Ron was out of breath after running, or he felt like he was, though he had not run through the halls of Hogwarts in years. Had anything truly changed? How would he know if something had changed, and that it had not been the same way the entire time? A man again, the weight of the nearly constant use of dark magic on his soul, he did not know if he could count himself fortunate to be back in the present, whenever the present was, exactly. Perhaps it had been Luna who taught him to question his own position, who distorted his understanding of reality enough to make him wonder if he could really base it around himself. He had not been listening, for the most part, the monologue of Voldemort, the dark wizard whose name he had not been allowed to speak as a child, but as if he could feel a fight brewing like a storm, some swirl in the air around him had him standing at the ready with his wand out.

"I should count myself fortunate," the enemy said. "In truth, I had hoped to resolve this with a guarantee, something greater than even my prodigious skill, but it appears the Time Turner is completely useless to me. In all the days that have gone by, the Phoenix chose someone great, if I am to presume that you are correct in your supposition. At the moment it seems stuck on one of the children of prophecy, even though the other still lives."

"I'm not worried about that," Neville said. "I really don't care. I thought for a while that it would matter, but it really doesn't. It's kind of like what Ron said-" He gestured with his free hand. "- I chose myself. I didn't wait to see which of us fate would decide was the chosen one."

"You chose yourself instead of some later champion, then?" the dark wizard asked, still seeming amused. Ron was finding it hard to tell how much of it was genuine. "You chose yourself, when all the other incarnations of the Phoenix before you, failed or would have failed against me?!"

Whether or not there was humor or some sort of irony in it, the element of anger was as clear as the light of the sun, oppressively shining on all of them.

"Now, damn you, now!" he shouted, not knowing what exactly his friend meant to do, only able to advise insofar as it should happen while the enemy was off balance, while he was not thinking of any means of escape. In all the countless hours he and his friends had put into strategizing to kill Voldemort, they could imagine highly contrived scenarios in which a killshot could theoretically work, they could come up with elaborate ways of using the laws of magic itself against him, but never once had they imagined that he would be pressed, cornered, and acting on instinct.

Now that it had come, though, everything that was within him was shouting for his friend to take advantage of it, but it was the enemy that responded.

Neville waved his wand and used some unidentifiable spell to create a pillar of light directly in the path of a killing curse.

"Impossible!" Voldemort shouted. "What did you do?!"

"I sent it forward in time a thousand years." He frowned. "I never did like the idea of the dark shield."

"Time manipulation, then?" he asked. "I should have expected as much. It becomes clear how you sent your allies to the past; you must have found some resource on the subject-"

"Not exactly," he said. "I understand it because I understand all magic. I can do anything now."

"I find that a rather a ludicrous explanation to posit. No one in the thousands of years that wizards have been trying to ferret out the secrets of the magical arts has managed to understand magic in general, and innovation does not take place under these circumstances."

"Out of necessity?" he asked. "After trying hard and working at it for years? Just because when we found the truth, we could face it? Are those the kinds of circumstances that don't work? I'm not the best at explaining things and I don't really think it's wise to explain it to you of all people. I think our earlier conversation was enough for me to know you'd never figure it out on your own, though."

"If you understand all magic, then what is the undiscovered fourth exception to Snodley's theory on the permanence of charms?"

"It doesn't have... there aren't rules that seem like they're rules, but then they're not because of accepted quirks and it's fine that they don't make sense; the rules of magic have no exceptions. There's not all that far off from what students generally learn, but we really should've realized something was up when the kids at Uagadou are experts of Transfiguration and openly claiming that there really aren't any rules to it. That's not entirely correct, but it's clear that neither was our understanding." He took a breath. "I'm wasting time, though. I don't know if I'm talking to you for any reason other than my general disbelief over the thought of actually fighting you."

"Neville, none of that matters," Ron said. It was hard to tell whether or not they had really made any strategic gains from the fact that the enemy had spent maybe the first half of the battle entertaining his every academic curiosity in his overconfidence in the power of time manipulation, but now was the time to press the advantage, not let him get back to analyzing the situation critically. Contrary to what Voldemort seemed to try to get him to believe a moment ago, Neville had the closest shot out of any avatar of the Phoenix who had ever come about. It seemed the others might have had something to say, but the only thing he could do to force a fight was cast a spell. "Avada Kedavra!"

"A favorite of mine," the enemy commented, moving out of its path. "I had thought that at some point, the four of you would give up on whatever vain hope you may have had that you could win without the use of more practical means. It has never been an easy task to avoid four wands casting killing curses at the same time." That was what he wanted? He's not off balance at all-

It stood to reason that he was posing no challenge because no one else was following him; there were not four wands, there was one. It seemed Hermione was too stunned trying to follow everything, but that was better than Malfoy, who seemed content to simply watch what played out. In their younger forms, he had been his old self again, for the most part, but for better or worse, both of them were back to the results of the changes that their own choices had wrought in themselves, as was manifested in their outward appearance.

Ron had never thought that time travel was legitimately possible. Following Hermione to see Dumbledore was what every practical bone in his body would have advised, trusting her even to remember the password from all those years ago, but he really wished he could have seen Hannah, even if it was before they knew they loved each other, which itself came before their relationship could even be described as love. Even just once, he wished he could have seen her, and yet, even though it crossed his mind, he did not so much as mention her to his friend, who would have remembered her sacrifice. What else would it have accomplished?

Evidently nothing, if everything's back the way it was- is it?

"I have grown tired of these hangers on, Longbottom. If you will not come after me in earnest, if you will continue to protect them by making me wait, then I shall have to rid us of them." He waved his wand in Mafloy's direction, seeming disinterested in his inaction, and Ron took the chance with another killing curse, though it was anticipated and avoided before it crossed half the necessary distance. It's like he can feel the dark magic coming. His original target was fine; the sudden reposition threw off his aim and Malfoy did not even need to dodge. He did, however, raise his own wand, along with Hermione.

"Serpensortia"

"Avifors"

"Protego Diabolica"

Directly following the two conjurations, the enemy created a ring of blue fire around himself. Shouldn't block the killing curse- shouldn't be able to see it coming at least- Trying to reposition himself, he found that the flames were not only too high for him to pick his targets properly, and most importantly, Neville was still inside. He was running, nearly running himself ragged, when he caught his friend trying to put out fire that caught on her sleeve before cutting it off with a severing charm. Even in that moment he wanted to comment on how brilliant it was that she avoided hurting herself in the process.

They were shut out of the battle, though it seemed that Malfoy had a broom and was flying over the strange fire, but he still had no interest in involving himself.

"Get inside his head. I'll hit him with an Imperius if he gives you any trouble."

It was the least they could do to be there for Neville as he fought; to get an idea of what was going on, and Hermione's eyes widened as she obeyed his order. Apparently, their old enemy had no problem with sharing, which was well, because it might have been harder to make a minion out of him. She told him he simply had to see what was happening and all at once he could see it in his own mind.

Voldemort was launching unidentifiable spells one after the other, and his opponent was demonstrating his complete understanding of magic by blocking and deflecting them. He could probably not even pronounce some of the incantations, nor could he identify what their intended effects were, and yet, they had no effect on him. Despite the dark wizard's increasing frustration, it seemed like he could do nothing to the child of prophecy, and Malfoy's non-intervention made more sense in context; he probably had no idea how exactly to help. With the way the combatants were moving, and with the spells they were casting, it was probably just as easy to accidentally hit one as the other. And yet, Malfoy's mind was a calmer place than he would have joked back in first year. It seemed there was no frantic rush to find a way to help.

Is that better? He realized Hermione could hear him. Is that what he wants, for us to believe in him... so he can believe in himself?

I don't know. I do believe in him, but I can't help but... I can't help but want to do something. I don't know that he exactly needs support; he looks as confident as I have ever seen him. I know that he deserves it, though.

Get Malfoy to cast a healing charm. Any kind of scrape or hex that Neville's taken so far, it should heal it. It'd heal Voldemort too, but he already heals himself. There's no way of bringing him down except with one shot.

Even amid Hermione's praise for his ability to think clearly in a stressful situation, he could not imagine what their friend was trying to accomplish by simply blocking everything that came his way. Did he want them to jump in, somehow? He could see with his own eyes their old enemy pointing his wand down and casting a healing charm down below himself, though it was anyone's guess how necessary it was. Just let it do something- let us do something-

Voldemort's response to the situation was more like something between a howl and a shriek than it was an incantation, though the spell came out all the same, driving Malfoy away from being directly over him. Though Ron had long since realized that he and Terry had been misguided in thinking that all they needed was a killshot, something that could get through the enemy's armor represented by layers of curses and enchantments, he really wished he had one of those bizarre South American spirit creatures at the moment, if for no other reason than to try something. All at once, however, the blue flames around the two combatants were extinguished, and the dark wizard was yet again in shock at the development.

"Emeric the Evil wrote that the flames were inexhaustible," he explained, regaining himself quickly.

"I forgot that the notable dark wizards would just sort of do whatever they felt like and write down whatever explanation made sense to them," Neville said. "It's not like they were exactly wrong, since they were ignorant of the theory, and they were pioneering magic for the rest of us in a way, but really, they weren't helping anyone, not compared to a true understanding of magic."

"You are making the case, then, that you simply wished for it to go away, and because you can do anything, it went away?"

"Have you ever wondered why we can only speak some form of an ancient language when we're trying to cast spells? I know there's treaties and academic conventions and common schools of thought, but when I was a schoolboy, I asked why the wand couldn't understand us in whatever language. I didn't understand anything, but I was right to ask questions. It's not the wand or the spell that understands us, it's magic, and we can only communicate with it if we understand it. People learned tricks that worked and other people used the same tricks after them, but it's just as possible to learn new things that don't just repeat someone else's understanding."

"That is simply impossible," Voldemort said. He was more frustrated than mocking, perhaps because he had not yet proven that his understanding was, in fact, greater. "There is no example of anyone from history simply performing whatever spell he or she desired-"

"Yeah, I know, and I don't claim to be any smarter than they were," he said. "You don't have to be smart to understand something like magic. If you'll let me, I'll demonstrate." Was that what he wanted? Did he need an opportunity to use a spell when he knew that no one was going to be in danger?

"If you fail to impress me, then I shall concede that I cannot kill you because of your dumb luck in blocking, and then I shall simply avoid you until the expiration of your natural life, presuming that you eschew any dark methods of prolonging it."

"Then you're wiser than I thought," Neville said. "You don't recognize that I wouldn't have a problem with leaving a mess like you to the next Phoenix, but you do realize that you can't kill me. I can also extend my own life."

"How do you presume to do that?"

"Accio Philosopher's Stone," he incanted, catching the familiar gem when it flew to him seemingly out of nowhere. "I summoned it from the past. Don't worry, though, I'll put it back." Sure enough, he did.

If Voldemort already had some level of awareness about his situation that transcended his own high opinion of himself, he was frightened. It seemed he was running through all the possibilities of what his enemy could do with abilities of that nature. Scarlet eyes flitting back and forth, he moved, more quickly than anyone might have believed, to Hermione, and had a wand to the back of her neck.

"I find it quite common that wizards rely entirely on Apparation for high-speed travel and neglect that there are other ways, ways that get around the jinxes that prevent it- these provide a substantial advantage in combat."

"I've used a speed potion before," Ron said. "That said, I'm not worried. Neville could bring her back to life." Somehow, immediately when he said it, he knew it was true. What was the strange feeling that had come over him? Was it fear? Was he simply impressed at the vast unknown promised by the very existence of magic, denied as it had been by those who sought to place limits on it? Was some strange hope reaching down to lift him from the panicked despair he had felt for years on a constant basis?

"Accio Salazar Slytherin's Locket." A silver chain appeared in his hand. "You've never seen this before," he said. "Your mother sold this family heirloom for ten Galleons, while you were still in the womb. She was alone, in an unfamiliar place with no other ability or desire to provide for herself, and she sold this, not knowing or caring how much it was worth. You might have seen it when you were working at Borgin and Burke's, where Hestia Jones investigated on her crusade against you before getting assigned to my protection."

Voldemort seemed to realize the implications of the fact that Neville was holding the key to his very existence. By contrast, even though she had a wand to the back of her neck, the fear had vanished from Hermione's face. She was crying, and she looked like a mess, but Ron could tell it was an expression of relief.

"She kept going on about the importance of the 'Anti-Voldemort' movement; I think it was her way of guilt tripping me about how I needed to be protected. Somehow, I remembered." He shrugged. "I wanted to remind you that you're human. I'm not desperate or cruel enough to starve your mother when her death would come either way. They say the last thing an expecting mother loses is the child." With a wave of his wand, he returned the locket to its appropriate time. "I'm going to kill you now, after all of your crimes, and you're going to be aware of it."

It made perfect sense in context that the enemy would run. He had already established that he was faster than any regular witch or wizard, that he could not kill Neville, and that trying to take a hostage was futile. It was also the case that there might be some point to running, with the extemporaneous threat to his existence no longer in play. If he made it far enough, he could apparate away, and whether or not there was anything he could do with his life from then on, he would keep it for the moment. It was a pitiable cowardice, and as such perfectly in character, but somehow Ron had never allowed himself the mercy of the hope that he would one day see his enemy running from him. I've been such a bloody dobber to myself. The most I've ever allowed myself to think of the future was all the things we're going to have to put back right again.

Perhaps running was Voldemort's final way of trying to make a bargain with Neville, that he would hide, stay out of the way, and never cause another problem for anyone else, as long as he could be allowed to live. Ever afraid of death, it was not unreasonable that he would have prepared for a similar situation; with time on his side, he would at least be able to wait out most problems that emerged in the world of life, where nothing else was permanent.

"Are we going after him?" he asked.

"There's no need. He will come back," Hermione said. "With the mind arts, I just relayed to him that we could move a killing curse backward in time and kill him while he was still with us."

"I didn't think about that; that's clever," Neville said. "He might try and use Legilimency against me; he hasn't gone for that yet."

In mere moments, their enemy did return, just in time for the child of prophecy to reveal his last trick, his wand already pointed precisely where it needed to be.

"I remove your protective enchantments, runes, and curses."

Everyone was silent for a moment, looking back and forth between Neville and Voldemort, the prior simply putting his wand away and the latter convulsing, spell forms breaking all over him. While they could not say they understood exactly what was going on, the effect was as clear as the strange incantation. At the end, their enemy was slain, as impossible as that had seemed, and all that remained was to figure out what to do next.