Chapter 48
The Lord of Darkness
Harry fought his way through the flurry of spells, holding a tight shield around himself. His mind was focused on one thing and one thing only: Lord Voldemort.
The ground was littered with bodies. Harry winced as he stepped over them, refusing to look at their faces for fear that he would see someone he knew. He vaguely wondered how the Muggles in the village failed to notice the battle waging down the street, but he brushed the thought off in favor of more important matters. He hadn't seen Ron and Hermione, but maybe that was good—maybe the Order hadn't let them come, and they were sitting safely at home. He knew that they wouldn't be happy with that, but it made him feel better.
Slowly but surely, he made his way towards the brightest flashes of light. Lord Voldemort stood a full head over the tallest of those around him, and he was a terrible sight to behold. His pale face was made even whiter by the shine of the moon, and his glaringly red eyes burned with an unfathomable expression. He moved at the head of a group of Death Eaters who had rallied around him, and, like the towering thundercloud that heads a storm, he swept through his enemies as though they were simple blades of grass. Harry saw wave after wave of wizards and witches fall prey to the flashing staff that he wielded; he heard the screams of those hit by the new Killing Curse; he smelled the sickening odor of burning flesh. He forced it all out of his mind and focused on one goal, the monster who was at the center of it all, enjoying every moment of pain he inflicted.
He shouldered his way past a Death Eater who had been distracted by his legs, which had suddenly broken into a tap dance, and found himself face to face with the very nemesis that he had been seeking. His Inner Sanctum exploded inside him, aching to be released, but he kept it steady and held his ground as Voldemort caught sight of him. His lips curled into a cruel smile, and he waved at the Death Eaters around him to leave. Without another word, they melted into the havoc around them.
"So, Harry Potter!" he laughed callously, and the earth seemed to shake with his shoulders. "The Prophecy is to be fulfilled tonight!"
"Indeed," Harry answered quietly, his magic dancing at his fingertips. "You or I must die. Tonight."
Voldemort bowed mockingly. "Be my guest."
The staff erupted, and a beam of purple light shot out the end. Harry released his magic, which sprung into life and deflected the spell right back at its originator. Voldemort held up the staff, which simply absorbed it again. Harry countered with a spell of his own, the most powerful one he could think of, and the duel was on.
Voldemort had the advantage. Between the staff and his far superior knowledge of the Dark Arts, he was bound to be the victor. He pressed Harry further and further back, until they reached the edge of the battle, and then even further, carrying them into the woods.
The attacks were growing faster. Harry shot off one spell after another, constantly blocking and dodging the ones that were sent his way. The sounds of the battle in the distance were fading, and Harry knew that they were completely alone. He called on the magic of the air, of the earth, of the trees around him, and his spells had more force than he had ever put in them before. He poured all of his ability, all of his concentration, and all of his hope into this one battle, this one struggle for victory. Voldemort smiled coolly the entire time, but Harry wasn't fooled; he could see the panic in his eyes. The mighty Dark Lord was afraid.
Deeper and deeper into the woods, they fought. Voldemort kept pressing him back, and Harry never gained a step. It wasn't long before Harry found himself backed up against a cold metal gate.
He drew a breath, casting his mind around for options. There was only one thing he could do. With a leap, he seized the top of the railing, narrowly avoiding a spell that sailed over his head, and swung himself over, landing heavily on the ground but managing to retain his balance. He blessed his luck that he was still alive; that had been a bold move. Voldemort was now on the other side of the fence, and Harry knew he wasn't about to climb over. Instead, he grinned and walked straight through the iron bars, no damage done to either the fence or his body. Harry hardly bothered to wonder how; it didn't matter.
He backed into something else, this one cold, hard stone, and he realized with a quick glance around where he was. This was a graveyard, not so unlike the one he had fought Voldemort in three long years ago. Headstones shattered as spells hit them, and Harry leapt backwards over them, never turning his back on his opponent.
Fury and desperation were taking over. He had a very slim chance of survival, but he wouldn't—he couldn't—settle with failure. His mind turned over every evil this monster had committed against him, calling up painful memories that usually he longed to forget but now only fuelled his adrenaline. His parents' deaths, his years with the Dursleys, his unwanted fame, his fights and struggles through his Hogwarts years, the deaths of all of the Order members, Regulus, Arionna Pusey, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, and Ginny, his Ginny… all of them had been brought about by this monstrosity. Harry's determination doubled. His spells increased in intensity as he grabbed at every scrap of magic he could feel.
Voldemort was laughing now. "You're failing, Harry Potter!" he cackled, blasting off another spell. Harry ducked, but he stumbled and fell against a large headstone shaped like a prism lying on its side. He fumbled his next spell, and it flew off in the wrong direction.
Voldemort had him caught.
The staff pointed at his chest.
"You have fought bravely," Voldemort sneered quietly. The sounds of the battle raging in the distance were muted, as though coming from another world entirely. "You have excelled more in magic than I would have believed possible. You would have made a good partner, Harry Potter, had you not been so obstinate and stubborn."
Harry found his magic blocked for the second time that night. He wrenched at the walls around it, fighting, clawing at them, but he could not tear them down.
He wins.
Voldemort's lips curled into a malicious smile. "Ironic, is it, the place where you're going to die." He motioned to the headstone.
Harry whirled around, his eyes blurring suddenly as he read the names.
James Potter Lily Potter
In a word, there are three things
that last forever:
Faith, Hope, and Love.
But the greatest of them all is
Love
He saw Voldemort's lips sneer as he raised his staff. He saw the green light pooling around the tip. He saw those red eyes, and something inside of him burst.
As the light shot towards his chest, he charged through the walls that blocked his magic and seized it, snatching at every wisp of the power that he could grasp. He pulled it all together in one ball, not worrying about the Killing Curse that was speeding towards him, not caring that he was about to die. There was an Evanescent spell he remembered reading about, one that had something to do with love. He remembered Hermione's words, so long ago in the library at the Ministry:
"Amor, the root of Amoria, means love…"His own magic was twisting and whirling inside of him, and the magic he had seized in his surroundings was crackling with anticipation. Drawing a deep breath, he released it.
"AMORIA!"
A brilliant white light shot out of the palms of his hands and struck the green bolt head on. It engulfed it and continued in its path, not a bit dimmer than it had been originally. The green one completely disappeared. Harry saw Voldemort's eyes widen in fear and shock as the bolt hit him directly in the chest. He didn't stop pouring his magic into it, kept it going, and the light continued. He stumbled to his feet.
"This is for my parents!" he shouted, sending a powerful pulse of magic into the spell. The beam blazed momentarily, and Voldemort stepped back in shock, unable to do anything but stare at the spell attacking his chest.
"This is for Dumbledore!" Another wave ricocheted into the beam, and Harry felt the power blazing. Voldemort twisted and writhed, sinking to the ground.
"This for Ginny!" The magic was ripping around inside him, yearning to be released. He sent another pulse into the spell, and Voldemort screamed.
"And this," Harry spat, tears falling from his eyes, reflecting the light of the brilliant spell, "this is for me!"
With a final effort, Harry poured all of his energy, all of his power, all of his magic into the spell. It surged with a blinding light, and Harry squinted against it, but he kept his palms pointed at Voldemort. The man's body shook violently, and he screamed aloud as Harry focused all his might into the beam. He could feel his magic draining, he could feel himself growing weaker and weaker, but he refused to relinquish the spell. He kept his palms facing outward, kept the magic charging into it, until not a drop remained. His exhaustion was more than a physical tiredness; he was weary, weary of fighting the world. With one last surge, he let go of the spell and sank to his knees.
Voldemort wasn't there. Where he had been only moments before lay a pile of ashes, a polished wooden staff on top of them, and the glint of a golden locket half-buried in the black dust.
Harry heard the distant rumble of thunder, and he felt the gentle, cleansing, purifying drops of a light rain hit his face. He turned his countenance to the sky, blessing the water as it ran down his cheeks and washed away his tears.
It's over… I won. I won. We won.
The wind picked up a swirl of the ashes, blowing them away to the four winds.
The Lord of Darkness was no more.