Shines A Light

Chapter Nineteen: Breaking Storm

Harry waited, bursting with impatience, in his room in this small village that they had come to. Everyone else was in their own places, ready for the attack, but his part was not until later on. He was in a room with spells to prevent anyone from looking in and seeing him, while he waited for his cue.

It would be a long time coming. The attack had not yet begun, and he would not be needed until near to the end. Frustrated, full of energy, he took out his sword, pouring all of his emotions, thoughts and energy into pattern dance after pattern dance. The sword would prove to be extremely important in the end.

Harry's part in this had been carefully planned, of course. He would duel with the Dark Lord long enough and well enough to make it look realistic, dodging or blocking any of the Dark Lord's spells, and then, finally he 'wouldn't duck fast enough' to get out of the way of an Avada Kedavra.

Far from actually dying, Harry would modify the spell so that it did some damage – because he couldn't take away it's ability to do damage entirely, he wasn't strong enough – and go down. When Voldemort came over to his dead form to gloat (which everyone was sure he would), Harry would quickly draw his sword, which would have been hidden by an invisibility spell, and run it straight through Voldemort's black heart before the other could get over the surprise of seeing Harry back on his feet and very much alive.

It was a risky plan, but risks had to be taken, and Harry knew that he could do it. It wasn't that hard to draw a sword and strike someone, after all. He had practiced heart shots from a lying position for some time to make sure that he was perfect at them, with a dummy that was made to Voldemort's height and weight specifications.

Outside, he heard a sudden outbreak of yelling, and hurried to the window to watch, looking down upon the street from his upstairs window, searching the sky for traces. There were spells coming from over the forest, where Tatsu and a group of others were holding forte.

He felt a pang of worry, wondering how many of his friends would be alive at the end of the day. If he would be alive at the end of the day. This was it, the final confrontation. The victor here would be the only one, for whoever did win, the opposition would be completely wiped out.

Harry shook his head, and turned from the window. The battle was joined, now he had to prepare for his own part in it. He very quickly changed into his Gi, and tied his hair back from his face so that his scar was clearly visible. He sheathed the sword and his waist and whispered the charm to turn it invisible.

He tucked his wand up his sleeve, within easy reach, and then returned to the window to watch. More fighting had broken out, and the battle was spilling onto streets within the town now. Harry could not see Voldemort, but he knew that the Dark Lord wasn't far away. Even within his Centre, with Occlumency he had learned, his scar tingled with nearness of his enemy.

Voldemort wasn't happy. Harry chuckled slightly at that. Of course he wasn't happy. He had just met resistance of a kind that he had not felt for a long time, and it was in a place that he hadn't expected to find it. It was also stronger than any other attack that had been made on him.

But he didn't know that this was the final battle. That was a good thing, because otherwise he would be being more careful, and he would be ordering his Death Eaters to strike with care and avoid as much damage as they could. Like the Order was. They all knew that they would be needed later on, and they couldn't allow themselves to be taken out. At all costs, that was what they had to do. Preserve their own skins, then get the Death Eaters.

And so far, they were doing very well, although Harry had no way of knowing that, because he couldn't see most of what was happening. And so he continued to bide his time, while the battle beneath around him raged, unable to find out what was going on, worried for all the friends that he had on the field, his mind filled with morbid thoughts.

He wished that there was something he could do, but his time had not yet come.

Tatsu remained hidden off to one side of the battle, a grim smile on his features as he watched the Order fighting the Death Eaters. His people knew that they were reasonably safe. He was there, watching them, using his powers to deflect or change any spells that came towards them, so that they did not do as much damage, when they did any at all.

The Order of the Phoenix was in control of the situation, and they loved it. For once they had a hand over their enemies, and instead of them being the ones to walk into a trap, or be unaware of what they were facing, the Death Eaters were in that position at the moment.

He just hoped that they wouldn't get too cocky – he couldn't save them from everything, after all, and using his powers too often would drain him, physically and mentally. But he would put up with what he must, for the Dark Lord's defeat was nigh.

How he longed to leap out and attack them with his other skills, he knew how they would react to someone attacking them physically, without sheltering behind magic – with first condescending looks, then with real fear when they saw what he could do. But if he did that, he couldn't concentrate on taking care of the spells …

The attacking forces dwindled, slowly but steadily going down, losing members, unable to retreat, for the Order had blocked off all the ways that they could have done so. The Death Eaters knew that they were trapped. And then one of the Death Eaters turned and started attacking his fellows.

That took them completely by surprise, and before those few who remained standing could realise completely what had happened, they had gone down. The turncoat Death Eater nodded to the Order members, then sped away – he was going to the main battle to yell about how the Order was nearly down in the area that he was in, and lure more Death Eaters to their doom.

The Order, while they waited for him to reply, sent spells around, not aiming at anything in particular, to make it look like a battle was still taking place.

For a moment , Tatsu sat back, massaging his temples and taking a drink of water, taking what little rest he could before the fighting started again and he was needed. He was already getting a headache, and he didn't like that at all. Oh well, nothing he could do about it until the battle was done.

Tonks was in the thick of the action, and happy to be there. She had been called out of Hogwarts for the week, an easy enough thing since no lessons were running any more. She was fighting in the middle of town, utterly calm, completely in control of her own usually unruly body.

She was always like this when she fought, completely calm, completely in control, and she never quite managed to do the same thing when she was doing anything else. Sometimes it frustrated at her, right now, in the heat of battle, she didn't care. What a glorious day to be alive! The final battle was being fought and she, Tonks, was a part of it.

She took out a Death Eater with a scream of "Stupefy," then lunged to the side as another Death Eater attacked her. She felt the absurd urge to laugh, but she quelled it, and went on fighting. Laughing would be distracting for her own allies, even though it might freak the Death Eaters out a little.

She sent more spells at her enemies, rolling out of the way of others, delighting in the fact that she was doing something useful. Just wait until I can tell mother about this, she thought, how proud Andromeda was going to be of her only daughter!

Severus, attacking with the rest of the Death Eaters, watched the fray around him with a weary heart. The only good thing about this was that it would be the last, for he was heartily sick of all the killing that he had been forced to do, in the name of staying in Voldemort's service as a spy.

While he attacked his allies, he launched far less obvious attacks on his enemies. The Death Eaters never noticed them, soft incantations when he was standing right beside them, sending them down without a word as he pressed forever forward into the fray, towards his allies, leaving a trail of unconscious or dead Death Eaters behind him.

Eventually his treachery would be known, but the good thing about these robes and masks was that it was not possible to tell people apart in them. It would be awhile before anyone was able to recognise him for who he was, and thus he was safe from attack by both sides – for the Order knew who he was. They had spells that could be put in place, marking someone without seeming to do so.

All of the other 'turncoats' were the same. They would not be attacked with any real ferocity, just enough to make it seem realistic. Now all that had to be hoped was that the Potter boy would not fail in his own task. For if he did, none of this mattered at all.

None of it mattered …

Voldemort was in a murderous rage. Someone in his service had turned him. Many someone's, he could only guess, by the extend of the knowledge his enemies seemed to have about his movements. There was no way to call a retreat, and anyway, if he could wipe out this lot, then the others would be afraid … they would realise how stupid it was to oppose him.

And he would find the ones who had betrayed him, and make them suffer for it.

"Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, aiming at one of the Order of the Phoenix, somehow kept alive even with Dumbledore gone. The man ducked only just in time, and the spell whizzed over his head. Voldemort cursed silently and tried again, on a different target. This spell was on its mark, and one of the enemy fell, never to rise again.

He laughed, a high pitched, spine-chilling cackle, and attacked again, his small triumph goading him into greater action. He would make these fools pay for opposing him as they had. Make them pay well …

And Harry continued to wait and watch. He could see Voldemort now, but the Dark Lord was still far away from him, and he could not act yet. Each time he saw a flash of green light, his heart broke in two. He did not who they were, but they were people who supported him, and people who were against as Voldemort as much as he was. That enough was reason to grieve.

"Come on you bastard," Harry spoke aloud. "Come on. Come closer. I'm waiting for you, and when you get here, you'll regret the day you reared your ugly little head."

I doubt that he would live to regret, Grypis pointed out.

"Manner of speech," Harry replied.

I see, Grypis replied.

They continued their silent vigil, waiting until it was time for Harry to make his move.

Voldemort was making his way down the street, and Harry watched him, waiting, green eyes flashing with his readiness. Finally, he came close enough, and Harry Aparated down, appearing suddenly in front of Voldemort, surprising the Dark Lord. His wand was already in his hand.

"Hello Voldemort," he smirked. "Fell right into our trap, didn't you?"

"Trap, Potter?" Voldemort hissed, raising his own wand. As Harry had suspected, Voldemort was interested in finding out what sort of plan that the Order had. Harry could reveal as much of it as he chose, the Order had decided – at the end of the day, it wouldn't matter much.

"We've been goading you for ages now," Harry grinned viciously, "Waiting for you to launch a full scale attack like this. We've known all about it ever since you started planning – and we've been planning too! We're ready for you!"

"Really Potter? Is that what you think?" Voldemort asked quietly. "Avada Kedavra!" and Harry leapt out of the way, rolling neatly and coming up.

"Stupefy!" he yelled, but Voldemort blocked it easily, and returned the spell with one of his own.

All around them, the battle came a halt, as everyone stopped to watch the two 'leaders' fighting one another. No one interfered – if the Death Eaters had tried, the Order would make sure they didn't get anywhere with it. Harry fought to the best of his ability, and waited for his chance.

Voldemort shot several Avada Kedavra curses at Harry, which had given him ample time to examine the spell's structure. He thought he knew what he needed to do to make it not kill him now. Now he just had to wait for Voldemort to use it again. Finally, he did so, Harry watched it come towards him, his eyes sliding out of focus as he swiftly modified the spell as much as he could, praying that it would be enough.

The spell hit him, and he let his body fall, biting back the urge to scream with pain. It burned, his skin was on fire, his mind torn apart from a moment as the pain washed over him. It wasn't as bad as Crucio, but it was more than bad enough to be going on with.

He realised almost immediately the pain wasn't completely magical. The spell had done a lot of damage, even though it had not killed him outright. But even with the pain, he still managed to fall so that his sword was in a position from which he could draw it easily.

His eyes open a crack, he watched as Voldemort walked towards him. Dimly, he heard the cheers from the Death Eaters, the cries of grief from the Order, the latter of which were of course faked. "It would seem, Potter, that I have turned the tables on you," Voldemort smirked, standing over him, leaning over slightly.

Perfect.

Harry moved, in the space of a breath, even though his body screamed at him in protest. Harry drew his sword and lunged, spearing it straight through Voldemort's chest, just as he had practiced. It was a perfect shot, and Harry was proud of himself, as he whispered into Voldemort's shocked face, "Oh yeah?"

Then he slumped back to the ground, his hand falling away from the hilt of his sword, and Voldemort's dead form falling over him, and he gratefully blacked out.

The Death Eaters were in shock, watching their leader fall, the sword piercing his body straight through, and the Order swiftly took advantage of the chaos, dealing with them quickly and efficiently. There would be time for celebration when this work was done.

But one figure did not join the fighting. A small golden furred cat slipped from one of the nearby buildings and rushed over to the two fallen leaders, sniffing at Harry's face worriedly. Something hadn't gone quite right. The Avada Kedavra had done more damage than it was supposed to …

Harry was dying, even as his life-long enemies blood soaked the ground around them.

Yes, the ending is overly dramatic and, given my other works, probably reasonably predictable by now, but bare with me. Someone last chapter commented that my heart doesn't seem to be in this story, and it isn't as good as other works – this is very true, I'm afraid. Ever since I started this story, I've been without much direction – so much happened in the last story that it left very little for this one to go on, and I never really wanted to write this in the first place, but I had to conclude what I began. Even if I had waited, and plotted my heart out, but this wouldn't have ever been much better, because no matter how long I waited, my heart NEVER would have been in it … and for that I apologise profusely. I'm planning more stories, and those have a heart in them, and an ongoing plot that actually covers Harry's next years, as they are supposed to, rather than everything being shoved into one story, and then nothing being left over for the sequel.

Anyway, there are only another two, at the most three, chapters left in this story, and then we'll be on to new horizons!

Thanks to:

Lyss33, Clare, The Lord NightHawk, Clare, Rin, JeanieBeanie33, Surarrin, drreadwrite thanks for the tips, I'm getting better … slowly. Washu, Ezmerelda, marauder #3, Dumbledave, canfindagoodname, TekNthzpn.