I don't own Harry Potter or Call of Duty! This is a fan-based work.

Before reading, please know that this is a one-shot story. My goal is to start small with my stories, but to post frequently. My aim is to develop a habit, and to incrementally grow until I am comfortable with posting as well as writing longer works. So for now, the story will be all that there is now. It doesn't mean that I won't possibly develop this one-shot into a longer story down the line, but I'm not making any promises.

An M4 Is A Good Friend:

The M4A1 carbine system-which was derived from the M16, designed by Eugene Stoner and L. James Sullivan-was one of the greatest strides in weapon history. The M4 was a completely versatile gun system, allowing for the weapon to change its form depending upon the situation.

Need a weapon that is compact and deadly in close-quarters? Shorten the barrel and exchange the stock for a telescopic model for a SBR version of the M4. Need something that can be effective in medium to long range engagements? Add a Hybrid Sight with a Bipod-Foregrip.

The M4 is essentially the Swiss Army knife of guns. Dependable, accurate, and deadly.

That being said, the members of Task Force 141 seemed to lose a fair degree of confidence in their weapons when Lord Voldemort appeared before them all.

They were all standing between the golden statues of the Ministry of Magic's atrium and the hall where all the Floo Powder fireplaces were. The soldiers had formed a blockade between Harry and Voldemort, all weapons focused on the hooded figure.

Voldemort had suddenly appeared, and was approaching them slowly.

"Hold it right there!" Captain Price told the Dark Lord.

Surprisingly, Voldemort stopped. A pair of red eyes stared at the SAS commandos with unbridled hatred.

"Bellatrix, away with you," Voldemort hissed to the witch, not taking his eyes off of the muggles before him. "I shall deal with this myself."

Bellatrix only bowed her head and quickly slid into a Floo Fireplace, disappearing in a flash of green flame. No one tried to stop her. Everyone present knew that Bellatrix was but a minnow to the shark that was Lord Voldemort.

Speaking of the Dark Lord, he was eyeing all of the soldiers with a mix of contempt and outrage, but it was clear that he was restraining himself as much as he could.

When Voldemort spoke, he directed his speech towards Captain Price, whom he had deduced was the leader.

"When it seemed that it was taking a long time for my servants to bring me the prophecy, I sensed that something had happened. But never did I imagine that I would find filthy muggles in this sacred place. Dumbledore sent you, didn't he?"

"And what if he did?" Price responded, not batting an eye.

From what Price understood from all the accounts of Voldemort, he relied upon intimidation to send his enemies into a panic. Afterwards, he would pick them off one by one. But those were untrained civilians, not trained soldiers with years of service and experience.

Voldemort's intimidation tactics would not work here.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"Then he has truly lowered himself farther than I had ever even imagined. My former professor disgraces the title of 'wizard', by allying himself with the likes of you…"

"What's the matter, Voldemort?" Price asked. "I thought you'd be a lot more understanding towards us muggles. After all, you are the son of one…"

"What did you say?" Voldemort bristled.

"Oh, what's the matter? Touched a nerve… Tommy?"

Voldemort froze. Even from afar, it was clear to see that his mind was racing, connecting all the dots before them.

"Only one man ever called me that…MacMillan…" Voldemort hissed the name with contempt, memories of the wretched muggle soldier that hounded him and his followers so many years ago… "You…you were MacMillian's second-in-command from all those years ago…"

"Captain Price, at your service," Price introduced himself, allowing himself a small smirk at the Dark Lord.

"Well then, Captain Price," Voldemort bowed in a mocking manner. "I shall exercise the great pleasure of sending your former teacher the corpses of you and your men…"

Voldemort's wand suddenly slid out from his sleeve into his hand.

"GO LOUD!" Price commanded.

The entirety of Task Force 141 opened fire on Voldemort. Their M4s semi-automatic fire rang out through the atrium, echoing down the halls of the empty Ministry.

Voldemort had raised his wand, quickly casting a Protego Charm. The bullets hit the magical barrier, either ricocheting off or dropping immediately to the ground, crumpled. Bullet casings dropped to the floor, tinkling against the granite.

"Spread out! Flank him!" Price ordered. "Gaz, get the kid to cover!"

"Rog'!" Everyone replied.

Soap, Ghost, and Roach broke off from the group to the left, maintaining fire on Voldemort. Wallcroft, Griffin, and Burns did the same, but to the right. Gaz grabbed Harry by the shoulder, forcing him around to the opposite side of the fountain.

Price stayed right where he was, pumping off rounds at Voldemort. Voldemort, in turn, also didn't move, instead enlarging the Protego Charm to cover a larger arc around him. In spite of everything that was going on around them, Price's and Voldemort's eyes were fixed on one another's. Task Force 141 may have been present, but this fight was between the Captain and the Dark Lord.

Everyone had almost exhausted their magazines, and thus ducked for whatever kind of cover that was nearby.

Price jumped into the fountain, hiding behind the golden statues. Soap, Ghost, and Roach ducked into some alcoves along the wall. Whereas, Wallcroft, Griffin, and Burns all ducked behind a giant pillar.

"Cap!" Gaz called out to Price. "What's the plan here?!"

"We hit him with everything we got!" Price replied.

"Not really a plan!"

At that moment, there was a dip in the rate of fire from the SAS that Voldemort noted and decided to take advantage of. He raised his wand, sending Avada Kedavra curses at the commandos.

"Whoa!" Soap yelped, ducking to cover as a curse shot past him. A half-second late and he would've been dead.

"Stay on your toes, Sergeant!" Ghost yelled at Soap, canting out to take some shots at Voldemort.

Voldemort ceased his curse-fire, re-raising his Protego Charm just in time to stop Ghost's rounds.

What followed was essentially a life and death version of Whack-A-Mole.

The SAS would fire on Voldemort, who would block all rounds. Then he would take advantage of any openings, dropping his shield to fire off some curses back. Then, a commando would fire upon Voldemort from the direction he was least focusing on, causing him to re-raise the Protego.

Price fired on Voldemort, his teeth gritted. He knew that they could only keep this up for so long before Voldemort tried something else.

And thus, Voldemort changed tactics.

"Accio, rifles!"

Suddenly, every soldier felt their weapons pull them unnaturally toward Voldemort. They struggled, pulling their weapons back like they were unruly dogs.

Sadly, Soap was the least lucky of the bunch. He had not been standing in a balanced manner and was thrown to the ground as his rifle pulled on him. Soap held on to his weapon tightly, thus he was pulled out of cover into the open.

"Johnny!" Ghost yelled, trying to grab Soap as he slid past him.

"Perfect," Voldemort smiled as he watched Soap coming towards him.

"BANG OUT!" Ghost roared, tossing a primed flashbang at Voldemort.

Soap closed his eyes. There was a loud bang and all Voldemort could see was bright white.

"Gah!" the Dark Lord covered his eyes with his free hand, the Accio Charm suddenly ceasing.

Soap stopped sliding along the floor. He then proceeded to scoot back to the others. It wouldn't take long for Voldemort's vision to return.

"Hit him now! While he's blind!" Price yelled.

Everyone took aim at Voldemort.

But the Dark Lord was enraged now. He clenched his entire body, then suddenly thrust out his chest and limbs. A loud yell emanated from Voldemort, sending a tremendous shockwave through the atrium.

The shockwave hit everywhere, like a rushing tide of water. The soldiers were knocked back, in spite of them being behind cover. Price splashed into the water of the fountain around the statues.

"Cap! You alright?!" Gaz half-called out, half groaned.

"I'm fine!" Price answered, spewing out water. "How's the kid?"

"He's– Kid! No! Get back here!"

Harry had run out from behind the fountain, running towards Voldemort. Anger burning in his eyes.

"Voldemort!" Harry bellowed, charging straight at the Dark Lord.

"Coming to me, boy?" Voldemort cackled. "I thank you for making my task easier!"

Harry skidded to a halt in front of Soap-who had been thrown back some distance and was trying to get up. Harry proceeded to let off a sling of combat spells at Voldemort.

"Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Reducto!"

Voldemort deflected every attack Harry threw at him with ease.

"Come now, boy!" Voldemort taunted. "Have you learned nothing new in the past year?!"

Harry shot whatever spell his mind could think off, hoping that his barrage would find a chink within Voldemort's armor. But nothing found its mark. Voldemort had more power and many years of dueling experience over Harry, killing many witches and wizards over the years.

"I tire of this," Voldemort sighed, disappointed at his young opponent. He quickly whipped his wand. "Expelliarmus!"

Harry's wand shot out of his hand, spinning through the air. It clattered onto the floor, meters away from Harry.

"Accio!"

Harry shot forward toward Voldemort, who caught the boy by the throat. Harry struggled and kicked, trying to pry Voldemort's fingers from his throat. But it was no use, Harry was exhausted and Voldemort hadn't broken a sweat.

Voldemort held Harry's face close to his.

"Look me in the eyes, boy." Voldemort commanded. "I want to watch the light leave your eyes for good."

"No! Never!" Harry choked out, still resisting.

"Don't struggle…" Voldemort cooed softly. "Soon you will be reunited with your parents."

Voldemort raised his wand, its tip mere inches from Harry's face.

"Avada–!"

Captain Price had rammed into both Voldemort and Harry, with all three of them falling to the ground. Voldemort released his grip on Harry, who broke away, gasping for air.

The mass that was Price and Voldemort was a chaotic, writhing mess of fabric and limbs. Voldemort's black cloak flapped as he struggled to get up, only to be dragged back down to the ground by Price.

"Oh, no you don't!"

"Unhand me, you filthy muggle!"

"You didn't say please!"

Voldemort tried to aim his wand at Price, only for the latter to grab the former's wrist and wrangle with it.

If there was one thing that wizards were absolutely clueless about, it was fighting with their hands. Voldemort may have been a powerful duelist, but he had no idea how to fight without magic; a fatal flaw shared by all magical supremacists.

"Comin' in, Cap!"

Gaz, along with the rest of the SAS had picked themselves up and were sprinting right at Voldemort and Price. Gaz and Ghost at the lead.

Ghost joined the fight, throwing a mean right cross straight at Voldemort's face. He then proceeded to drive a series of vicious hooks straight at Voldemort's ribs.

"That's the ticket!" Price yelled. "Swarm him!"

In the meantime, Gaz and the others dogpiled Voldemort, grabbing his limbs and landing their own shots at the Dark Lord.

Gaz and Soap grabbed Voldemort's right arm; Roach and Wallcroft his left; Griffin and Burns pinned the legs.

By this point, Voldemort was in a state of fury unlike any other that he had been in before. He had never been put in this position by anyone before. The fact that it was muggles who were doing this incensed him even further.

"RELEASE ME, FILTH! WORMS! INSECTS!"

"Oh, shaddup!" Ghost yelled back, sending a shot at Voldemort's jaw.

"Grab his wand!" Price ordered.

Soap and Gaz held Voldemort's wrist, both trying to pry the Dark Lord's fingers off of the wand. But Voldemort still managed to maintain an iron grip on his weapon.

"He won't let go!" Soap said.

"Then snap it!"

Just as Soap reached for Voldemort's wand, it was at that moment that the Dark Lord decided to play a desperate move.

He apparated; along with all the Task Force members on top of him.

Splash!

Voldemort had apparated along with everyone into the fountain. It served him many advantages.

First and foremost, most of the members had never apparated before. Hence, they were all affected by the same side effects that all first-time apparators experienced: nausea, disorientation, and malaise.

Apart from that, all the SAS members had a mass of gear on them, which weighed them down in water, making it difficult to move.

With the sudden apparation catching the soldiers off-guard, Voldemort managed to slip free of all their grips. However, just as their vests and gear dulled the soldiers' movements, Voldemort's long black cloak soaked water in like a sponge, making it as though it were made of lead.

In spite of this, Voldemort managed to breach the surface of the water, gasping for air. He made his way to the edge, with the intention to use the disorientation of the SAS to rally himself against them.

But a hand shot out of the water grabbing the hem of Voldemort's cloak and yanking him back into the water.

An angry-looking Price came up out of the water.

Voldemort brought his wand up at Price. But the Captain was quick. He slapped the wand out of Voldemort's hand, which flew beyond the fountain, out onto the floor with a clatter. Price then punched Voldemort square in the face, causing him to fall out of the fountain and onto the hard, granite floor.

Price waded through the water quickly, jumping out after he did so, Price pulled out his knife. This ends now…

Voldemort only bared his teeth and apparated away from Price, right next to his wand. He snatched up his wand and pointed it straight at the Captain.

Price stopped where he was, only glaring at Voldemort.

Voldemort, in turn, was panting. The muggles had actually made him exert himself. The only person who had ever come close to such a thing was Dumbledore. Not even MacMillan had ever fought him in such a savage and primal manner.

This muggle was different…

"Your efforts are wasted. Muggle," Voldemort sneered at Price.

"Are they?" Price asked levelly.

"I'm not dead, am I not?"

At that Price only chuckled raspily.

"Killing you was never the point. Just a luxury."

Voldemort was taken aback.

"What?! Then all of that was for what?!" he demanded.

Price only grinned evilly.

"Buying time."

"For what?!" Voldemort roared, his patience already paper-thin.

Then a familiar voice from behind Voldemort answered.

"For me to arrive."

Voldemort whirled around, to see the last person that he wanted to be there at that moment…

"Dumbledore," he growled.

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