Chapter 77 – Opposing Evil

The ferocity of the sudden assault startled Harry, and for a moment he stood stock still, watching as the Ministry forces stormed the hall, catching Voldemort and his troops in a trap, akin to the jaws of some ferocious beast closing about some hapless prey. And the Ministry fighters appeared to be eager for a bit of payback, after following the Death Eaters to many a site, only to find burnt out homes, the Dark Mark, and occasionally, the bodies of victims. As the two sides converged upon each other, it was clear which faction was the aggressor, contrary to what would have been expected.

But this was not just a motley band of misfits they were fighting—this was an army comprised of hardened criminals and killers, and they were backed by one of the most feared men in history—the man styling himself as Lord Voldemort was not about to submit to the defeat of his forces without a fight. The moment the Ministry fighters rushed in to engage the enemy, he strode forward himself, wand blazing in an awesome show of force and raw magical power. Though Harry had seen the man at work at both the graveyard and the cemetery, he was impressed anew by his prowess. It was clear why all magicals attempted to avoid all notice of this man.

That last observation galvanized Harry to action. Wherever Voldemort appeared, good men and women died. Harry did not know if the prophecy was correct in its assertion that he had within him the power to defeat him, but he did know that he had to try. For everyone who had had their lives torn asunder; for everyone murdered; for Fleur and Hermione—Voldemort had to be defeated for the good of them all. Snarling, Harry stepped forward and joined the Auror attack.

The initial assault through the hole Dumbledore had blown in the outer wall had resulted in the attacking force driving deep into the enemy ranks, much like a spearhead thrust into the body of a fish. Soon, however, the enemy resistance had stiffened, and the assault had ground to a halt, though now that the Aurors were attacking from all sides of the room, it was further constricting the Death Eaters' ability to maneuver and fight back. It was clear to Harry for just what purpose Dumbledore had given the Aurors those portkeys back in the courtyard, and they were being used to good effect.

Such thoughts quickly became extraneous, however, as Harry was quickly engulfed in the fight. Out of nowhere, a tall, aristocratic looking Death Eater stepped forward to confront him, and Harry was forced to dodge to the side to avoid a flame whip which came flashing out of nowhere. Pivoting, Harry unleashed a barrage of spellfire, punctuated with several banishing curses and reductors. His opponent was too wily to be caught so easily and he erected a shield, deflecting Harry's attacks, and dodged the rest, even while he returned fire with a few choice curses of his own. Fortunately for Harry, he did not even know what most of them were, and he was able to concentrate on blocking and avoiding them, rather than worrying what they would do if they connected.

Their duel continued for several minutes until a number of fighting combatants haphazardly dodging and twisting across the floor separated them and made each turn to new foes. For the next few moments Harry was immersed in a running battle with several of the enemy, all of whom were dangerous fighters with a ruthless determination to boot.

How long he continued the motions of the fight—casting as fast as he was able, dodging incoming spells, fighting alongside his companions—Harry could not tell, but though it seemed like an excessively long time, he knew it could only have been a few minutes. His energy was flagging and the aches in his body were beginning to tell. Grimly he forced himself to continue, knowing what was at stake. He would not rest until the battle was won.

It was a few moments later that Harry was granted a respite. He had been working with several others in his area when a group of fighting Aurors fluidly shifted and he was able to break off his attacks and catch his breath behind the Ministry lines. Instinctively Harry cast about for the Dark Lord, trying to see if he could force the confrontation sooner. The Dark Lord was not difficult to detect—could see that Voldemort was still some distance away, dueling with a pair of Aurors while the battle raged around him.

"Voldemort you coward!" he shouted. "Stand and face me!"

The Dark Lord turned, incensed, and his eyes soon settled on Harry. Harry fancied he could see his death in the depth of the Dark Lord's dark orbs.

"Only if the bastard can catch me," Harry thought defiantly.

"Potter!" he screamed. "You will wish you had never been born when I am finished with you!"

Now Harry knew he should be afraid. He was about to face the worst dark lord in centuries, and one who outclassed him in terms of experience, likely in power, and definitely in his ruthless will to impose himself on others. But all Harry could think of at that moment, in the haze of battle and the rush of adrenaline, was that this man had killed his parents and countless others. And though it was undoubtedly a case of the mouse challenging the lion, he would see the Dark Lord defeated if it was the last thing he did.

Grimly, Harry tried to push forward toward the inevitable confrontation, at the same time Voldemort started forward himself. But at that moment, an attack from the Auror force which had entered from the side, drove a wedge in between them, and he and Voldemort were suddenly separated by an even greater teeming mass of bodies.

Confronted by a group of Death Eaters which had suddenly been turned in his direction, Harry was forced to defend himself against multiple attacks. A quick glance at Voldemort showed him in similar straits—for perhaps the first time in his reign as a dark lord, Voldemort was engulfed in pitched battle, with foes that were more than the anticipated school children, and his face reflected the concern which was growing over the turn of events.

It also showed an interesting insight into the psyche of the Dark Lord. Simply put, the man was a coward and a bully, only putting himself forward when he felt that the odds were decisively in his favor. Oh, he had dueled Dumbledore, and had led certain attacks, but for the most part, his targets were those who were helpless, and supposedly could not defend themselves.

"Not Hogwarts," thought Harry grimly. He had bitten off far more than he could chew with this little adventure. And Harry was determined to make him pay.

So he fought on, trying to reach the Dark Lord, knowing that he may very well be going to his death. But he would do his best to survive as he had promised Hermione and Fleur, all the while knowing that if the price for victory was his death, then it would be worth it in the end.

The signal sounded and the Aurors sprang to the attack. The stairs hampered them in their charge, but within moments of their sudden movement, they had met the outer elements of Voldemort's army and a fierce battle had erupted.

When the Aurors rushed in to engage the enemy, Ron and the rest of his team exchanged looks, took a deep breath, and then leaned over the parapet and began to pepper the center of Voldemort's troops with everything the could think of. With their vantage point, it was easy to see and pick out targets and, if not hit them, have a reasonable surety of being able to at least hit something despite the distance.

Taking aim, Ron sighted along his wand and let loose a bludgeoning curse at the Dark Lord, hoping to at least be able to distract him from the havoc he was dealing out to those around him. Displaying an unnatural awareness of what was happening around him, Voldemort batted Ron's curse away. For a moment, Ron was the focus of the Dark Lord's ire, and for a moment he could hardly move, feeling like he was straight in the sights of a hunter intent upon mounting his head on a wall. He almost fancied he felt exactly like a deer, even though he knew that it was not a completely accurate metaphor—the hunter did not hate the deer, after all. Voldemort hated everyone! An instant later, Voldemort flicked his wand with an almost negligible gesture and a wave of fire was heading up toward Ron and his companions.

"Duck!" yelled Ron in a panic.

He and his team dropped down below the level of the parapet, and Ron could feel the flames go over his head, singing the tips of his hair in its fiery fury. In a moment it was over, but Ron was forcibly struck by the realization that for all the strides he had made that year under Harry's tutelage, in a fight with Voldemort he would lose—badly—and likely very quickly.

For a moment no one spoke, though the sounds of battle continued unabated below them, and Ron was certain that they were all contemplating their narrow escape, not to mention the fact that the man below them was seriously bad news.

"So, no more targeting Voldemort," said Katie in a breathless tone.

"I guess not," returned Ron.

"And he's after Harry?" Angelina breathed.

"Ever since he was little," agreed Ron.

"Does he even have a chance?" Lee chimed in.

Though Ron was still almost in awe of Voldemort's sudden and impressive display of power, a part within him stiffened and he pondered his best friend. Instinctively he knew that if anyone could defeat the Dark Lord—other than Dumbledore, of course—then that person was Harry. He had defied the odds so many times, and he had challenged Voldemort and lived to tell the tale more times than anyone else could claim, even the aforementioned Headmaster. And whatever happened, Ron knew that Harry would never leave them to face Voldemort. Somehow he would prevail, drawing on that intangible… something which set his friend apart from everyone else.

"And he'll need his friends all pulling their weight to succeed," Ron thought with determination. Ron would not be the one to fail him.

"Absolutely he does," Ron said aloud, projecting a confidence into his voice that he knew his companions would immediately detect. "He can take care of the Dark Lord. But it's up to us—his friends and supporters and all the Aurors—to take care of Voldemort's cronies so that he gets that chance."

"That's what we're here for," Lavender responded, and once again, Ron was impressed with her fortitude. Perhaps there was more to this girl than he had ever taken the trouble to see.

Ron nodded, and he turned and inched his way back up to the top of the parapet, looking down upon the battle. It had grown even more chaotic in the time since he had last seen, but while Voldemort himself was now in the thick of the fighting, there was still a tight core of Death Eaters situated around the entrance to the Great Hall, though it was shrinking by the second.

"Let's get in a few more shots while we can," he said to the rest, taking aim and beginning to release curse after curse into the fray.

Joining him at the top, the others began to follow his example, though Angelina said, "Aren't we running the risk of hitting our own troops?"

"When they get too close, we'll head down and join the battle," Ron said, as he unleashed another reductor. It sped down into the dwindling mass of Death Eaters, and he was very satisfied to see it hit a Death Eater in the head and remove him from the battle—permanently, and in a rather gory fashion. Ron chose—wisely, in his opinion—not to consider the fact that a man had just died by his hand. The man had undoubtedly deserved far more than he had received

They continued firing for several minutes, when the strangest thing entered Ron's line of sight, and he turned his attention, gaping for a moment until his sense of the absurd—highly developed due to the likes of his reprehensible brothers—was aroused and he laughed, despite the situation.

"What is that?" Lavender yelled, even as she released another curse into the Death Eater ranks.

"I believe that is a chicken," Ron replied. "Sort of."

From a side exit, a large, white-feathered, squawking shape of a man had entered into the entrance hall at a dead run, its cries heard even over the din of the battle. Unfortunately, it was not watching where it was walking, and it fell into the swamp which lay to the side of the hall. The crocodiles took over from there.

"Go Fred and George!" Lee exulted.

And while Ron privately agreed with him, the sight of the large reptiles feeding on a large, chicken-like Death Eater was one which would turn his stomach if he was not careful. Instead, he focused on what he was doing. It would not be long now before they ran out of targets. For Ron, just being there and supporting his friend in any way he could was enough.

Following the Death Eaters back toward the entrance hall was accomplished much more quickly than Daphne would have imagined. Though the initial thought had been that they were trying to lure the Hogwarts defenders into a trap, the speed at which they were retreating soon made it clear that nothing more than getting to their master's side as quickly as possible was on their minds. As a result, the defenders soon had abandoned all thought of following carefully in hopes of catching them before they could arrive. This resulted in a couple of brief exchanges of spellfire, but for the most part the Death Eaters stayed well enough ahead of them that they were able to inflict very little damage.

"Why are they in such a hurry?" Tracey demanded as they sped down the corridors in what appeared to be a vain attempt to catch the retreating invaders.

"Who knows?" Daphne yelled back.

"It may be time to slow down a little," said Professor Flitwick. Despite his small stature and the shortness of his legs, the Charms professor had exhibited no difficulty whatsoever in keeping up with them. In fact, his battle prowess and impressive repertoire of spells had more often than not led them in their skirmishes with the invaders.

At the head of the column, Fred and George, apparently hearing the conversation, slowed their pace and dropped back to where Flitwick was still speaking with Daphne and Tracey.

"We're getting pretty close to the entrance hall," Fred said.

"We don't want to fall into the swamp, so be careful," George added with a smug smile.

"But what are we going to do?" Daphne asked, peering into the gloom ahead. "We can't face the entire Death Eater army by ourselves.

Before anyone could answer her, shouts sounded ahead of them and the sounds of fighting quickly reached their ears. Exchanging a glance, Fred and George charged off toward the entrance hall, pulling the rest of their team in their wake. A few moments later they stepped into a large hall which led directly to the entrance hall, to see the Death Eater force fighting in close quarters with an enemy, some dressed in the uniforms of English Aurors, while some were dressed in another, different uniform which Daphne had never before seen.

Without delay, the club members joined the fray, loosing their spells against the Death Eaters who were, by and large, facing away from them. In the distance, Daphne could hear what sounded like a number of cannon blasts, but she was too busy with the Death Eater—a rough-looking man with a scraggly beard—who had turned to face her. The man shouted something guttural at her, before he unleashed several spells, which were deflected by Daphne's hastily raised shield. She responded with a couple of bone shattering curses, and a bludgeoner, and was joined in the fight by Tracey. Between the two of them, they had soon put the man out of the fight.

Glancing around, Daphne noticed that most of the Death Eaters had already been subdued, and that the small skirmish appeared to have been concluded in their favor. Professor Flitwick had dispatched his own opponent, and was now speaking with a tall man with dark hair and somewhat of a shabby look about him. With a double take, Daphne suddenly knew who this man was, and she jogged forward, noting that the twins had joined her as well.

"Professor Lupin!" Daphne exclaimed as they strode up to him.

"Miss Greengrass," the professor greeted before he turned back to the Charms professor.

"The signal has already been given," he said. "As soon as we can form up ranks, we'll be moving. You should take the students to safety."

"With all due respect, professor," Fred said, "we're not going anywhere."

"Harry trained us for this," his brother added. "It's time we take the fight back to the Death Eaters."

The former professor looked at them with compassion in his eyes, but he was firm. "I think not—it's bound to be a pitched battle out there, and I'd prefer it if I didn't have to explain to your mother that I got you killed."

"We're of age," said George, as he turned and began moving toward the entrance hall.

"You can't stop us any more than our mother can," added Fred as he moved after his brother.

"Don't ask," Flitwick said, though he shot Lupin a commiserating smile. "This group is pretty determined. And so far they've acquitted themselves rather well, though I suppose that given the identity of their instructor, it's not exactly surprising."

By that time the Auror force had begun to move from the hall in the direction of the Great Hall, and Daphne had the rest of the patrol moving with them. She was not about to miss this fight with Voldemort and his cronies, and she figured that she was due a little payback for all her family had suffered.

"We'd better move," Lupin finally said, though Daphne thought that she recognized a hint of stupefaction in his tone. "Be careful out there—it's bound to be a madhouse."

Daphne promised herself that she would be careful. But she also knew that it would not matter much if Voldemort was allowed to prevail. Their only hope lay in defeating the Death Eaters and their Dark Lord.

Though Remus was a little fearful at the youngsters' insistence on joining the battle, on another level he was somewhat bemused. Harry had apparently had a rather profound effect on those he was teaching, to the point that several Slytherins—who in Remus's day would have avoided the conflict altogether and played the winning side, if they did not overtly fight for Voldemort—were now as eager as any Gryffindor to wade into the conflict. He would have preferred to send them to a safe location, but though they were underage, he could not fault their desire to be involved. It was not as though the situation allowed him to take a stand, which was, he supposed, why Professor Flitwick had not protested against their involvement himself.

Joining the rest of their moving forces, Remus strode forward, his wand and his heightened werewolf senses primed for the coming battle. They entered the entrance hall to the sound and sight of the ongoing battle. The other teams that Dumbledore had sent in by portkey had already joined the assault, and there was a large hole in the outer wall of the castle, where the Auror army had entered and was even now pushing hard against the Dark Lord's lines. The Death Eaters were surrounded, with the Ministry forces pressing them on three sides, and the wall separating the entrance hall from the Great Hall on the fourth.

Having no further time for thought, Remus strode forward, curses spitting out of his wand, and he joined the battle. For the next few moments, he was lost in the chaos of battle and the struggle to deal death upon the invaders.

It was not long, however, before he became aware of the presence of one he had only been in company with once since James and Lily's death all those years ago. And though the mass of sweating, moving bodies made it completely impossible, he almost fancied he could smell a peculiar scent—the scent of a rat. He allowed a feral grin to come over his face and for a moment he almost felt like Greyback must have felt all those years of his insanity—the thought of vengeance which he could not suppress was now uppermost in his mind. He was not concerned—this was a matter of righting a wrong and extracting justice for a betrayal which had taken place almost fifteen years before.

Fighting off a pair of Death Eaters, Remus strode forward, his eyes affixed to the form of his obviously frightened former friend, who had withdrawn into a small corner, his terrified eyes wide and his nose almost visibly twitching—like that of his animagus form. He was doing his best to remain unnoticed, and would undoubtedly flee given half the chance. Unless Remus missed his guess, Peter would already have changed into a rat and run like the coward he was, had he been assured that he would not be stepped on in the process.

"Hello Peter."

Though the words were spoken quietly, Remus could almost see the hairs stand up on the back of Peter's neck, as he turned his widened eyes upon the werewolf. Had it been possible, Remus would have transformed into his wolf form right then and there and torn the traitor to pieces.

"R-Remus," Peter stuttered, an expression of utter terror fixed upon his face.

"Traitor!" Remus snarled. "Are you ready to pay for all the grief you've caused?"

"Y-You… You must believe me!" Peter stammered. "I… I had no… no choice!"

"Maybe you had no choice once you were allied with him," Remus snarled. He noticed a Death Eater to his side, and without missing a beat, pivoted to avoid the curse coming his way, and delivered a bone-crushing blow with his fist, never taking his eyes off of his former friend. The Death Eater collapsed with a hoarse cry and lay on the floor groaning. "But you certainly made the choice to join him," he continued, his eyes continuing to bore into the form of his erstwhile friend.

A madness filled Peter's eyes and faster than Remus would have believed possible—whereas he, James, and Sirius had been talented, Peter had always been a bit of a duffer—his wand came up, spitting curses, which Remus dodged before returning fire.

"James deserved what he got!" Peter snarled as he continued to attack. "Him and his harlot of a wife!"

"Why, Peter?" Remus demanded. He had as yet to go on the offensive, as part of him was desperate to hear why one of his group of friends, who swore to look after each other and defend each other to the death, would have turned traitor.

"For revenge!" Peter spat. "You were all so close and such good friends. I was always the outsider, tolerated but never truly accepted. I wanted to pay him back for all the misery. Him and Black, together. It was sweet revenge when Black ended up in Azkaban and paid for James's betrayal." Peter laughed, his mirth containing a hint of a maniacal edge to it. "That Sirius spent years in Azkaban for something I did made my revenge all that much more delicious."

"Maybe that's what you saw, but you were wrong," Remus snarled. "We never treated you as anything other than our friend. We included you in everything. You'll pay for what you've done."

Peter only sneered at him. "When the Dark Lord defeats Dumbledore, I'll be the one laughing, Lupin."

"You've forgotten one thing, Wormtail," Remus replied quietly. "You were never the equal of any of us."

With that, Remus went on the offensive, unleashing his full arsenal of offensive attacks, and suddenly Peter was reduced to desperately trying to avoid the assault.

"Time to pay for your deeds," Remus growled, when a bludgeoner caught Peter in the side and slammed him up against the wall with bone-shattering force. The former Marauder dropped his wand from suddenly nerveless fingers, and crumpled to the ground, his eyes closing as he fell.

It was over. James and Lily's betrayer had finally paid for his crimes. Not caring if Wormtail was even still alive, Remus turned and joined the battle once again. There was still a Dark Lord to defeat.

The arrival of Harry and Dumbledore brought new life and optimism to the defenders of the Great Hall, and though Voldemort continued to pound away at the doors, Hermione and Fleur watched as the battle played out in the courtyard. The resistance, however, was fierce, and it soon became apparent that Voldemort was willing to throw his entire force into defending the door long enough for him to break into the Great Hall.

"What does he hope to accomplish?" Fleur muttered to herself. "More Ministry forces are arriving all the time. Even if he does manage to get in here, he's still going to be caught."

"Maybe he thinks the Death Eaters can hold them off," Hermione suggested, though her expression told Fleur that she was just as baffled by the Dark Lord's actions as Fleur was.

"It's hard to say with the Dark Lord," Snape's voice floated up to them. "He's egotistical enough to think that he can defeat the entire Ministry by himself."

"I would think that he is still trying to take hostages," McGonagall spoke up.

"But even hostages wouldn't do him any good at this point," Fleur protested.

"They would if he can take over the wards," McGonagall replied. "He can bring down the wards and then his remaining forces can escape."

At that moment, Hermione, who had been watching the map, let out a little cry and pointed to several spots just outside the entrance hall. A large number of names had suddenly appeared on the map in various places, and in one location, they had come upon a party of Death Eaters making their way back to the entrance and had engaged them. It was only seconds later when a number of men appeared in the Great Hall itself, prompting several surprised screams from the defenders.

"Ministry Aurors!" one of the men called, stepping forward with empty hands.

"Kingsley!" Professor McGonagall called out, rising from her position behind one of the overturned tables. "It's about time you joined the party!"

The man grinned at the professor and executed a courtly bow. "Minerva. You are looking as lovely as ever."

It may just have been a trick of the light, but Fleur thought McGonagall shook her head, albeit fondly, Fleur thought, before the Transfiguration professor replied, "Nice of you to join us. We were getting a little worried."

"I wouldn't miss it," the Director replied before he became businesslike. "Dumbledore has sent various teams of Aurors into the school to surround the Death Eaters."

"We know," Hermione said, pointing at the map. "We saw them show up."

Kingsley stepped forward and looked down at the parchment, his eyes filling with wonder at what he was seeing. "That is quite the useful tool," he commented.

"We've kept track of everything that's happened," Fleur stated.

"Good," was the reply. "Dumbledore is working his way into the entrance hall. When he gives the signal, the teams out in the school will move in an engage the Death Eaters. We hope to be able to surround them, and deal with them once and for all."

"It may not be prudent to open the doors immediately," McGonagall said. "There is still quite a mess of Death Eaters waiting right outside our door."

Kingsley bared his teeth in a feral grin. "And that's where your map will come in handy. We'll wait until the Death Eaters are completely engaged with our forces before we'll enter the fight from behind. They'll never know what hit them."

At that moment, the sound of a massive roar, almost like lightning had struck just outside their door, was heard from outside the doors. Those nearby all turned as one to the parchment to see what was happening.

"There!" exclaimed Hermione, pointing at a location a little to the side of the outer door of the castle. A large number of the attacking army was surging in through what appeared to be a solid wall on the map, a spearhead driving deep into the Death Eater ranks. A moment later, three concussion blasts could be heard, and the Auror forces which had portkeyed into the school, all moved out to engage the enemy. The battle was joined.

"We had best get ready," Kingsley stated. He turned to the waiting Aurors, who had already begun to position themselves around the doors waiting for the word to be given. "Wait for my signal. When they have all turned away from us, we will move."

Catching Hermione's eye, Fleur motioned toward the club members who were still largely huddled behind the tables. The two walked back and addressed those club members.

"You will all need to stay out of this fight," Fleur stated as soon as they had gathered them together. There were a few mutinous looks directed back at her, but Fleur was firm. "Though a fifth year might be able to hold their own, you are all still too young and your magic too undeveloped. Besides, we need you to guard the hall in case any Death Eaters make it past us."

Though they were obviously still unhappy about being kept from the fight, there were several nods. Dennis Creevey spoke up and said, "We'll make sure nothing gets past us."

Smiling at the boy, Fleur and Hermione turned back toward the doors, and made their way to the map, which Kingsley was still studying intently. The Aurors had taken up position and were ready to go, while McGonagall was watching the doors. They were battered, but still appeared to be serviceable. Hermione only hoped they would open properly, or this would be a very difficult offensive.

"We follow the Aurors in?" Hermione murmured to her in a quiet voice.

"No sense in putting ourselves in any more danger than we need to be," replied Fleur. "Let the professionals hit them first."

Nodding, Hermione took her wand in her hand and let out a deep breath. Fleur continued to watch Kingsley closely, as he continued to watch the map. A few long moments passed before he looked up and caught the eye of his lieutenant.

"Now!" he exclaimed. "Let's give this bastard all he can handle!"

The doors to the Great Hall swung open and the Aurors hurried out into the entrance hall where the sound of battle had erupted with the opening of the doors. Following the professors, Hermione and Fleur stepped out into the chaos of the hall, noting that the initial charge of the Aurors out the doors had pushed the Death Eaters away. The Ministry forces had now surrounded the Death Eaters on all four sides.

Hermione was given no time to take in the scene, as she and Fleur were immediately accosted by two Death Eaters with wands blazing. Stepping to the side to avoid them, Hermione took up a defensive position, enabling Fleur to go on full offense. If the looks of utter surprise were anything to go by, their opponents had expected to defeat them without a fight. It was only a moment before Fleur had them both incapacitated, courtesy of several rather nasty bone breaking curses.

"Look, there's Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, pointing to where her fiancé was furiously attacking several Death Eaters with Sirius and several others by his side.

"Let's fight our way to him," replied Fleur.

But before they could move, they were forced to dodge several nasty curses, punctuated by a couple of torture curses. They came to their feet to see a witch approaching them—a dark-haired, emaciated woman who cackled and capered as she approached them.

"Oh look!" she shouted with glee. "It's Potty's little Mudblood and his little whore of a creature! My, my, it's amazing the riffraff one meets by chance."

Hermione said nothing—this was not the first time she had come across Bellatrix Lestrange, and regardless of her apparent madness, Hermione knew her to be a formidable witch. Of course, the fact that she was completely around the twist did not make her any less dangerous and it made her quite a bit more unpredictable.

"I believe the Dark Lord would like to see you two," she continued, her laughter stopping instantly, replaced by a cold, hard glare. "I shall be happy to take you to him."

Letting loose a reductor, Hermione dodged to the side, knowing that the witch would return fire. Fleur moved the other way, her wand releasing a flurry of curses in tandem with Hermione's. Together they bracketed the mad witch who was casting back at them with abandon, her cackling having made a reappearance. Hermione only wished that the witch would shut up—listening to her cackling was a fate worse than death!

"Perhaps the Dark Lord does not need you after all!" she cried with glee. "Instead, I believe that I shall simply flay you both alive!"

Turning her attention on Hermione, her wand became a tongue of flame, which she snapped out. Hermione dove to the side, just able to avoid the eagerly crackling flames, though she felt the scorching heat as it passed over her head. She scrambled to her feet, but Bellatrix had already turned the whip toward Fleur and was harrying her with it, while Fleur danced away to safety.

Unfortunately, in her haste to escape Bellatrix, Fleur lost track of where she was, and collided with an Auror behind her, falling down in a heap, her wand clattering down onto the flagstones of the floor. Fleur tried to scramble up, but she was entangled with the Auror and was not able to get up quickly enough. Bellatrix bore down on her, a cruel smile of triumph mixed with murder on her face.

"One less creature to worry about," she sneered as she raised her wand.

Spying something she could use on the floor, Hermione flicked her wand and pointed it at Bellatrix, and at large piece of rubble went hurtling toward the mad witch. Bellatrix saw it out of the corner of her eye and tried to dodge, but she was too late. The rock hit her in the upper chest with such force that it actually embedded itself in her chest. Bellatrix staggered and a bewildered expression appeared on her face. She looked down at her chest, which was quickly becoming stained with her life's blood.

"I'll kill you, Mudblood!" the witch said, and though it was undoubtedly intended to be a scream, it came out as little more than a gurgle.

"Not today, I think," said Hermione, as Fleur was able to get to her feet.

"Instead, I think that there will now be one less madwoman to worry about," said Fleur. She hefted her wand and pointed it at the woman and shouted, "Reducto!"

The spell hit Bellatrix flush in the chest, and she crumpled like a rag doll, spinning away in a shower of blood where she fell heavily to the floor in a heap. Hermione watched her closely to see if she would get up, but the mad witch did not move again. Her life's blood oozed out onto the floor and as Hermione approached, she could see Bellatrix's sightless eyes staring up into the distance, he chest a ruined mass of blood and bone. The woman, who had killed so many, was now, herself, dead.

Harry had not missed the confrontation between his loves and the insane witch, but though he longed to go to their aid, he was in a fight for his life and could not break away. This did not stop him from worrying, of course, but they were both competent witches, and in tandem he thought them capable of defeating Voldemort's lieutenant.

The battle raged, the ebb and flow taking Harry deeper into the room with every moment passed. In addition, every step he took brought him closer to Voldemort and the confrontation which was looming. A quick glance to either side told him that Sirius was still by his side, Hestia was to Sirius's other side, though he did not know where Tonks and Bill had disappeared to. He hoped they were safe—he hoped that they all emerged from this unscathed—but he knew that it was all beyond his control. All he could do was to face the Dark Lord and ensure, to the best of his abilities, that the man was finally brought to account for his actions.

As Harry worked his way ever closer to the Dark Lord, he became immersed in the struggle, feeling his actions become mechanical, almost as though he was separated from his body, controlling it as if it was an automaton. The situation in the hall was shifting—the noose was tightening on the Dark Lord and his forces, closing inexorably about them. And not only could Harry see it; though he was still some distance from Voldemort, he could see the growing concern which was emerging in the Dark Lord's countenance—his worry over this turn of events was becoming ever more apparent as the battle wore on and the forces of the Ministry closed about him.

Though he could not claim to be a historian of the first war by any means, Harry was quite certain that Voldemort had never provoked a pitched battle with the Ministry forces during the entire course of that conflict. Even the battle at the Ministry from a few weeks ago had not featured Voldemort as a participant—instead he had chosen to lead a cowardly attack on Fleur's mother, attempting to take her and Gabrielle captive in order to use them against him or Jean-Sebastian, or for other, more disgusting purposes. Harry shuddered at the mere thought, knowing that both the Delacour women and Hermione had been targeted, and understanding that while nothing had actually happened, Fleur herself would likely have been in Voldemort's sights as well.

Furthermore, Harry could see that while he himself had received several wounds during the course of the fight, Voldemort was also favoring one side, and he had a noticeable singe mark on his robe—he had not escaped the fracas unblemished. It was a blow to the Dark Lord's image; he had always prided himself over his own infallibility and superior talent and power, and the image he had cultivated of his invulnerability. This evidence of the fact that he could be harmed as much as anyone else was heartening to his enemies. If his scowl of concentration was any indication, he was not appreciating the lesson he was receiving.

As Harry fought his way forward, he could see the knot tightening even more, and he abruptly realized that Hogwarts, contrary to Voldemort's design, was becoming a trap. The Dark Lord had undoubtedly intended to take control of the wards and keep the Ministry out and, failing that, the wards coming down would have allowed him to escape with the bulk of his followers to fight another day, and potentially with hostages in tow.

Since he had not been able to breach the Great Hall, the wards were still up, and as a result, the portkeys which they all undoubtedly carried were useless, and they could not apparate away from danger either. He was trapped.

Almost as soon as Harry had the thought, his attention was caught by a shout from one of his companions.

"Voldemort is trying to get away!"

Harry pivoted and stepped away from the fight he was engaged in, his place immediately taken by a nearby Auror, and he turned and saw that Sirius was correct. The Dark Lord had changed course and was now trying to fight his way from the hall toward the stairs which would lead him back up to Myrtle's bathroom. Concerned that he was trying to escape, Harry charged forward, intent upon preventing his escape.

"Come on!" he yelled. "We can't let him get away!"

"Harry!" he heard a cry behind him, but this time he paid no mind. It was time to end this once and for all, and Harry would not be denied.

Fighting his way through the mass of bodies, he kept his eyes fixed on the Dark Lord. Voldemort was moving as swiftly as he could, his wand dealing death and destruction as he went. Still, though he was almost an inexorable force of nature, he was having trouble making his way from the hall, and was being slowed by those who confronted him, brave men and women who were putting their lives at risk to make sure his reign of terror could not continue.

Seeing Voldemort bogged down in trying to make his escape, Harry ducked in behind some Ministry fighters and skirted his way around the worst of the fighting, using the ever-contracting ring to his advantage. Within a few moments, he had positioned himself at the exit which Voldemort was trying to reach, and for a few moments, he was able to take a few deep breaths and prepared himself for what was to come. He did not have long to wait.

Suddenly Voldemort was there. The man stopped up short as he saw Harry standing there, waiting for him. Harry stood in a battle stance—feet shoulder-width apart, wand in his hand, and his muscles as relaxed as he could make them. He was completely ready for the coming confrontation—both physically, and mentally. This would be the last time he and the Dark Lord would meet before one of them would be irrevocably defeated.

"Hello, Tom," Harry said with a hint of contempt in his voice.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort returned, though the way he said Harry's name it almost came out like a curse. "How good of you to offer yourself up to me before I leave this place behind. Though the day has not gone the way I wished, at least I will take satisfaction in the fact that the 'golden boy' lies dead. With your death, the Wizarding world will see that they cannot stop me."

"Are you for real?" Harry demanded with disdain oozing from his voice. "When people hear what has happened here today, rumors of your 'infallibility' will wither and die like they should. You might kill me, but even if you escape, I'd say you've lost the war today."

Voldemort sneered with all the force of a self-righteous man convinced of his own greatness. "I should think not. I have insurance. Even if you should defeat me, I shall just rise again. I shall rule this world long after you have becoming nothing more than dust shifting in the breeze. And history will not even remember you—I shall make sure of it."

"So poetic," Harry jeered. A glance to the side showed that he and Voldemort had entered a bit of a lull in the battle, and that for the most part they were clear of the direct fighting. This would be up to him, as he was certain that no one would reach them in time. "Too bad you don't know as much as you think you do, Tom."

Voldemort bared his teeth in the rictus of a grin. "Are you prepared to die, Potter?"

"Yes," was Harry's simple answer.

Gaping at him, Voldemort was clearly unable to answer him, and Harry suddenly understood. The man could not understand the concept of believing in a cause so much that you were willing to die for it. It was not only because of his irrational fear of death, but also because he did not have a cause—his cause was himself, his own aggrandizement, his own elevation at the expense of others. There was nothing the Dark Lord believed in other than power, and his own desires were all that motivated him. He was a grasping, pathetic murderer who masqueraded as something he was not. And that gave Harry the edge, he realized. Even if Voldemort killed him, he will have won, if only he delayed the man long enough to allow others to prevail should he fall. The knowledge filled Harry with resolve.

"But that's the difference between you and me, isn't it?" Harry continued in a conversational tone. "I believe strongly that you must be stopped. I believe that all people should be considered equal and be judged by their own merit. I even know that you don't believe in tripe that your followers spout off all the time about blood purity—for you it's just a convenient excuse for you to try to impose your will on others.

"Well I do believe in something, Tommy boy," Harry continued with contempt. "I believe that you must be stopped at any cost. I believe that people should be judged for their works and actions, not for the accident of birth. And I believe that all should be allowed to live their lives in peace without the threat of tyranny hanging over their heads from people such as you.

"If that cost to achieve those aims is my death, then so be it."

Though the Dark Lord still appeared to be unable to believe what Harry was saying, his expression changed to a cruel smile of triumph. "If that is the case, then allow me to introduce you to your parents!" Voldemort shouted, and he thrust his wand forward, yelling, "Crucio!"

But Harry was ready for him, and he stepped to the side, allowing the curse to pass him by, where it struck the wall behind him with a great crash. Harry returned fire, knowing that Voldemort would outclass him very quickly, regardless of what he did. The Dark Lord batted his curses away with an almost negligent ease, and almost lazily returned fire. Harry smiled grimly, knowing that Voldemort's growing overconfidence was giving him a bit of a respite.

"What's wrong, Tom?" Harry taunted him as he sidestepped another nasty curse. "Looks like you're getting a little too old for this. You're getting slow."

"Actually, I'm enjoying it a great deal," the older wizard said with a grin, almost like he was a cat toying with a mouse. "I wouldn't want to rush the moment. I shall cherish this for the rest of eternity, and I wish to make a memory which will last as long as time itself."

"Overconfident to the last," Harry replied. "Come on, Tom—you've got a lot more experience than I have and you say you're the most powerful wizard of all time. Why can't you finish me off?"

"Oh, but I can," Voldemort said with an unpleasant smile. A moment later his attacks had ratcheted up and Harry was suddenly on the defensive, only barely keeping up with Dark Lord's attacks.

Grimly Harry fought on, though inside he was feeling a sense of triumph—he had a plan, and he needed the proper moment to execute it. He watched carefully for that moment, even while he was engaged in desperately avoiding his death by Voldemort's wand.

That moment came a short time later. The Dark Lord, noting that Harry was becoming increasingly desperate to avoid his attacks, smiled in cruel satisfaction. And once he had Harry where he thought he wanted him, he said, "So ends the great hope of the Wizarding world. Avada Kedavra!"

The spell sped out from his wand in a straight line toward Harry, but he was ready for it. As soon as Voldemort had started to speak, Harry raised his wand, and pointing it at Voldemort yelled, "Expelliarmus!"

The two spells collided in mid air, and as had happened the year before in the graveyard, a golden cage of light extended outward yet again, encasing them within its brilliance. The air crackled with the power radiating out from the two wands, and Harry grimly held on, knowing that he needed to keep the Dark Lord busy for long enough that Dumbledore could approach and finish him when the contest of strength was completed.

"You fool!" Voldemort raged, though Harry could barely hear him over the din. "Do you think I was not prepared for this? You will die when my spell reaches you!"

And with the Dark Lord's words, the ball of crackling energy where the two spells met began to inch toward him ever so slowly. But Harry, knowing that he had beaten Voldemort once before in this type of contest, grimly pushed back, stopping the movement toward himself. But nothing he did seemed to move the energy back toward his enemy. It was a stalemate, and within a few moments, Harry started to wonder if he could actually win this battle.

"I can see the fear welling up within you, Potter," Voldemort's voice rose up from the other side of the cage, "Now you see the futility of trying to stand against me."

Harry did not respond, but he was heartened by what he had heard. The Dark Lord's words were filled with the arrogant confidence he had come to expect of the man, but the strain in his voice told Harry that he was struggling. This was not an easy win for Voldemort, despite his prowess, his years of experience, and his ruthless need to win. And the fear in his voice was like the sound of a symphony in Harry's ears. He could defeat Voldemort—he had never been more convinced of that fact than he was at that moment. It was now a test of strength and resolve, and none of Voldemort's knowledge or experience could help him.

Drawing on reserves of power he had never known he possessed, Harry pushed back with all his might, willing his spell to defeat Voldemort's. It was like a tug of war in reverse, with each of them striving to push their spell toward the other. And, after a time of stalemate, the ball of energy began to move in Voldemort's direction—slowly at first, but picking up speed as Harry's confidence rose. All at once Harry's sight and hearing seemed to tunnel down into one narrow corridor, and all he could focus on was the figure of the evil wizard in front of him. Time seemed to still for the briefest of moments, and he looked into Voldemort's eyes.

And what he saw there filled him with wonder. The Dark Lord was in a panic, as he tried desperately to push back against the inexorable force of Harry's will. And Harry knew that his first instinct had been correct—Voldemort was nothing more than a coward and a bully. He had tried to flee when everything was going against him, and the only reason he had not tried to pass Harry by was because he had thought he could defeat Harry easily. For all his prowess and knowledge, the greatest Dark Lord perhaps in Britain's history was nothing more than a common bully—a Vernon Dursley dressed up in wizard's robes. Harry almost laughed out loud at the comparison, knowing that they would both be highly insulted to be compared to the other.

With renewed resolve, Harry gathered his will and pushed back at the Dark Lord with all his might, forcing the energy ever closer to Voldemort's wand. In his eyes, Harry could see the terror welling up. He smiled grimly, knowing that whatever happened once the contest of wills was over, as long as he managed to push the beams of light into Voldemort's wand, the man would always carry with him the stain of having been defeated in a one-on-one duel with a fifteen year-old in front of hundreds of witnesses.

At the last second, Voldemort tried to break the connection between them and dive to the side so that he might escape, but the energy held him trapped to the contest of wills, much as it had Harry in its grasp. He turned away to try to flee, but the energy held him fast and in that instant, Harry forced it into Voldemort's wand with a final cry of effort.

Instantly the wand was forced from Voldemort's hand and he was flung back several yards to sprawl on the floor. His wand went the other direction, flying gracefully through the air where Harry reached out and snatched it in one hand.

With his mortal enemy on the floor seemingly in a daze, Harry stood stupidly as Dumbledore strode up and with a quick flick of his wrist, he tied the body of the Dark Lord in tight ropes, and rendered him unconscious. He then turned to Harry, and with shining eyes, said, "Well done, Harry!"

A great cheer rose up among the defenders of the castle, and for a moment all time seemed to stand still. Seeing their seemingly invincible leader fall appeared to snuff the fight out of the remaining Death Eaters, and to a man they surrendered, throwing their wands down in supplication and pleas for mercy.

It was over. The Dark Lord was defeated.

Updated 02/16/2016