A/N: I don't love this chapter as much as I do some of the other ones. But I always wondered about the connection between Lord Voldemort and the Dementors, each with the underlying theme of souls. Please, please, please review! I'm going to run out of ideas soon...

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I only like to play around a bit...I finished with Barbie ages ago.

The battle was upon them. In the freezing fortress of Azkaban, members of the Order of the Phoenix were in the process winning the most important victory against the Death Eaters they had scraped in a very long time. This particular battle was not only the most important; it would also, hopefully, be the last.

Far away from where the majority of the battle was taking place, on the opposite side of the small island located in the very heart of the North Sea on which the Azkaban Fortress is located, were the two leaders, Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter. They were fighting each other alone, leaving their forces to fight amongst themselves. The aim of each leader was to destroy the other, for each had been obsessed with killing their opponent for a very long time. Either must die at the hand of the other. In the end, one will have to kill the other. Neither can live while the other survives. One cannot live a truly fulfilling life if he is entirely fixated on the demise of another.

The duel between leaders had begun. The Order of the Phoenix was indeed winning against the Death Eaters. But that did not guarantee that the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry Potter, was winning also. On the other hand entirely, while the Order seemed to be securing a victory, Lord Voldemort was advancing, closer to triumphing over Harry Potter than ever before.

The whole of the small island was surrounded by Dementors, and this was doing nothing to aid the Order of the Phoenix, especially since most of the Death Eaters did not seem to be affected by them. But the presence of these rotting, eerie creatures was beginning to affect Harry Potter in a more pronounced way than he had ever been affected by them before. Slowly, they were closing in on the battle between Lord Voldemort and himself, growing closer and closer and closer, and he felt as if he didn't have the strength to fight off the feeling of hopelessness they instilled in him. The last time he had come into contact with Dementors there had been only two of them, and since then, his list of disturbing memories had reached an alarming length. What with the visions of Sirius falling through the veil and of Dumbledore plummeting from the Astronomy Tower on top of the memories of the night his parents died and the night he watched Cedric die and Voldemort return, he did not seem to be able to cast away the images and focus on what was in front of him. And every time he stumbled, Lord Voldemort was sure to take advantage.

He could hear Lord Voldemort's merciless, icy laugh. He didn't know if it was in his mind or if it was really happening right in front of him. The difference was now indistinguishable; the two realms had fused. But he could feel the Dementors drawing ever closer, feasting on his wealth of horrifying memories, draining him of all hope and happiness. But through the freezing haze he could vaguely see them, and he could feel them, approaching. And now he could tell that Lord Voldemort was not laughing inside his head. His vision swam in and out of focus, the Dementors drawing ever nearer…

He didn't know where Ron or Hermione were…They could be anywhere…He just didn't know. He felt the numbness of his legs creep upwards to his stomach. He was surrounded by Inferi in the cave glowing green…He was watching a man rise out of a gigantic stone cauldron…There was a flash of green light mixed with the cackling laughter of Lord Voldemort and the screams of his mother…He was in the Chamber of Secrets looking down at Ginny's almost lifeless body…Ginny…she was waiting for him…

The sight of Dementors surrounding himself and Voldemort was clear and crisp again. There were too many of them to count, hovering inches above the ground, some over the frozen water, their rotting hands reaching out, as if they wanted to touch him…

But Ginny was waiting for him. He couldn't give up. She was waiting for him.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery white stag erupted with such force from his wand that he was almost thrown backwards. The Dementors fled, flinching at his Patronus, they retreated. He could no longer see them.

He collapsed onto his knees, exhausted, but he knew what he would see when he lifted his head. He could never escape him.

Lord Voldemort was standing in front of him, towering above him like some sort of evil, malevolent God of Darkness. The laughter had left his face. There was only pure malice in his blood red eyes.

"Very good, Harry Potter. Quite a display of impressive magic you are performing for me, isn't it? A Patronus. I never did find the need to ever produce one myself…Pointless thing really…A force made of hope and happiness…" Voldemort said in a hissing whisper.

He got up from the ground. Voldemort still towered over him, the red eyes flashing hungrily at him. But if he died, he would die like a man, with his head held high and his wand out. He would die fighting for Ginny.

"So, now we are all alone. Just myself, and the little boy who it was foretold would be my downfall," a smile played itself across Lord Voldemort's face. His features seem to secrete a burning desire to kill. "Don't you see how very wrong they all were, Harry Potter? Oh, you will fight me. You will try. I see it in your eyes, in your stature. But you will not win."

Harry felt the Dementors drawing nearer again.

Lord Voldemort looked into his eyes. Harry quickly turned away. He would not let Voldemort invade his mind.

"You cannot win."

"I WILL!" Harry shouted his temper flaring, daring to look into Lord Voldemort's slit-like red eyes.

Lord Voldemort broke the eye contact and laughed his unforgiving laugh.

"You cannot."

"I will," said Harry softly, his fear continuing to mount with every word, "I know what you've done. You're not immortal anymore."

"Nobody knows of the extent to which I have gone to make myself immortal, Harry Potter."

"YOU SPLIT YOUR SOUL!" Harry shouted.

"YOU CANNOT WIN!" Lord Voldemort repeated forcefully while his eyes revealed a flash of red.

"The diary? It's gone! But I suppose you knew about that, didn't you?" Harry taunted, "The ring? Marvolo's ring? Destroyed! With a great ugly crack through the stone! Hufflepuff's Cup? The one that you murdered for and stole? Reduced to dust! Gryffindor's sword? No more piece of your soul concealed in there!" Harry stopped to catch his breath and to admire the effect of his words on Voldemort. He looked livid. And frightened. He could see the Dementors returning.

It was Harry's turn to laugh, "Nagini? Didn't you ever wonder what happened to your great, dirty snake? Dead! And the locket?" Harry pulled at the heavy, golden locket that hung around his neck so that the chain broke, and he held it up for Voldemort to see. It rotated dangerously, hanging open on its hinges.

"You are not immortal."

Lord Voldemort was looking at Harry as though he had never seen him properly.

The Dementors were surrounding them again, as though they had come back to watch the struggle.

The thought of defeating Lord Voldemort was filling him up so completely that he only realized they were closing in once more when he felt the coldness in the air. He didn't hear the screams. He didn't see the flashes of bright green light.

The Dementors weren't approaching him. If they had faces, Harry knew they would be fixing Voldemort with the very same look Voldemort was fixing him. Harry watched, as though he could see it with his own eyes, the memories of Lord Voldemort come to the surface of his mind, one man that would seem to be positively a feast to a group of Dementors. They were feeding off of him…not Harry. They were drawing closer and closer…

Lord Voldemort could not produce a Patronus. He did not have a memory happy enough to even attempt it. He could not ward them off when he was so vulnerable…

"A broken soul must be a lot easier to suck out through your mouth, don't you think?" asked Harry with the most casual air he could manage with hundreds of Dementors around him. His head was swimming slightly again.

A Dementor lowered its hood and reached out to place its hands lovingly around Voldemort's white throat. It lowered its head, or where its head should have been to Lord Voldemort's mouth.

And Harry watched as the seventh and final piece of Lord Voldemort's soul was ripped from his body, leaving it quite empty, but still whole and intact, with not even a scar.