Sweat poured down Harry's face, stinging his eyes. He adjusted the angle of his head over and over, trying to find some way to lesson the river of blood that ran from his nose.
Voldemort laughed harshly and fired off another curse, another one that Harry had never heard of.
Stepping backwards, Harry stumbled over a trunk. His head hit the cold stone wall with a sickening thunk. Dazed, he feared that it was the end. With his legs in a tangle over the trunk as they were, all he could do was look at the ceiling. He watched the Dark Lord's reflection in the wide array of hanging blades. Tom Riddle stepped closer, and Harry felt an icy hand wrenching through his insides. It was almost over. He knew that his backup would finish clearing out the stairway and storm Voldemort's little chamber of horrors at any moment; he just hoped he would still be alive when it happened.
Luckily, Voldemort was taking his time walking, savoring his victory. That would be his undoing.
With a heavy creak, the door to the chambers was flung open. The person opening the door overestimated how heavy it would be, underestimated how rotted the wood was. Yanked free of it's hinges, the door went flying.
It knocked right into a granite statue of a gargoyle. The gargoyle spun on it's pedastil for a moment before falling down. Upon hitting the ground, its head snapped clean off and started rolling.
It did not stop rolling until it crashed into a post. From this post hung many sets of chains with spikes, barbs, and wrist locks. The impact swung one spiked chain out until it neatly connected with a bookcase. When it swung back, it had a book on it.
The book, "Payneful Death Be To Thy Mortal," was a very dark book. It dangled periously from the swinging chain until it finally fell into a bowl of decorative preserved Muggle eyeballs.
The bowl tipped over and spilled when the book hit it. The eyeballs went flying, all over the table, bouncing all over the room. One bounced into the fire only to bounce right back out and into a thick velvet curtian.
The curtian, upon being hit by the flaming eyeball, caught fire. The fire spread on it quickly, going all the way up to the rope that held the curtian from the ceiling.
As the flames climbed that rope, there was a junction where it met another rope. The flames licked the second rope, causing the large blade that it was holding to fall.
And fall it did, splitting Lord Voldemort in half, killing him instantly.
The person at the door looked in. "You ok, Harry?" she called out.
Harry could only laugh. It was all over and Voldemort was dead. It was over. "Never better, Luna. Never better. Let's go home."