Note From Fae Princess: This is the hardest chapter for me to read...no wait...one of the most difficult. The next one is pretty hard...and well, I'm not going to get a head of myself, here. I actually almost forgot to post this, and I hope you all enjoy! Review!
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Chapter Eleven:
What Price Victory?
Some part of Harry did, in fact, hope that his signal would be seen by an Auror. But its primary purpose was yet to be realized.
A fierce battle was raging inside Harry over his course of action. Though empowered by the Ministry to use Dark Magic, yet Harry could not deny Voldemort's taunt regarding his courage to do so. Dark Magic was powerful, yes; but it was also insidious. It was a drug that seeped into the mind of the user and perverted his judgment, his morals -- his humanity. If Harry wished to return to his wife and daughter the same man he'd been upon his departure, he knew he must tread that razor's edge delicately.
But if Voldemort could not be subdued by any other means, what then? Could he make that decision?
A sudden realization washed over him like ice water. Would he return to his loved ones? Would he leave this place alive? And if alive, in what state? Maimed? Mindless? Or corrupted into something even he himself would not recognize?
All this passed through Harry's mind within the space of a single heartbeat. He shook himself, took in a slow breath and let it out. The time for debate was past. It was time to act. He could only trust that, in the end, he would do the right thing. For he knew with a cold, grim certainty that he would get no second chance.
Softly, so that Voldemort could not hear, Harry pointed his wand up and spoke two words. He waited.
A soft rushing sound came to his ears. He reached out a hand, and his fingers closed on the shaft of his Firebolt.
He had set the broomstick high above the Black Forest with a Hover Charm. He knew not how near nor far from it would be Voldemort's sanctuary. But the Summoning Charm had brought it unerringly to him through the hole he had blasted in the leafy canopy. He knew that Voldemort's magical barrier was proof against living flesh only, that it would be as smoke to a wooden broomstick.
Harry mounted, kicked off.
He rose until his head touched the highest branches. He then began a slow downward spiral, keeping to the perimeter, hugging the deepest shadows. He was certain Voldemort would be nowhere near the center.
Harry touched his wand to the point between his eyes, whispered, "Oculus Nocturnus." With a suddenness that made his head throb, his eyes became night-vision lenses. The blackness became a dim, gray haze into which he peered intently, searching, searching...
With hawk-like swiftness, Harry dived, his wand before him.
"Stupefy!"
Voldemort dodged with inhuman speed, aimed his wand unerringly at Harry.
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry was nearly knocked off his broom. He had expected to be attacked with a Dark Curse which he could dodge or block. But Voldemort had proved cleverer than Harry expected. The Disarming Charm had a wider scope than an Attacking Curse, and it slammed into Harry like an open hand swatting a fly. Harry realized as well that Voldemort must have performed a similar night-vision spell on his own eyes, for he had known precisely where to point his wand to hit Harry full force.
The Firebolt responded instantly to Harry's touch, seeming almost to read his mind. Without conscious thought, he looped, rolled, came at Voldemort from another angle. He hoped to frustrate his adversary by attacking at random, allowing for no anticipation. Yet his approach was not wholly without purpose.
Using his speed to advantage, Harry attacked from the right, a typical blind spot for a right-handed opponent. Hugging his broom handle, he pointed his wand and drew breath for his incantation --
In that instant, Voldemort jerked his head to the left, covering his eyes with his free hand, as his wand stabbed directly at Harry.
"LUMOS!"
The beam of light that hit Harry's sensitized eyes nearly made his head burst. Jerking spasmodically on his broom handle, he careened off, his features twisted in a silent scream to which he dared not give voice, lest Voldemort pinpoint his location and attack again.
Using his absolute mastery of his superlative broomstick, Harry swept the clearing, rising and falling with no design so as not to make himself a predictable target. Around and around the spire he flew as he struggled to raise his wand to cancel the Night-Vision Charm in an effort to mitigate his agony. He thought to hear the distant screams of the Dark Lord, no doubt hurling Curses which could not find their mark due to Harry's chaotic maneuvering. But the rushing in his ears, combined with the surging pain behind his eyes, drove all cogent thought from his brain.
Far below, Voldemort was livid beyond description. Harry was a darting hornet, a blur in the darkness which no Curse could touch. Beside himself with fury, Voldemort's frustration turned his brain to fire, his reason to madness, leaving only blind rage and bloodlust in its stead.
Insensate with wrath, Voldemort's last thread of sanity snapped. Thrusting his wand savagely at the obsidian spire at the heart of the clearing, he twisted his face into a mask of indescribable hate and screamed, "INCENDIO MAJORIS!"
The black pillar exploded! Thunder rocked the clearing. Great billowing clouds of dust roiled, pierced by smoldering chunks of stone which screamed their vehemence before striking the ground with the impact of cannon shells.
Voldemort barely had the presence of mind to erect a Personal Shield around himself, behind which he huddled, head bowed, as devastation reigned all about.
He rose at last, blinked his subhuman eyes, and surveyed the carnage his dementia had wrought. He lifted his wand and said, "Euraquilo!" A great, whirling wind sprang up, carrying away the heavy, noxious clouds to the edge of the scarred clearing.
"Solaris!"
A tiny, glowing orb leaped from his wand. As he hastened to cancel the Night-Vision spell, he watched the burning sphere rise until it hovered high above the place where had stood the now-destroyed pillar. Once in position, it swelled, expanded into a minature sun that illuminated the scene with midday clarity.
Voldemort picked his way through chunks of splintered stone and heaps of earth. His feet crunched on bits of twigs and leaves blasted from the surrounding trees. Silence hung like a pall, causing even these subtle noises to echo symphonically.
Abruptly he expelled a hissing breath. His red eyes narrowed, then widened fervidly, an evil smile forming on his thin, snake-like lips.
The figure lying before him was a twisted ruin, its limbs askew in a manner to inspire horror. Shredded, bloody robes lay in disarray, exposing raw, mangled flesh and white bone. Dark splashes painted the ground on all sides.
Voldemort gripped his wand triumphantly as his other hand clawed the air spasmodically. He stepped close, looked down at the ruin that had once been a handsome, youthful face.
The eyes were open, staring unwinkingly upwards. Voldemort bent down, trembling with hellish euphoria --
The eyes moved! They narrowed, fastened on the Dark Lord's crimson orbs like twin points of emerald flame.
Voldemort screamed, struggled in his awkward position to raise his wand and bring it to bear --
But Harry's wand, driven by a superhuman will and his last vestige of strength, was already pointing at Voldemort's heart. Blood bubbling from his pulped lips, Harry rasped, "Avada...Kedavra!"
High above, the glowing sphere winked out.
To Be Continued...
Chapter Eleven:
What Price Victory?
Some part of Harry did, in fact, hope that his signal would be seen by an Auror. But its primary purpose was yet to be realized.
A fierce battle was raging inside Harry over his course of action. Though empowered by the Ministry to use Dark Magic, yet Harry could not deny Voldemort's taunt regarding his courage to do so. Dark Magic was powerful, yes; but it was also insidious. It was a drug that seeped into the mind of the user and perverted his judgment, his morals -- his humanity. If Harry wished to return to his wife and daughter the same man he'd been upon his departure, he knew he must tread that razor's edge delicately.
But if Voldemort could not be subdued by any other means, what then? Could he make that decision?
A sudden realization washed over him like ice water. Would he return to his loved ones? Would he leave this place alive? And if alive, in what state? Maimed? Mindless? Or corrupted into something even he himself would not recognize?
All this passed through Harry's mind within the space of a single heartbeat. He shook himself, took in a slow breath and let it out. The time for debate was past. It was time to act. He could only trust that, in the end, he would do the right thing. For he knew with a cold, grim certainty that he would get no second chance.
Softly, so that Voldemort could not hear, Harry pointed his wand up and spoke two words. He waited.
A soft rushing sound came to his ears. He reached out a hand, and his fingers closed on the shaft of his Firebolt.
He had set the broomstick high above the Black Forest with a Hover Charm. He knew not how near nor far from it would be Voldemort's sanctuary. But the Summoning Charm had brought it unerringly to him through the hole he had blasted in the leafy canopy. He knew that Voldemort's magical barrier was proof against living flesh only, that it would be as smoke to a wooden broomstick.
Harry mounted, kicked off.
He rose until his head touched the highest branches. He then began a slow downward spiral, keeping to the perimeter, hugging the deepest shadows. He was certain Voldemort would be nowhere near the center.
Harry touched his wand to the point between his eyes, whispered, "Oculus Nocturnus." With a suddenness that made his head throb, his eyes became night-vision lenses. The blackness became a dim, gray haze into which he peered intently, searching, searching...
With hawk-like swiftness, Harry dived, his wand before him.
"Stupefy!"
Voldemort dodged with inhuman speed, aimed his wand unerringly at Harry.
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry was nearly knocked off his broom. He had expected to be attacked with a Dark Curse which he could dodge or block. But Voldemort had proved cleverer than Harry expected. The Disarming Charm had a wider scope than an Attacking Curse, and it slammed into Harry like an open hand swatting a fly. Harry realized as well that Voldemort must have performed a similar night-vision spell on his own eyes, for he had known precisely where to point his wand to hit Harry full force.
The Firebolt responded instantly to Harry's touch, seeming almost to read his mind. Without conscious thought, he looped, rolled, came at Voldemort from another angle. He hoped to frustrate his adversary by attacking at random, allowing for no anticipation. Yet his approach was not wholly without purpose.
Using his speed to advantage, Harry attacked from the right, a typical blind spot for a right-handed opponent. Hugging his broom handle, he pointed his wand and drew breath for his incantation --
In that instant, Voldemort jerked his head to the left, covering his eyes with his free hand, as his wand stabbed directly at Harry.
"LUMOS!"
The beam of light that hit Harry's sensitized eyes nearly made his head burst. Jerking spasmodically on his broom handle, he careened off, his features twisted in a silent scream to which he dared not give voice, lest Voldemort pinpoint his location and attack again.
Using his absolute mastery of his superlative broomstick, Harry swept the clearing, rising and falling with no design so as not to make himself a predictable target. Around and around the spire he flew as he struggled to raise his wand to cancel the Night-Vision Charm in an effort to mitigate his agony. He thought to hear the distant screams of the Dark Lord, no doubt hurling Curses which could not find their mark due to Harry's chaotic maneuvering. But the rushing in his ears, combined with the surging pain behind his eyes, drove all cogent thought from his brain.
Far below, Voldemort was livid beyond description. Harry was a darting hornet, a blur in the darkness which no Curse could touch. Beside himself with fury, Voldemort's frustration turned his brain to fire, his reason to madness, leaving only blind rage and bloodlust in its stead.
Insensate with wrath, Voldemort's last thread of sanity snapped. Thrusting his wand savagely at the obsidian spire at the heart of the clearing, he twisted his face into a mask of indescribable hate and screamed, "INCENDIO MAJORIS!"
The black pillar exploded! Thunder rocked the clearing. Great billowing clouds of dust roiled, pierced by smoldering chunks of stone which screamed their vehemence before striking the ground with the impact of cannon shells.
Voldemort barely had the presence of mind to erect a Personal Shield around himself, behind which he huddled, head bowed, as devastation reigned all about.
He rose at last, blinked his subhuman eyes, and surveyed the carnage his dementia had wrought. He lifted his wand and said, "Euraquilo!" A great, whirling wind sprang up, carrying away the heavy, noxious clouds to the edge of the scarred clearing.
"Solaris!"
A tiny, glowing orb leaped from his wand. As he hastened to cancel the Night-Vision spell, he watched the burning sphere rise until it hovered high above the place where had stood the now-destroyed pillar. Once in position, it swelled, expanded into a minature sun that illuminated the scene with midday clarity.
Voldemort picked his way through chunks of splintered stone and heaps of earth. His feet crunched on bits of twigs and leaves blasted from the surrounding trees. Silence hung like a pall, causing even these subtle noises to echo symphonically.
Abruptly he expelled a hissing breath. His red eyes narrowed, then widened fervidly, an evil smile forming on his thin, snake-like lips.
The figure lying before him was a twisted ruin, its limbs askew in a manner to inspire horror. Shredded, bloody robes lay in disarray, exposing raw, mangled flesh and white bone. Dark splashes painted the ground on all sides.
Voldemort gripped his wand triumphantly as his other hand clawed the air spasmodically. He stepped close, looked down at the ruin that had once been a handsome, youthful face.
The eyes were open, staring unwinkingly upwards. Voldemort bent down, trembling with hellish euphoria --
The eyes moved! They narrowed, fastened on the Dark Lord's crimson orbs like twin points of emerald flame.
Voldemort screamed, struggled in his awkward position to raise his wand and bring it to bear --
But Harry's wand, driven by a superhuman will and his last vestige of strength, was already pointing at Voldemort's heart. Blood bubbling from his pulped lips, Harry rasped, "Avada...Kedavra!"
High above, the glowing sphere winked out.
To Be Continued...