forest, the older students turned and made a stand.

In his fight with Voldemort. Harry temporarily lost sight of the fleeing students and instead tried coming up with a solution to the stalemate.

It was clear that Voldemort had improved again since his return, gaining more power and new and insidious spells. Harry had also banked on his superior reflexes and youthful stamina to keep him in control but it seemed he had underestimated Voldemort's capabilities. As the fight progressed it became abundantly clear that something wasn't right about Voldemort's body. It moved in was a human's couldn't, twisting around spells, stretching limbs just a bit too far.

Harry should have expected it, and a small part in the back of his mind was eager to learn what Voldemort had done. It was a great way to intimidate tougher foes, to hint at some hidden, inhumane power one might not be able to compete with.

The next time Harry managed to catch a glimpse of the group of fleeing students he saw the last of the smaller ones vanishing into the shadows of the forbidden forest. The Death Eaters gave up on the chase and instead turned towards Harry and Voldemort, stepping over two lumps on the ground where the two older students had been. The Death Eater's group had also swelled in size to maybe a dozen.

Luck really wasn't on Harry's side, he thought. Would Voldemort reject the help?

Harry wouldn't in his place. He'd accept the help, bring down his enemy and then kill any witnesses. Did the Death Eaters think their master would spare them? Or were these one's loyal enough to lay down their lives to keep the secret of Voldemort's victory?

Focus on the task at hand, Harry told himself. Work around the Death Eater reinforcements. If Voldemort wouldn't fret over collateral neither should Harry. Maybe he could use Voldemort's spells against them? Deflect some towards his followers?

The forest came alive. Trees fell over, students fled into the open, and behind them, five giants stepped out from behind the trees.

Giants. Figures.

Voldemort laughed and redoubled his attacks.

So Harry would have yet another task to accomplish today – taking down five giants. Sometimes Harry really hated his luck.

The Death Eaters had reached the great lake and already sending the occasional spells at him. Voldemort didn't object. So he would allow them to join. Delight and annoyance flared up in Harry's chest – he was enough of a threat that Voldemort allowed others to come to his aid but fighting a group of Death Eaters and Voldemort at the same time would also be near impossible without the element of surprise.

And in the distance more dark-robed people exited the castle, their white masks clearly visible in the sunlight.

Could Harry's luck get any worse, he wondered.

As if to answer the surface of the great lake burst apart close to the shore as a wooden ship rose from the lake's depths.

To their credit, the Death Eaters close to shore immediately realized what was happening. They whirled around, sending a hail of spells at the ship before the displaced lake water had rained back down to ground.

The ship's passengers answered with a barrage of their own, and it was easy to see who had the upper hand – the ship's hull provided cover to however many had come, the Death Eaters were caught as a group and on open ground.

Shields and earthen walls sprang up but from what Harry could tell at least two Death Eaters had been killed.

The giants had noticed the newcomers as well. Whether they understood its importance or just saw the ship as a worthy opponent due to its size they roared in challenge and thundered towards the lake to join the fight.

It seemed luck couldn't get worse for Harry, he mused with a chuckle, only better.

From the ship's deck, people on brooms rose into the air. No, Harry amended just a heartbeat later as he witnessed the flyers pull off Quidditch feints with ease, these weren't people on brooms, these were professionals at their peak in their element. Kingsley had brought an air force to be reckoned with.

A detachment headed towards the Death Eaters near the castle, half raining death and destruction on anyone and everything in their sight, the other half sweeping across the roofs and blasting people out of windows or off the towers.

"To the giants," Kingsley's magically enhanced voice boomed over the grounds. "They're resistant to spellfire!"

A second detachment of flyers did a quick sweep past the Death Eaters close to shore, and caught in a pincer move, Voldemort's forces were easily dispatched.

Seizing the moment, Harry redoubled his efforts. He might not risk defeating Voldemort yet but he needed to keep the most dangerous dark wizard around occupied and from interfering with Kingsley's efforts.

It worked to some extent with spells obliterating anything that had survived their duel so far but it also became clear just how evenly matched they actually were in strength and speed. And luck still wasn't enough to overcome the ruthlessness of Voldemort.

At first, Harry was glad for every spell that missed him but as the fight progressed, he found it harder and harder to move around the battlefield. He could deal with the ever-changing ground, spell craters and crushed transfigurations littering the earth at Harry's feet but with the fierceness of their clash, Harry found himself sinking into blood-soaked earth more and more. Voldemort on the other hand seemed to almost glide across the ground, and it took the dark wizard not sinking in a pool of blood for Harry to realize it didn't just seem like Voldemort was floating – yet another tricks Harry hadn't known about. Flight without a broom, already bad. Not knowing the limitations of that ability? Worse.

Now aware of Voldemort's secret, Harry focused on learning what he could about this - flight? Hovering? Weightlessness?

Voldemort wasn't sinking into the ground, so it could be either of those, Harry guessed. By sheer luck, Harry found his answer even if it was one he didn't like – Voldemort's movements didn't perfectly match the resulting direction his body was carried in. It was true flight, movement by a force other than body strength.

The fight against the giants was slowly turning in Kingsley's favour. One enemy was down, tied up and roaring in fury, but his four companions were adapting to the challenge. Two were breaking free of any chains that sprang up the second they appeared and had opted to cooperate, fighting back to back.

Harry didn't know how long he could keep this up. Every step hurt, his arm felt like it was on fire, and every second it became clearer that his movements were getting sluggish. His head was hammering with every heartbeat. Just one more spell, just one more step, just one more breath, he told himself, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. Voldemort could probably tell was well, and when a group of daring flyers came closer in a futile attempt to lend aid, Voldemort set them ablaze in mid-air with an almost lazy flick. Only ash remained by the time the remains hit the ground. One of the brooms was carried off by the wind. It reminded Harry of his Nimbus 2000 – blown into the Whomping Willow and smashed into pieces.

With sudden clarity, Harry felt an idea blossoming in his mind. He needed to wait until he had received word from Snape unfortunately. This meant Harry had to conserve his strength until the time was right, and the waiting game was one Harry could still lose. Once the moment would come – if it would come – Harry would have to seize the opportunity. He might not know how Voldemort was flying but Harry knew flying itself. You had to account for the wind, especially gusts pushing you off-course. Voldemort might be defending against spells coming his way but had no reason to deal with spells that would miss him anyway. Harry would use that to his advantage. It would be easy enough to create a gust of wind with wandless magic with his left hand, send a blasting curse where Voldemort would be carried –

No, Harry decided. He only had one shot at this, and he didn't know just how fast or strong Voldemort could resist sudden movements. Too little or too much resistance and Voldemort wouldn't be in the spell's path. Harry needed something wide-range that would be easy enough to cast in a blink of an eye, yet still be deadly.

He did know some devastating spells but those took too much time or concentration to cast immediately after the wandless magic needed to blast Voldemort where he needed to be. Something simple, yet deadly, with a wide area of effect, that Harry could do basically instantaneously.

Harry had to side-step around the still thrashing mass of metal wires. They had cooled off but were still deadly if they hit you.

Would a switching spell work, Harry wondered. Switching a patch of ground for Voldemort's own creation?

But Harry didn't know what enchantments might be on Voldemort's weapon – fire hadn't harmed it so there might also be spells to protect against other interference.

Still, Harry could come up with something of his own. He was no transfiguration master but he knew one of the core principles – visualization was the first step to success. He wouldn't have much time, so something simple to push Voldemort into.

Unbidden, a long-discarded memory came to Harry – cavalry charging into a wall of shields and spears. The elementary school teacher had shown some movie or another shortly before school let out, and while the film hadn't shown the results Harry understood the principle. Spikes weren't quite as deadly as he would have liked but he could work around that. If nothing else they'd keep Voldemort in place for whatever would come next. With a quick glance at the thrashing wires, Harry refined his mental image of what he needed.

Whether it was good or bad luck, just as Voldemort went back on the offence, a wisp of silver light streaked across the grounds and towards the Harry.

Trust Snape to not allow Harry to finish his plans, Harry groused, but he sprang into action. It was now or never, and before the Patronus had fully formed, Harry gathered all of his remaining strength. Time seemed to slow down, the sound of combat momentarily muted to Harry's ears. A silver doe materialized, Snape's voice spoke but Harry didn't listen.

Harry summoned a howling blast of air to sweep across the battlefield with his left, wandless hand. Immediately, he cast his transfiguration with the wand in his right at where he hoped Voldemort would end up. As if slapped, Voldemort was forced to his left and down, surprise eminent but already shielding against whatever Harry might throw his way.

True to Harry's imagination, metal spikes thin as a pencil shot out of the ground, dozens at once and pointing away at slightly different angles from a rapidly forming metal base. There was the dawn of realization on Voldemort's face, and his body was suddenly jerked backwards and away from Harry, his magic trick a desperate attempt to escape. His limbs bent in ways human bones shouldn't allow - closer to a snake's body it seemed – and a hint of fear visible in his eyes from where Harry was standing.

Voldemort avoided all but two spikes that pierced his upper and lower torso through one side and out the other. The moment of shock was over in the blink of an eye, Voldemort's body already pulling away from the ground as he stared at Harry.

Harry's magic made his imagination reality almost at once – starting at the tips the spikes, still connected at the base, unravelled into whirling, razer-thin blades. The spikes impaling Voldemort blossomed into a whirlwind of death before Voldemort could react or defend himself or probably even understand what was happening.

In a heartbeat flesh, bone, and cloth were torn apart from inside out. Chunks of flesh were flung about as they came loose. Riddle died fast but messily.

Harry fell to the ground, gasping for air. He wasn't sure whether he'd ever get back up as he felt a tiredness unlike any he'd known before take hold. He heard indistinct noises, he smelled and tasted blood, but all he could see was a blindingly bright sky above. His lungs burned, his head thundered, and his body screamed at him to move but he couldn't.

" – done," Snape's voice announced. "It is done."

No it's not, Harry thought groggily. There was still something he needed to do, even if Harry couldn't quite sort out what it was.

Someone came. Footsteps on the ground, the vibrations like a herd of elephants trampling on Harry's head. He groaned. Let it be friends. Hushed, terrified whispers. Please let it be friends, Harry thought as he forced himself to turn his head towards the new arrivals.

People he didn't know stared back at him in horror and awe. They weren't wearing masks but holding brooms. Someone barked orders in a foreign language, and the new arrivals busied themselves with searching their pockets.

Kingsley landed, looking battered but alive. "What a mess," he laughed, glancing around. "Don't worry, we'll take care of you now."

"Tell them," Harry grunted as his mind cleared a bit. "A Patronus to – Moody? Bill?"

"Drink this. Bill, Moody, aren't they here?" Kingsley asked, handing him a potion, and Harry realized that no team was supposed to know where the other was.

"Moody's at the Wireless, with Bagnold. Bill's in Diagon Alley," Harry replied before drinking.

Kingsley eyed him. "Madam Bagnold's at the Wireless Studio? It seems you kept some secrets." He stepped away to send the Patronuses.

Feeling his strength returning somewhat, Harry sat up. People were looking back and forth between Harry and something on the ground. It took Harry a moment to recognize Voldemort's battered and bruised head and part of his left shoulder. A look of disbelieving horror was still etched on Voldemort's face.

Kingsley returned just as the noise from the castle grew louder. A cold washed over Harry. Yes, there was still something he needed to do. The fight was far from over. He struggled to his feet just as Kingsley returned.

"Woah, easy there," the Auror said. "You need to rest, Harry."

Harry didn't listen. He let his eyes roam across the school grounds. The giants lay defeated and chained. He could see some of the flyers circling the castle; some seemed to be missing. Behind the windows of the upper floors he could see flashes of spells.

"Patch me up," he told Kingsley.

They looked at each other for a long time, and Harry sighed. "Do you want me to sit this fight out?" To make a point, he jerked his head to the remains of Voldemort.

Kingsley cracked a smile, and with a quick nod at someone in his group, Harry found a collection of disgusting potions thrust in his hands as a witch and wizard started a flurry of healing spells.

All the minor scrapes and bruises mended themselves, and Harry endured the hasty treatments by imagining what had to be going on in the wider Wizarding world. He could practically see how Bill and his group, hunkered down in Diagon Alley saw Kingsley's lynx announce Voldemort's downfall; how, emboldened by the news, Harry's allies would push back whoever had been sent by the corrupted Ministry of Magic to defend and secure Diagon Alley. But then, maybe someone in Diagon Alley had a Wireless on and listened to the broadcast.

Yes, he could imagine people all around the country and maybe even abroad listening with awe as former Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold believed to be imprisoned in Azkaban would announce Voldemort's downfall and call the citizens of Magical Britain to resist. Would they answer the call? Harry wasn't sure but time would tell. He had a different task to take care of – Hogwarts was still overrun with dark witches and wizards.

As if called upon, the dark figure of Severus Snape descended upon Hogwarts. Harry couldn't remember seeing the man ever move so fast before but sparing barely a glance at Kingsley, Harry, and the spot where Voldemort's remains lay, he continued running towards the castle to join the fight. And Harry agreed with his former Potions Professor – there was still work to be done in the castle.

"Make sure something is done about that there," Harry said nodding towards the fallen Dark Lord just as the healers were finishing their job. "And whatever is left from the Death Eaters he brought with him," he added with a wave around the battlefield.

"You don't do things halfway, do you?" Kingsley sighed but gave instructions to collect the remains of Voldemort as he picked up a broken and blood-splattered Death Eater mask.

Harry set off towards the castle, feeling in a dream-like daze. Had he ever felt so light? Had he ever been so sure of himself?

With every step he felt his strength returning. He'd taken down Voldemort. He'd defeated a dark lord so powerful that the rules of magic no longer bound him, and Harry had triumphed nonetheless.

When he reached the bodies of the two older students he'd seen earlier he blinked in surprise. One had been an older Ravenclaw judging by the clothes, though the face was no longer recognizable. The other, staring into the sky with dead eyes, was Pansy Parkinson, a look of defiant determination still on her face. Why would she have tried to fight against Voldemort's side?

Harry continued on his way, watching as one of the flyers above the castle made an expert feint, and a moment before the figure dove behind the castle walls Harry recognized Viktor Krum.

As he neared the castle gates Harry prepared himself for what he knew needed to happen. He'd taken down Voldemort, and he wouldn't let any of his followers stop him now.

The entrance hall was a mess already. The huge hourglass had come down, burying some of both sides under them, and a fierce battle was raging between a group of students and Death Eaters led by Rabastan Lestrange.

By coincidence, one unlucky Death Eater caught sight of Harry the moment he stepped through the door. He barely managed to shout, "Potter!" before Harry struck him down. A year ago, it might have been a struggle. Six months ago, Harry might have considered it a fight. Now it was as easy as swatting away a bothersome fly.

Lestrange had just turned in disbelieving shock when Harry began his assault. With spellcasting as natural as breathing, Harry flung the senior Death Eater across the room with a quick jab and stuck him on the wall. A heavy tome fell to the ground at his feet

Bemused, Harry let his body do as it pleased. It was a dance, and he danced like he'd never done before. After months of training and a year of waiting for the right time he no longer needed to hold back. All those hours of duelling his friends had taught him the moves, and now he could unleash any spell upon his opponents. Harry could also feel something had changed in the last hour. His wand had become an extension of his will and almost a part of his body.

With a smile of serenity Harry went to work, setting one Death Eater ablaze, cursing another's skin inside and outside the body to rot away, transfiguring yet another's hood into an ever-constricting vice to crush the head to a pulp, almost lazily banishing a piece of rubble with enough force to punch a hole on a fourths torso. And all the while he advanced, dodging whatever feeble attempts at counter-attacking the cornered enemies made.

When the last Death Eater fell, Harry barely spared a glance at Lestrange who was about to wriggle free of the robes restraining him before Harry unceremoniously cut the man's head off.

In the deafening silence, Harry went and picked up the book Lestrange had dropped. It looked old but well-kept – a curious find from a crude and callous man like Lestrange.

"Mr. Potter," one of the students in the hall whispered, looking quite shocked at the turn of events.

Harry spared the girl a glance. Red trimmed robes and small frame. Of course a young Gryffindor wouldn't have shied away from such a fight. Harry's eyes returned to the book. If it wasn't Lestrange's then he must have had tried to steal it from Hogwarts. How strange, Harry thought with a chuckle.

To the Gryffindor he said, "You did well, especially against someone like Lestrange."

The girl blinked in shock. Maybe she hadn't known who she was fighting "Why did he try to leave?"

Harry shrugged, casting a series of diagnostic spells on the book in his hands. "Maybe he likes fighting outside."

"Erm, Professor Snape, he came in. From outside, I mean, and he went up the stairs. He didn't do anything to us though."

"He's on our side, yes," Harry told her, opening the book he deemed safe enough.

Page after page the book listed names, birthdays, and symbols he didn't know the meaning of. "It's a student register," Harry said, noticing the glance the girl had given the tome.

You had your name down since you were born, Harry remembered Hagrid saying the night they'd met. Well, met again, Harry supposed, he just couldn't remember the times before.

He flipped through the pages – born in the sixties, born in the seventies – until he reached his year. He noticed Hermione's name and a horizontal line separating her from the one above. So they were really written down in order of birth? Harry shook his head, choosing not to think about the implications.

But as he scanned the page listing his year mates, he couldn't miss that quite a few had a date of death listed as well. Dean Thomas, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Kevin Entwhistle were among the dead, but before he could think more on it, Harry found his own name.

He smiled sadly as he thought about a time when the world was – no, he amended, when his world was still in order. How strange to see his name after Voldemort's second fall written down before the first.

And yet a small worry crept up on him. Lestrange had the book.

Harry continued flipping through the pages as his fear became reality. Page after page, year after year students were listed as deceased. As he moved on to children below Hogwarts age, Harry had seen enough to recognize the pattern – Muggleborns.

With one last glance at Lestrange's remains, Harry shut the book and pulled out his Marauder's map.

"Stay safe, keep on fighting," Harry told the girl, setting off to track down friend and foe. "Oh yeah," he added over his shoulder, "reinforcements are on the way, and Voldemort's dead."

He didn't the look of complete disbelief on her face.