The Unforgiving Minute

by Voice of the Nephilim

Broken and defeated, the War long since lost, Harry enacts his final desperate gambit: Travel back in time to the day of the Third Task, destroy all of Voldemort's horcruxes and prevent the Dark Lord's resurrection…all within the space of twelve hours.

9. XII: The Twelfth Hour

The Unforgiving Minute

XII: The Twelfth Hour

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22:00

The bright green curse seemed to move in slow-motion as it flew towards the unsuspecting, younger version of himself. The fourteen year-old boy had turned halfway around, as if to check on Cedric, unaware that his time had run out.

Without warning, a rock flew from the ground, directly into the Killing Curse. It exploded upon contact, spraying chips of stone in every direction. The concussion from the blast knocked the fourteen year-old Harry sprawling to the ground, face first.

He wasn't alone!

At once Harry went to spin, only to turn right into a red curse. It struck him in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards into the soil. The impact rattling his teeth, Harry immediately jumped up, to see the paled, harried form of Peter Pettigrew catch his wand.

"You!" Harry roared, charging towards Wormtail. What the hell was he doing down here so early?In the original timeline Harry and Cedric had been granted at least a minute before Peter had come down from the Riddle Manor, holding Voldemort within his arms.

And the rat had definitely not been hiding in the fucking shadows.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry sidestepped the bright green light, zigzagging his way towards his parents' betrayer. Wormtail shook in his boots, fear written upon his face as he tried again. Harry was showered with dirt as a patch of grass to his right exploded, but he pressed on, closing the distance to fifteen feet.

"Professor, what's going on?" demanded young Harry, prompting the elder to stop in his tracks. Before Harry could swing his head around a curse struck him in the back, the Body-Bind forcing his arms and legs into a straight, locked position. Snapping to attention, he tumbled backwards.

The night sky looming over him, Harry let out a desperate mental scream as a scarred face filled his vision.

"What have we here?" Barty Crouch Jr. asked, still in the guise of Mad-Eye Moody.

"Professor, what's going on?" repeated Harry, coming up behind the disfigured form of Moody. "Cedric's knocked out and... who is that?"

The words trailed off as Harry's younger self glanced across the patch of grass, laying eyes upon the man entrusted to be the Potters' Secret Keeper.

"You bastard!" he spat suddenly, before turning to the person impersonating Professor Moody. "Sir - er - that man's Peter Pettigrew! He betrayed my parents, and framed Sirius Black! You have to believe me! "

"Oh, I do. Believe me, I do, Harry."

"But - wait, you do?"

"Yes."

"Well - we have to get him!"

Moody shook his head.

"I don't think so, Harry," said Crouch, waving his wand casually and upending the younger Harry, wand flying and limbs flailing. "After all, he was invited. It's the Hufflepuff and our nameless friend who weren't."

"What? Let - let me go! What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"Language, Harry."

"Fuck you! We trusted you! All of us did!"

"Which was the point," replied Moody with a leer, before thrusting his wand forward. The young wizard flew through the air, crashing against the large marble headstone. All sense jarred loose from the impact, he could only stagger before thick ropes wrapped around him, lashing him to the marker from ankle to neck.

If Harry could have hung his head in despair, he would have. There were a million excuses he could use to justify his lapse in awareness at the end, but each and every one of them boiled down to one core truth.

He had failed.

The younger Potter secured, Crouch Jr. turned towards Harry's frozen form.

"And who the devil are you?" the Polyjuiced man asked, squatting down beside him.

"He can't talk," commented Wormtail, sweat running down his face from the close call. A few more feet and Harry could have torn the bastard limb from limb.

"I know that," Crouch Jr. snapped, the electric blue eye focusing upon Pettigrew. "Our Master's time is at hand. Prepare for the ritual, we have kept Him waiting too long."

Wormtail slunk away at once, making his way back towards the house. The blue eye watched his progress up the winding dirt road leading back to the Riddle Manor, before spinning back towards the Fourth-Year tied to the marble headstone.

"You can't be working for Voldemort!" Harry's younger self screamed, fighting against his bonds. "You've spent your entire life catching Dark wizards!"

"Do not speak his name!" Moody thundered, before jabbing his wand forward and launching a Silencer. The scarlet spell struck Harry in the chest. Rendered mute, the teenager continued his rant silently for a few moments, before closing his mouth, his eyes narrowed in hatred.

Harry considered informing his younger self of Moody's true identity before rejecting the idea. The less he appeared to know, the better his odds of success. Though the odds weren't in his favor, he'd fight until his very last breath and would need every advantage he could scrounge.

"A filthy half-blood such as yourself does not deserve to speak his name," Moody continued, before swinging his wand back to the ground where Harry lay frozen. "You, however, do have some talking to do.."

With a wave of his wand, Moody conjured a thirty foot length of rope before snapping it like a whip, causing the bindings to glow a bright yellow for a moment before fading back to dull brown.

"Shortly I'm going to undo the Body-Bind," he said, focused upon Harry. "When I do, you're going to be tempted to Apparate, but rest assured, that would be a very, very bad idea, as I've just affixed an Anti-Apparation Trigger to the rope. Try to get-away, and what's left of you will make splinching look like a hangnail."

Harry swore inwardly. He had seen the effects of Triggers first hand. If anything, Crouch had been underselling it.

Helpless, Harry's stiff body was levitated into the air. He was placed with his back against the yew tree, his feet touching the ground. Moody swung his wand in a circle, causing the long coil of rope to loop tightly around Harry's body, trussing him to the tree.

With anticipation rising in his stomach, he watched as Crouch undid the Body-Bind,

reverting Harry's body back to its natural posture. He observed that while his bonds were still tight, the grip was slightly looseded around his wrists and stomach.

The rudimentary pieces of his escape falling in to place, he kept a neutral expression upon his face as Crouch Jr. moved closer, his wand raised.

"So who are you?" he once again asked.

Harry remained silent, refusing to divulge anything.

"Do not test my patience. If Potter is your enemy, perhaps you share the same goals as our Lord."

He considered the Death Eater's offer of an out for a moment, before discarding the idea, opting to maintain his stoic silence.

"Crucio!"

Crouch's curse set every one of his nerve endings alight, as if holding a flame to every single one. Despite being hardened by years of fighting, his screams echoed throughout the graveyard.

No one grew accustomed to the Cruciatus Curse.

After fifteen seconds of intense pain, Crouch Jr. lifted the curse. Free from the blinding torment, Harry let out a gasp of relief. Across the graveyard, he saw his younger self staring into his eyes with equal parts awe and fear. Did he suspect anything yet?

"This is entirely avoidable," explained Crouch. "Just answer my questions, and I'll have no reason to torture you further."

Again, he had no response for the Death Eater. Crouch's single organic eye hardening, Harry braced himself for a second dose of the Cruciatus.

His tied limbs, already aching and twitching from the first curse, fared no better the second time. Invisible hot knives stabbed at him over every inch of skin. His screams once again rolled out across the darkened cemetery, red filling his vision as the capillaries in his eyes burst.

As the agony went on, he felt his mind beginning to tear free from its moorings in a desperate attempt to flee from the pain. As if on cue, Crouch cancelled the curse. Harry collapsed against his noticeably loosened bonds, taking in deep gasps of air as the fire began to recede from his flesh.

"I saw how near that last dose pushed you to the edge," Crouch Jr. said with a leer, leaning towards Harry. "Had I held it another five seconds, the glazed look in your eyes would have become permanent, just like it did for the Longbottoms. Sure you don't want to talk?"

Through the red haze he glared at Crouch for his mention the cruel fate visited upon the Neville's parents. Crouch let out a mocking laugh.

"That look is never very intimidating when coming from someone tied up, without their wand. So, what will it be? Truth, or another taste of the Cruciatus Curse?" he asked, spinning his wand in the palm of his hand.

Before Harry could reply, even with silence, the question was taken out of his hands.

From the dirt path leading up to the Riddle home came Wormtail, a bundle of rags held within his arms.

"Hurry," a high, cold voice urged, one which set Harry's teeth on edge.

"Yes, my Lord," Crouch Jr. swiftly replied, before waving his wand in the air. A giant stone cauldron materialized out of thin air, several feet away from the tombstone where the younger Potter was tied. He swiftly lit a flame under the giant cauldron. Fiery sparks began to leap over the lip, as if the cauldron were filled with boiling fire.

Through the thickening steam, silhouetted against the night sky, he saw the bundle of rags in Wormtail's arms began to shift and part, as if an infant was thrashing within them.

"It is ready, my Lord," Crouch Jr. said as the surface of the liquid began to glow with a bright, angry glare.

"Now!" the cold voice ordered.

Wormtail complied at once, unwrapping the bundle of rags. Thin, reddish-black arms covered with scales as opposed to skin reached up from the mass. A look of revulsion painted across his features, Wormtail picked up the infant. For a moment its gleaming red eyes and flat, snake-like features regarded Harry with mild interest, before it was submerged into the boiling liquid.

Again, Harry found himself hoping the monstrosity would drown.

Next to the stone cauldron his younger self writhed in agony, the tendons in his neck pulsing as he fought against the agony radiating forth from the scar on his forehead. Without any prior exposure to the Mental Arts, the teenager was forced to endure through the agony bereft of aid.

Through the red haze of burst blood vessels, Harry saw Wormtail scamper away from the cauldron, as if he was going to be pulled in as well. Crouch, his stolen wooden leg dragging slightly behind him, stepped forward.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

The ground beneath younger Harry's feet split open wide as a large, dirt covered bone emerged from the earth. Crouch levitated it into the cauldron, where it spit sparks upon contact with the potion, before turning the surface a bright blue.

With all the attention turned away from him, Harry began to writhe against his bonds, pushing out with his midsection and arms. He barely had an inch of slack, but he pushed against it with every bit of energy he had, willing, commanding the ropes to loosen.

Near the stone cauldron, Crouch withdrew a silver dagger from his robes. His hand was steady, and his eyes bereft of hesitation as he raised the gleaming blade in the air.

"Flesh of the servant, willing given, you will revive your master!"

Crouch thrust his left hand over the cauldron, before bringing the dagger down on his wrist. It severed the appendage cleanly, dropping the hand into the cauldron, prompting the potion to flash a brilliant red.

Crimson liquid spurting from the stump of his arm, Crouch marched over to Harry's teenage self, the bloodstained dagger still clasped within his hand. The Silencing Spell still in effect, the teenager's cry went unheard as the sharp blade penetrated the crook of his elbow. His gaze intent, Crouch twisted the dagger, causing blood to well up around the blade. Harry's eyes bulged with horror as Crouch withdrew the blade. From the wide, ragged hole in his flesh blood began to pour.

Dropping the bloody dagger to the ground, Crouch withdrew his wand. With a simple wave he conjured a glass vial, which was filled quickly with the younger Harry's blood, before being upended into the cauldron. The liquid within flash a blinding white, forcing Harry to squint against the diamond sparks spitting from the surface.

Without warning the bright display cut out, leaving behind a billowing plume of white steam. It obscured his younger self and Crouch, as well as the cowering form of Womrtail.

Just as he had all those years ago after touching the Tri-Wizard Cup, Harry prayed that the ritual had gone wrong this time. That Crouch Jr. had fucked up some critical part of the process, allowing the hideous, deformed infant to drown at the bottom of the stone container.

Once again, his hope was in vain.

The shadow of a tall, skeletally thin man emerged slowly from cauldron, barely visible through the mist.

"Robe me," ordered a high, cold voice, its owner obscured by the wafts of steam. Wormtail jumped at the command, bringing forward a dark robe held by jittery, shaking hands. He placed them over his Master's head

The thin form stepped forward, out of the mist. Its skin was chalk-white, its nose flat and snake-like. With crimson eyes it regarded his younger self, before a satisfied smirk stretched out across its thin lips.

The sight drove the spike of guilt deeper into Harry's heart. Despite compromising every bit of morality his soul contained, and sacrificing everything he had ever loved, he had failed.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

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The featureless black door closed behind him as Harry stepped into the darkness. For a moment's breath he stood, every muscle held in place. Red flames bloomed forth from each side of him, throwing the area into an eerie crimson light.

The illumination came via torches set into shallow recesses within the stone walls, which curved off to the left. The hallway was constructed of large grey blocks, far different from the darker stone favored in the rest of the Department of Mysteries.

This area was far older.

Footsteps echoed through the musty air as Harry descended down the crumbling steps. New torches came to life as he descended further into the earth, while the ones already passed extinguished themselves.

At the apex of every full turn down the spiral ramp lay a plain black door, all of which Harry paid no attention to.

Croaker had been willing to part with the information as to how to access the Big Combination, but had made Harry swear to not touch any of the other doors.

While the wonders contained within the upper levels of the Department of Mysteries were both wonderful and dangerous, the worst a witch or wizard could do was get themselves killed.

Behind every door he passed existed the means to destroy the world.

The Big Combination was no exception.

The worn stone steps spiraled deeper and deeper into the earth, hundreds upon hundreds of feet below the Ministry of Magic. Just when it seemed he had gone too deep, and would soon penetrate the outer core, the steps flattened out into a patchwork of cracks and broken flagstones. The red lights winking out behind him, he saw that opposed to the other landings, no door led directly away from the sloping staircase. Instead, a large, curving archway cut into the stone blocks framed a hallway stretching away from the main passage.

Pure darkness gleamed in the distance, swallowing all stray strands of light.

Remebering Croaker's instructions, he withdrew his wand. Curse-breaking had never been his strength, being a skill set more in line with Hermione's talents, but with the precise instruction…

The steps committed to memory, he began to dismantle the wards piece by piece. Bright lines of magic flew as his wand cut through the air, attacking the wards.

It look longer than he would have liked, but after an hour, the protective wards guarding the Big Combination were no more. No longer having to worry about being sliced apart, melted or disintegrated ,he moved down the hallway.

Torches lit as Harry passed, moving ever closer to his goal. He was barely cognizant of the clack of his boots upon the stone floor.

Every friend that he had ever lost to Voldemort's ambition, and his stubborn refusal to give in flowed through his mind. Time and time again he had been forced to compromise his morals for the sake of this eternal war, but of all his questionable transgressions, his most recent weighed the heaviest.

To go behind the backs of those who had stood by his side for years, never wavering as the casualties mounted and hope dwindled, was a betrayal of intractable measure. They had invested all their hope in him, The Boy Who Lived, and he had failed them all, time and time again.

The sole remaining hope was but a desperate grasp, which had little chance of working, and could potentially tear the universe in two. However, it was the only option left.

The end of the corridor approaching, Harry sensed a light turn on. He turned at once, wand drawn. Though he saw an empty corridor behind him, the proximity torch had lit, throwing the bottom of the spiral ramp into light.

He was not alone.

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The newly resurrected Dark Lord ignored both his servants and their captives, opting to examine his new body.

Harry took the opportunity given to wriggle further against the ropes binding him, while his eyes took in his adversaries. Wormtail cowered in the shadow of a flagstone, his wet, beady eyes staring at his Master with fear. Bartemius Crouch Jr. knelt upon the ground, the stump of his severed wrist painting the dark grass red, his expression wide-eyed and reverent.

Voldemort reached into his dark robes, withdrawing a yew wand. He caressed it gently, almost like a lover, before pointing it at Wormtail. The shaking man let out a squeak as he was lifted into the air and thrown against the headstone which the teenage Harry was tied to. The Dark Lord let out a high, cold laugh as Wormtail crashed to the ground.

"My…master…"

At Crouch's cry, the Dark Lord turned.

"My most faithful servant," he said, causing the rapidly paling Death Eater to straighten his posture. "Hold out your arm."

"Yes…my master," Crouch Jr. gasped, offering his undamaged arm. The long sleeve was pulled back, revealing the Dark Mark. The tattoo of a serpent protruding from a skull's mouth was an angry red, like a freshly healed burn.

"It is back," Voldemort said softly, staring at the brand.

"W-we knew you were coming back," Crouch said proudly, averting his eyes. "The mark has been getting brighter every day."

"And you shall be rewarded for you service," Voldemort said, before pressing a long, white fore-finger into the center of the mark.

The scar on Harry's forehead ignited with pain as his younger self's screams echoed throughout the graveyard. The agony receded when the Dark Lord took his finger off, leaving the crimson brand as dark as a starless night.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" Voldemort whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

"All – all of those who dare to forsake you will pay," Crouch said, his pallor ashen.

Ignoring Crouch, the Dark Lord began to pace back and forth across the high grass, his eyes sweeping the graveyard. With a cruel smile twisting his snake like features, he turned his attention to the younger Harry.

"You stand, Harry Potter upon the remains of my late father," he hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool…very much like your dear mother. But they both had their used, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child…and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proven himself, in death…"

Voldemort laughed again, before turning his attention to the elder Harry. Revulsion and hatred churned in his mind at seeing the red, snake-like eyes, which narrowed to slits. He strode forward, his wand raised at Harry's prone form.

"Who are you?"

"Someone who picked a really bad time to come here," Harry replied, swallowing heavily. Voldemort could smell a lie from a mile away, and would not settle for being stonewalled.

"I have neither the time nor the patience to play games," he hissed. "You might as well have formally announced your arrival with the amount of spells being flung. What brought you to the cabin?"

Harry's answer was too long in coming for Voldemort's taste.

"Crucio!"

A river of molten pain washed over his body, submerging him in its depth. The potent agony cut through his rational mind, reducing it to that of a gibbering madman, frenzied screams his only language.

When at last the torment ended, all of Harry's nerve endings throbbed. Repeated exposure to the Cruciatus Curse prolonged its aftershocks.

"When I ask a question, I expect a prompt reply," warned Voldemort, his thin, papery lips pressed tightly together. Harry nodded in acquiesce, the path clear.

"I…I've been hunting you my entire life," he admitted, slumping against his bonds.

"Explain yourself," spat Voldemort, raising his wand.

"You're descended from the Gaunt family," shot Harry, speaking quickly, his Occlumency barriers set firmly in place. "I've been searching through your history, trying to find every piece of it."

Whatever Voldemort had been expecting, it had not been an admission of guilt. The hard line of his mouth wavered, stretching out into a smirk.

"To think, all those years of painstaking research, wiped clean by your own foolishness. There was nothing to be found at the cottage."

Harry heard the lie with crystal clarity, digesting its significance at once.

"We both know that's a lie," he shot back. "That big fucking worm was guarding something."

Voldemort's smirk stretched wider.

"Ah, so you were acquainted with the Necro-Worm," the Dark Lord said. "To defeat it by one's self suggests that you have great power."

"M-m-y Lord, he also tried to kill Potter," Pettigrew added, before pointing his gaze downwards.

"He what?" exclaimed Voldemort, spinning around towards Wormtail, who cowered beneath the blazing crimson glare.

"It's true, m-my M-master," Crouch gasped, his hair dripping with sweat, his skin waxy. "He stunned the other one, before sending a killing curse at Potter."

The Dark Lord spun back around, marching towards Harry, wand raised. He kept his gaze level as Voldemort surveyed him carefully, his inhuman eyes reflecting uncertainty, as if not quite sure how to proceed.

Like a man hanging over the edge of a cliff from a frayed rope, Harry waited, praying for Voldemort to not sever his one lifeline. Deliberation in his movements, the Dark Lord raised the wand above his head. He brought it down in a diagonal slash, conjuring a thin grey veil, which he draped over one of his arms. He raised the yew wand high, placing the tip against Harry's forehead.

"Listen to me very carefully," urged Voldemort, his voice a whisper. "You've yet to answer anything to my satisfaction, but it seems clear you know enough to be a threat. I ask you to watch, silently, as a new age dawns. If your answers do not improve, it shall be the last dawn you see."

"Silencio."

The close-range spell struck home, rendering even his breathing silent. The silvery cloak was unfurled, before shrouding Harry like a cocoon. Through the silvery strands Voldemort glared at him one final time, before turning back to his servants.

"Crouch. Wormtail. The wizard attached to this tree does not exist, and you shall make no mention of him. Am I clear?"

Both of the Death Eaters answered in unison.

"Good. Shortly, we will have further guests arriving. Crouch, once I have placed you among my most esteemed, you will assure that no one approaches my prisoner. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my M-master," answered Crouch, before struggling to his feet. He coughed violently as he did so, but succeeded in gaining his feet, the bleeding stump of his arm clutched to his chest.

Through the conjured cloak, Harry saw his younger self survey the scene with wide-eyed shock. He couldn't even begin to conceive of the whirlwind of thoughts that blew within the teenager's mind. Between nearly being killed by a mysterious wizard, discovering that the Mad-Eye Moody he knew was a Death Eater and witnessing Voldemort's resurrection, the youth probably didn't know which way was up.

The air suddenly filled with the swishing of cloaks. Betweens the graves and markers, behind the yew tree to which he was bound, and in every shadow, wizards appeared with loud cracks. Cloaked in dark, hooded robes and masks, they one-by-one moved forward with careful footsteps, not quite daring to believe their eyes.

Like a messiah Voldemort stood before them in silence, waiting. One of the bolder Death Eaters broke rank, falling to his knees and crawling towards the Dark Lord, kissing the hem of his billowing robes.

One at a time the Death Eaters took their sacred communion, before backing away, unconsciously forming a silent circle which enclosed Voldemort, the younger Harry, Wormtail and Crouch. From beyond the ring Harry watched the procession play out its course, cognizant of the gaps in the circle.

Lucius Malfoy would not be joining the reunion.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort began, shattering the silence. "Thirteen years…thirteen years since we last met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday…. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"

The circle of followers froze at his words, the heavy accusation lingering in the night air. Voldemort lifted his head back, his flat nostrils flaring as he sniffed at the air.

"I smell guilt. There is a stench of guilt in the air."

An involuntary shiver wracked the frames of the gathered Death Eaters, fear rising off them in waves.

"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact – such prompt appearances! – and I ask myself…why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"

No one spoke, nor breathed. Only Wormtail twitched, while Crouch Jr. stood proud, despite his pale visage.

"And I answer myself," whispered Voldemort, "they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone…"

On and on Voldemort's self-pitying diatribe stretched. It was remarkable, how the Dark Lord orchestrated his followers like a conductor, playing with their guilt, reducing the most reasonable of assumptions to a debt to be repaid.

Unable to stand the weight of failure upon his shoulders, one of the Death Eaters broke the circle, throwing himself to the ground.

"Master!" he shrieked, head pushed into the ground at Voldemort's feet. "Master, forgive me. Forgive us all!"

Voldemort merely laughed as he lowered his yew wand.

"Crucio!"

Just as Harry had minutes ago, the Death Eater shrieked and writhed as invisible knives flayed his body. Beneath the cover of the screams, Harry fought against his bonds, fighting for every bit of purchase that he could find.

"Get up, Avery," Voldemort said softly, relinquishing the grip of the Cruciatus Curse. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years…I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?"

Pettigrew cringed at having Voldemort's focus fixed upon him, but managed to stutter an answer.

"Y-y-yes – yes, my Master!"

"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. Yet…you played a role in returning me to my body. Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me…though not as much as my most faithful of servants. Rise, Crouch."

Cold sweat popping out upon his skinny face, the effects of the Polyjuice having run dry, Crouch rose, shivering as he did so.

"I am yours to command, my Master," he whispered with bluing lips.

"Which you have proved, time and time again, and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers…"

The Dark Lord raised his wand upwards, twirling it. A streak of molten silver erupted from it, which writhed and gleamed beneath the bright moonlight, before shaking itself into shining replica of a hand. He brought his wand down, causing the silver hand to fly towards Crouch and affix it to his dripping stump.

Rapture flashed across Crouch's face as he flexed the hand carefully, as though testing a glove. He made a fist, before smashing it against a nearby grave-marker, cracking it in two.

"My…my Lord," breathed Crouch, his eyes shining with tears. "Master…it is beautiful…I-I…thank you…"

He scrambled forward upon his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"May your loyalty serve as a reminder to your brethren," said Voldemort.

"Yes, my Lord," came Crouch's reply, before taking his place in the circle, squeezing in so that he remained closest to the yew tree.

Through the regiment of Death Eaters the Dark Lord went, calling upon each by name. Macnair. Crabbe, Goyle. Each he chastised, enslaving them more fully to his cause, while promising more.

When Voldemort reached the largest of the gaps in the circle, he stood silent for a moment, regarding it with crimson eyes.

"And here we have six missing Death Eaters…three dead in my service. Two who are too cowardly to return. They will pay. One, how I believe has left me forever…he will be killed, of course."

At his words, the Death Eaters stirred, their eyes darting sideways. Macnair even opened his mouth, as if to speak, before thinking better of it.

"Yes, Macnair?" Voldemort prodded. "You look like you want to say something."

The large, muscled man shuffled uncomfortably beneath the red-eyed gaze, before speaking.

"My Lord, Lucius was always faithful to you."

"Is that so?" challenged Voldemort. "During the Quidditch World Cup, he fled at the sign of the Dark Mark. He also failed to answer my call. How would you explain his absence, Macnair?"

"My Lord, Lucius is dead. As is Bellatrix."

For a fraction of a second, Harry let out a smirk as surprise broke out over Voldemort's snake-like features, before being replaced with a mask of indifference.

"Explain yourself," rasped Voldemort.

"I…my Lord, the Aurors and Hit-Wizards are all on high alert. Someone broke into Azkaban earlier today, and killed Bellatrix and Dolohov."

Macnair cringed, but Voldemort bore the loss of his most psychotic follower with stoic indifference.

"Continue."

"There was a break-in at Gringotts today. The bank collapsed, and the goblins aren't letting anyone in. Witnesses said it was Lucius that broke in, but the Aurors found Malfoy Manor burned down, and found both Lucius' and Narcissa's bodies inside."

Voldemort's eyes blazed with such intensity that the large man took an involuntary step backwards, fear written across his features.

"Three of my faithful Death Eaters lost, and no one feels that this is important enough to bring to Lord Voldemort's attention? Is there anything else?"

Despite his obvious trepidation, Macnair took a hesitant step forward.

"Someone snuck into Hogwarts, and fought the Aurors. They used Polyjuice, but it wore off right as he escaped. The Aurors think it was the same wizard who broke into Azkaban and Gringotts. All they know is that he's short, has long, black hair and green eyes-"

"Crucio!"

Voldemort's eyes burned with rage as the Death Eater screamed beneath his curse, writhing on the ground. A smirk stretched across Harry's lips as he almost felt panic slide beneath the Dark Lord's mask of indifference. Did Voldemort realize that most, if not all of his Horcruxes had been destroyed?

Best of all, none of it mattered. Voldemort wouldn't deal with Harry until the Death Eaters departed. To show such weakness, to admit he had an enemy which had outwitted him, went against the ethos of the prideful, arrogant megalomaniac. To his followers he needed to appear omniscient, all-powerful.

Voldemort cancelled the curse abruptly, allowing Macnair to crawl back to the edge of the ring. He whirled upon the Death Eaters, each and every one dropping their eyes at his challenge.

"Another Dark Lord rises to usurp my position, and you say nothing…could it be that you are all fearful of this new threat?"

Silence stretched out in the wake of his question. It was Crouch Jr. who broke it, taking a confident step forward.

"This 'wizard' would not last five minutes against you, my Lord. Has this other 'Dark Lord' also conquered death?"

"Yet again, you lead by example, Crouch. To the rest of you: How could there have been any doubt?"

"We…we failed you, my Lord," answered Avery, misery in his voice. "We thought you dead. How could anyone had survived such an explosion?"

"Ah, what a story it is, Avery," breathed Voldemort, seizing the opportunity to move the subject away from the unknown 'Dark Lord'. "And it begins – and ends – with my young friend here."

The younger Harry, who had been largely ignored until now, gazed at Voldemort in silent fear as the tall figure moved next to him.

For untold minutes the Dark Lord regaled his followers with complete account of the journey which started in Eastern Europe and ended within the moonlit graveyard. Through it all Harry struggled against his bonds. The ropes covering his arms and midsection had loosened, but not enough for him to free his hands.

"…And here he is…the boy you all believed had been my downfall…"

The intricacies of his plan lain bare, he jabbed his wand, non-verbally canceling the Silencing Spell, before followed up with an incantation.

"Crucio!"

His voice restored, the teenager's screams rolled out over the dark landscape as his eyes rolled wildly in his head. The agony in his younger self's screams fueled Harry's efforts. He squeezed his body to the left; using the small amount of purchase he had gained to give his right arm more room. The maneuver nearly freed his right hand. Heedless to the robes rubbing the raw skin of his arms, he writhed, escape growing closer with every movement.

Voldemort raised his wand into the air, ending the Cruciatus Cruse without warning. The teenager slumped against his bonds, his groans of pain barely audible over the laughter of the Death Eaters.

"You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me," said Voldemort. "But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is stronger. Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand."

The pale, balding man approached the younger Harry, cutting through his bonds with a wave of his wand. The teenager fell straight to the ground as the Death Eaters closed around him, cutting off Harry's view. Only Crouch stayed back, his gaze remaining fixed on the circle of Death Eaters, but standing closer to the yew tree than the ring.

"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" questioned Voldemort.

The mocking words returned Harry to his own memories of this night. How he thought that his dueling lessons with Lockhart could stand against the most powerful Dark Lord Britain had ever seen.

"We bow to each other, Harry. Come, the niceties must be observed…Dumbledore would like you to show manners…Bow to death, Harry…"

The elder Harry strained against his bonds, ignoring the burning pain issuing through his abraded arm.

"I said 'bow'. Very good. And now you face me, like a man…straight-backed and proud, the way your father died…and now – we duel."

Harry saw nothing, but heard Voldemort cast the Cruciatus Curse, and the accompanying screams of agony. His efforts intensified, the moment in which he would need to act nearly upon him.

"A little break," mocked Voldemort. "A little pause…that didn't hurt, did it, Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"

Thoughts of hopelessness no doubt running through his younger self's mind, defiance the only resistance he could offer, Harry strained harder. For a moment, there was blinding pain, before his right arm freed itself from its bonds. He let out a pant of exertion, before bending his arm at the elbow, and inching his hand up, trying to force it between the tree and his back.

"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," Voldemort's cold voice was saying. "You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry…come out and play, then…it will be quick…it might even be painless…I would not know…I have never died…"

As Harry's arm inched upwards, Crouch Jr. let out a mad, supportive cackle, one of triumph. Harry Potter was cornered, and his Master's victory was at hand.

The younger Harry leapt up from behind a headstone, his wand slashing forward.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

An inch from his target, Harry saw the red and green curses collide in mid-air. A brilliant gold light leapt forth from the point of collision, racing back towards each respective wand, connecting them both. An almost comical surprise flitted onto Voldemort's face as both combatants were lifted high into the air.

Confused shouts filled the air as the Death Eaters scrambled after their Master. Harry let out a silent scream of effort as his fingers closed the final inch to the object wedged between the small of his back and the yew tree.

The sharp knife pilfered from Lucius Malfoy's study a mere six hours ago cut through the thick bonds like twine. Freed from the conjured ropes, he sprinted after the retreating form of Bartemius Crouch Jr. Reaching out with his left hand, he grabbed a handful of his long, blond hair.

"Wha-" was all the Death Eater had time to say before the blade pieced the side of his neck. Flesh tore and blood spurted as Harry buried it to the hilt in a single movement, before withdrawing it. Crouch Jr. went sprawling to the ground, his punctured jugular pumping pints of his life blood onto the ground.

"That was for Moody," Harry spat, before ripping the wand from his gasp. Crouch tried to shout a warning to the other screaming Death Eaters, but all that emerged was a wet gurgle as Harry turned the wand upon its master.

"Avada Kedavra."

The green light struck Crouch Jr. in the face, etching a permanent look of shock upon his skeletal features, Moody's large robes falling off him like a child playing dress-up.

Without blinking, Harry turned his eyes to the remaining Death Eaters, all of whom were too focused on their master to notice that one of their own had just been killed.

Murder purred in his veins, crying out for more blood. With a ghastly smile, he obliged the voice, stalking towards the Death Eaters with crimson-tinged vision.

X-X-X-X-X-X -|- X-X-X-X-X-X -|- X-X-X-X-X-X

"Show yourself!" demanded Harry, raising his wand high. Beneath the calm façade, his thoughts raced. Why hadn't the wizards following him bypassed the sensor?

It was almost like they wanted to be caught.

A shimmering patch of space wavered, before three familiar figures emerged from it.

Zacharias Smith led, his aristocratic, haughty features tightened in anger. With red, bloodshot eyes he glared at Harry, his footsteps quick, uncompromising. Bringing up the rear was Hermione, her bushy hair tied back in an unruly tangle, her large stomach, heavy with child, protruding ahead of her.

However, Harry only had eyes for her female companion.

Ginny stalked past Zacharias, shrugging off his half-hearted attempt to stall her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" his lover screamed, betrayal thick in her words. "You drug me, fuck me, then leave me?"

"If we didn't know any better, we'd say you were going to deliver this straight to Voldemort," Smith added, his words cutting through the guilt conjured by Ginny's accusations. "Did you really think that we didn't notice you were missing for long periods of time over the past month? Hermione's been monitoring the Grimmauld Floo just in case you did something stupid, but this…"

"What were we supposed to think, Harry?" Ginny said, shaking her head with anger. "The Extractor was gone! How were we supposed to know you hadn't sold us all out!"

"Because you know me better than that."

Ginny slowed at his words, their impact striking her hardest.

"Please, Harry," she begged, the tears in her warm, brown eyes betraying the hardened contours of her jaw. "You don't have to do this."

"There's no other way," he answered with a morose shake of his head. "If there was any other…believe me, I-I don't want to do this."

"So don't!" Hermione spat, throwing her arms in the air. "You're putting the entire world at risk for something that might not even work!"

With razor-sharp clarity, Harry saw the bloodstains beneath her fingernails.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Ginny said, her eyes bloodshot and tear-rimmed. With a trembling hand, she raised her wand in his direction, regret etched onto every line of her face. "We can't let you do this."

The words of his wife stung, but not enough to detract from the impact of his observation.

"I take it Croaker didn't really want to talk about the worst-case scenario," Harry said, shifting his gaze to Hermione. The pregnant woman flushed, but said nothing, her gaze remaining defiant.

"So what?" Zacharias shot back. "If we stop you from destroying the universe, I think it's worth a life."

"You said you weren't going to kill him!" accused Ginny, whirling around to face Hermione. "I trusted you!"

"We didn't have time to coax it out of him!" Hermione screeched back. "If we didn't make him crack quickly, we never would have caught up to Harry!"

As the two girls exchanged barbs, Harry could only shake his head in wonder. Only five members of the Order of the Phoenix remained, and still they killed one another.

War had made beasts of them all.

His internal musings were interrupted by the swish of a wand cutting through the air. Harry conjured a shield on reflex, which detonated in a shower of sparks upon contact with Zacharias' curse.

"We're here to talk, not-" Ginny began, only to cut herself off as she deflected Hermione's curse into the wall, showering them both with chips of stone.

Harry swung his wand out wide, Summoning a loose square of flooring. The flat piece of stone struck Zacharias in the back of his legs, sending him stumbling. Off-balance, he flung a Confundus Charm, which Harry easily parried, launching a Shield-Breaker disguised in the tell-tale crimson of a Stunner.

Spellfire from the two dueling witches exploding behind him, the blonde man conjured a scarlet magical shield. It disintegrated into bright red sparks upon being broken, the magical backlash knocking him backwards.

Harry surged forward, snapping off a vicious Disarmer. The spell struck Zacharias in the chest, breaking his wrist with a wet crack, all while flying backwards through the air. His opponent defeated, Harry began to lower his wand, only for his eyes to widen.

For a split-second, he saw the stone block racing towards Ginny, and the Reductor she had flung to counter it, as if someone had taken a photograph of the scene.

Too late, Harry brought his wand back up.

The spell struck the stone block center mass, detonating it in a rain of chips and jagged pieces. Both girls quickly conjured physical shields, protecting them from the deadly shrapnel.

Bereft of wand, helplessly flying backwards through the air, Zacharias had no such option.

With surgical precision the high-velocity shards of stone sliced through Zacharias' body in multiple bloody mists. Almost numb with surprise, Harry saw the shredded body drop to the floor with a sickening thud. The glazed eyes rolled sightlessly in their sockets as Hermione let out a deafening shriek, all of her interest in battling Ginny evaporating.

She scrambled to Zacharias' side, grabbing his shoulder and shrieking his name like an incantation. With mad desperation she waved her wand over his thrashing body, but her wide, grief stricken eyes missed the obvious truth of the arterial blood pumping from his nearly decapitated neck, only a few strands of muscle and tendon connecting it to his body, and the shallowness of his breathing.

"Zach! Zach, don't leave me! Zach!"

The one-time Hufflepuff still had words to dispense, but his mouth only wavered, before drawing in one final breath, which was never exhaled.

Hermione broke down, burying her face in his perforated chest, wailing into his cooling body.

Harry wanted to comfort her, to do anything, but the words, and the actions, wouldn't come.

It had been an accident, a stupid mistake, but it did nothing to dispel the fact that he had just contributed to killing not only one of the few people who had followed him through the war's twisting course, but a friend.

A brother.

Ginny, her eyes brimmed with tears, her hands over her mouth, dropped beside one-time friend, offering a hesitant hand upon her shoulder. The pregnant, bushy-haired witch reared away from her touch like it was acidic, her eyes blazing with pain and rage.

"Get the fuck away from me!" she screeched, her voice loud enough to shatter stone.

"H-H-Hermione, I'm sorry," hitched Ginny. "It was an accident-"

Hermione moved with a speed unbecoming of a pregnant woman. As Ginny raised her arms, the other witch swung around her. Before Harry could even blink, Hermione had one arm wrapped tightly around Ginny's slender, freckled throat, her wand pointed against the side of his wife's head.

"Enough! It ends here! Drop the fucking wand, Potter!"

"Hermione-" Ginny began, before the larger woman flexed her arm, cutting off her air supply.

"Let her go," ordered Harry, his voice level, his wand raised forward. The bushy-haired witch's face was covered in her lover's blood, while her eyes rolled wildly in their sockets, reflecting the erosion of her mental state.

"We fucking trusted you, Harry!" Hermione screamed, spraying forth a fine mist of blood and spittle. "You were supposed to save us all, not kill us!"

"I'm trying to save us all," Harry replied, keeping his voice level. "We have a chance to bring back everyone we lost, all our friends and family who died in this endless war."

"Two versions of reality can't exist at the same time! You'd risk my child's life against the mere chance that the resulting paradox wouldn't tear the universe in two?"

Harry bit back his reply, well aware that an appeal to logic wouldn't sway his former friend. He instead shifted his gaze over to his wife, and her pale, frightened pallor.

"Hermione, you-"

"This is not a negotiation!" she screeched, digging the wand deeper into the side of Ginny's head. "Drop the wand, or I kill her!"

With a heavy heart, he saw that she meant every word. Into the warm, brown eyes of his wife he watched, images flashing through his mind like a slideshow.

Their first rapturous kiss within the Gryffindor Common Room. Stealing kisses in the broom closet on the Fifth Floor between class. How she had bitten her lip as he had slowly pushed into her for the first time, and how her trepidation had slowly melted into ecstasy.

The path that had began at Grimmauld Place the night of Dumbledore and Snape's deaths, and had led to this tragic decision.

Betrayal flashed across Ginny's face, her eyes widening with hurt.

"No, Harry-" she began, throwing herself to the side, trying to evade Hermione's grip. At the same time, Harry Summoned his wife, breaking Hermione's choke hold across her threat. Ginny threw her head to the side, trying to avoid Hermione's wand, but the point followed the trajectory of her flight.

In slow motion he saw a yellow curse leapt from Hermione's wand, striking his wife in the side of the head. Blood, brain matter and tiny shards of bone splattered the wall as the left side of her head was disintegrated. The force of the spell knocked her to the side, where her limp body thudded off the wall, before collapsing to the floor, face-up.

Hermione, as if realizing the enormity of her actions, backed away from Ginny's body, her eyes wide with horror. Mad with grief, Harry thrust his wand forward.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The malevolent green light struck Hermione in the chest before she could react. The witch, the light extinguished from her eyes, toppled backwards. She hit the floor with a sick thud, the large hill of her bloated mid-section rising into the air.

Harry lowered his wand, unable to escape the accusatory gaze of his former best friend. From his loosening hand his wand fell, clattering to the floor.

In the space of five minutes, his choices had spelled all of their ends.

He had killed them all.

X-X-X-X-X-X -|- X-X-X-X-X-X -|- X-X-X-X-X-X

On a raised patch of ground overlooking the graveyard a brilliant dome constructed from webs of golden light pulsed. The light banished every shadow, illuminating every inch of the overgrown cemetery.

His feet slapping against the grass as he ran, Harry withdrew the watch from around his neck, reading the face by the phoenix cage's blinding shine.

Eleven thirty.

Thirty more minutes to stop Voldemort.

Not nearly enough time.

Up ahead Death Eaters surrounded the bright radiance, like pygmies dancing around a bonfire. Within the dome Harry could just make out his younger self and Voldemort locked in a battle of wills, a bright thread of golden light connected the two wands.

A cold egg yolk dripped down the back of his neck as rapped himself atop the head, applying the Disillusionment Charm. The distance cut to thirty feet, Harry stopped in his tracks. With precision he began to wave and cut his wand through the air, before thrusting it forward. His arm bucked heavily as a column of amber light erupted forth, the unfamiliar wand robbing the spell of at least half of its punch.

The 'Devastator' flew like a cannonball through the air almost leisurely, at a sloping angle. Had a single one of the Death Eaters turned, they would have had ample time to avoid the powerful curse.

None did.

The spell struck the ground with a colossal thunderclap, before an invisible wave of force exploded forth from the impact site, consuming the nearby Death Eaters. Dirt and grass kicked out in all directions, before the air within the translucent sphere began to swirl. Rocks, branches and gravestones were ripped from the earth and began to spin around the circumference of the expanding vortex.

Upon being swallowed by the spatially contained tornado, the Death Eaters were shredded by the high velocity projectiles, as if they had been thrown into a blender. Dark scraps of cloth and severed arms, legs and heads joined the swirling vortex as it expanded further, eating two more Death Eaters before its momentum slowed to nothing. Bloodstained rocks, dirt, grass and scraps of dark fabric fell to the ground like a pestilent rain.

Harry moved quickly, camouflaging his own movements within the confused screams of the Death Eaters. He Apparated through the night air, appearing behind Avery. With an angry jab of his wand he launched a Dark Cutter, but the Death Eater was already in motion. A blindly-conjured shield popped into existence behind the small man.

As opposed to lopping off his head, the spell glanced off the shield, striking the ground. He let out a snarl of rage, before Apparating away. Harry scanned the immediate area, seeing that the cloaked figures had moved their attention away from their Master, and back to the unseen assailant who had just launched a curse powerful enough to kill a third of their number.

With a loud pop he appeared behind a slow-moving Death Eater, probably either Crabbe or Goyle. The hulking form started to turn at his arrival, but Harry was far faster, launching a blasting curse into the back of the hooded head. Like a pinched ripe berry his head exploded in a rain of blood and brains. For a second the headless body stood, blood still pumping out of the throat, before Crabbe or Goyle slumped to the ground, lifeless.

A sharp crack cut through the air as Avery re-appeared on the other side of the glowing cage, his wand pointed at his throat.

"We're under attack! He's under a Disillusionment-"

Enhanced by the Sonorus Charm, Avery was cut off as Harry appeared in front of him, launching another killing curse. A stone marker flew into the path of the curse, detonating in a hail of stone chips.

"He's right fuckin' there!" exclaimed Macnair as Harry Apparated, landing right behind the large form of the hulking, muscular Death Eater. His hand was in motion as he appeared, the knife held at an upward angle. The blade entered as the base of his spine, eliciting a deafening roar from Macnair. The remaining Death Eaters turned in his direction at once, wands drawn.

Harry fled, Apparating away. He reappeared thirty yards away, in the shadow of a giant stone angel. Wet viscera and gore shone in the moonlight, dripping off the blade, while his blood sang with the call of battle.

Across the expanse of crumbling tombstones, Macnair staggered for a moment, but remained upright. His blunt features contorted in rage, he whipped his head towards Avery.

"Get some fuckin' wards up! The rest of you, protect him!"

At Macnair's command, the rest of the Death Eaters rushed towards Avery. His wand a blur of movement, he snapped off several hexes. The cloaked figures avoided all the curses, save for the last one, a Skinning Curse striking him in the back. Like tearing wallpaper the skin was peeled off his body in wide stripes, taking the dark robes with them. For a single moment the red tissue of his musculature was visible, before he fell, painting the ground with blood as he thrashed, his shrieking mouth a crimson piston.

The seven remaining Death Eaters formed a protective ring around Avery, their wands out, eyes watchful. Through the small gaps in the circle he saw the short Death Eater cutting his wand in complex strokes, all while chanting under his breath.

Harry launched another Devastator at the grouped figures, but Macnair moved quickly, intercepting it with Banished grave-marker. His position compromised, Death Eater spells streaking towards him, Harry Apparated away from the swirling vortex, landing on the other side of phoenix cage.

On the fringes of the forest, away from the main concentration of Death Eaters, Harry briefly saw a panic-stricken Wormtail shrink down into his Animagus form, before fleeing into the darkened woods. For a moment he considered giving chase, before he felt magic wash over him as the Anti-Apparation wards sprung into place.

He cursed under his breath, before creeping around the phoenix cage. Through its golden veils, he saw wide beads of light grow pregnant within the solid beam, pushing themselves towards his younger self. Silently urging the teenager on, he trod closer to the grouping of Death Eaters, trying to decipher what object Avery had tied the Apparation Wards to.

"Flush the bastard out!" roared Macniar, before raising his wand. From the tip emerged an object moving at a high velocity, the size of a football, bright blue in color. The sphere passed Harry on the right, colliding with a marker, where it exploded in a rain of blue, painting the surrounding area.

In short order the air was filled the whistles of paint bombs hurtling through the night. Yellows, greens, blues and purples splattered over every surface, as if an army of kindergartners with an endless supply of paint had been turned loose. Caught in no man's land, Harry did all he could to avoid the barrage, but after several moments of evasion he was forced to conjure a shield.

A blue paint bomb struck it at once, coating the surrounding grass.

"There he is!" Macnair roared. "Take him down!"

Spells collided off of the opaque shield as Harry scrambled backwards, taking refuge behind a large grave marker. Hexes digging into the stone, spraying fine bits of granite in every direction, he dropped the shield and transfigured a nearby stone marker into mirror. Through the clear reflection he saw the Death Eaters charging towards his position, casting as they ran, closing the sixty foot distance.

Harry whipped his wand forward, tearing a marker from the ground. He banished it at the Death Eater in the lead, staggering the trajectory. The cloaked figure tried to blast it out of the air, but missed, the running motion throwing off his aim.

A chorus of cracks echoed through the air as the heavy stone struck the Death Eater in the chest, collapsing the cavity. Like a rag doll the hooded figure was flung backwards, before landing in an awkward tangle of robes, severe spasms wracking his frame.

In the fraction of a second before a stray curse smashed his makeshift mirror, he saw a large, grey curse leap from Macnair's wand. Harry began to backpedal at once, conjuring a physical shield right as the grey curse detonated the marker. Flying chunks of stone collided off the shield, knocking Harry off his feet. He scrambled up at once and ran away from the charging brigade, spell-fire nipping at his heels.

Ahead of him, he saw a patch of purple-splattered grass begin to melt into the ground. Harry leapt over the Transfigured area, clearing it. At the crest of a gentle hill, he slid down the damp grass feet-first, like a defender taking out a streaking striker. He spun around at the bottom, whipping his wand to the side before raising it up. The first movement clove a wide swath of turf from the ground, while the second levitated the greenery into the air. The floating blades of grass were Transfigured into metal.

Upon seeing the first Death Eater reach the top of the hill, Harry Banished the entire mass. The wall of spikes peppered the dark figure like a moving bed of nails. Bleeding from hundreds of tiny holes, his perforated eyes deflating within their sockets, the cloaked man collapsed to the ground, screaming in agony.

Two more Death Eaters crested the top of the hill, launching curses. The one on the right, a large one with blond hair, began to indiscriminately spray Killing Curses down the hill, hammering the ground on either side of Harry. Dirt covering his Disillusioned form, he scrambled backwards, taking refuge behind another crooked, leaning tree. Splinters began to spray in every direction as the tree was pounded by spell-fire.

Covered in dirt and blood, he felt the Disillusionment Charm weaken and break, unable to compensate for the grime covering his body.

Behind him stretched a flat expanse of ground broken only by small, unimportant markers, with no cover to speak of.

He was pinned down.

"Come on out, ya bastard!" mocked Macnair, his voice confident.

Harry bent down to the ground, thrusting his stolen wand deep into the earth. Beads of sweat broke out over his brow as he concentrated, sending tendrils of magic through the earth. It was like trying to hit a target with a blindfold on, without knowing where the bulls-eye was.

A task made no easier by the fact that Crouch's wand was not receptive to his magic.

"Yeah, come on out!" added Avery, before the short man let out a high-pitched screech. A skeletal hand, caked in black soil, had emerged from the ground, snaking around the Death Eater's ankle. A wet snap echoed through the night as Harry commanded the hand to close, shattering the delicate bones.

"It's fucking got me!" shrieked Avery, equal parts agony and terror spilling into the air.

A potent, focused wave of magic washed over the faint connection Harry had forged with the buried body, obliterating it. At once Harry tried to withdraw the wand from the ground, but it remained stuck within the ground, which had hardened beneath his feet. With growing unease, he tugged harder at the wand, but it might as well have been lodged in dried cement.

Someone had frozen the ground.

"We've got his wand!" Macnair yelled, victory in his voice. "Get him!"

Harry darted his head around the corner, before pulling it back again, avoiding a jet of malevolent green light by the slimmest of margins. Avery was down with a broken ankle, and the wound in his back was slowing Macnair, but the other four remaining Death Eaters ran towards the tree. He took a deep breath, before withdrawing Malfoy's knife from the small of his back.

Stepping to his left, be brought the hilt down sharply. It smashed upon the lead Death Eater's wrist, sending a dark purple curse into the ground. The large cloaked figure threw his weight forward, trying to use his superior size to pin Harry against the tree. At once he brought the blade up, burying it in his assailant's armpit, piercing the clustered bundle of nerves. With uncontrollable motions he began to flop like a fish out of water.

He shot out his arms, grabbing the man by the shoulders and spinning him around. The thrashing Death Eater's upper body exploded in a rain of gore, taking the curse meant for Harry. Crimson blood and bits of flesh clinging to his form, he ducked down, dodging another spell. Crouched low, he swung out with the knife, burying it in next Death Eater's thigh.

A torrent of blood spurted out as Harry withdrew the blade. The Death Eater fell to the ground as if shot, screaming as the dark blood from his punctured femoral artery ran between his fingers. Harry was atop the man at once, tearing at his hands, trying to steal the wand away. Green light filling his peripheral vision, he rolled to the side. The stray killing curse struck the Death Eater, silencing his cries.

Another killing curse forced him to scramble backwards, his boots squishing in the mixture of blood and paint splattered onto the grass. The large blond Death Eater, Gibbon, lined up another shot, firing another jet of green light. Harry rolled to his left, before rising up, throwing the knife as hard as he could.

Gibbon's eyes widened as the blade flew end over end, streaking towards him. In the process of casting another curse, he only had time to turn his body slightly. The knife stuck into his chest, the blade lodging itself into one of his ribs. Gibbon let out a scream of pain, but the entry point saved his life.

"Shite!" cursed Harry, already in motion, diving to the ground. He took the fallen Death Eater's wand for himself, launching a Disembowelment Curse. Gibbon's conjured shield shattered under the curse, discharging in a shower of sparks. Harry followed up with a killing curse, which the Death Eater dove to the ground to avoid, chest-first.

Wedged between the ground and Gibbon's heavy body, the knife punched itself through his ribs, perforating his lung with a loud pop. The large man let out a low wheeze as he flopped onto his back, air leaking from the hole in his chest.

Harry seized the opportunity, thrusting his wand forward. In his agony, Gibbon never saw the green curse streaking towards him. The spell struck him in the chest, extinguishing his life.

Before Gibbon's twitching had stilled, Harry spied red light on the edge of his peripheral vision. He whirled around, levitating a nearby marker into the air, taking the brunt of the Cruciatus Curse.

The look of triumph upon the unknown Death Eater's face morphed into terror upon seeing his blindside attack fail. The young wizard threw his hands into the air, dropping his wand to the ground, surrendering.

"I give up!"

"What the fuck're you doin'?" roared Macnair, making his way towards them at a slow pace.

Harry ignored the hulking Death Eater, replying to the young wizard's offer with a smirk.

"I'm not much for chivalry," Harry said, thrusting his wand forward. A grey ball of light soared through the air, striking the wizard in the chest like a cannonball. A crack echoed through the night air as he was blown backwards, leaving his empty boots standing upon the wet grass.

A killing curse streaking towards him, he directed another marker into its path. The chips of stone bouncing off Harry, he batted away Macnair's follow-up Cutter, beginning to slash his wand in fast, precise motions. Curse after curse burst from his wand, streaking towards the hulking Death Eater, all as he closed the distance between the two combatants.

Macnair's shield absorbed the first six curses, but Harry's Insanity Curse shattered the shield, sending the large man reeling backwards. He advanced on the defenseless Death Eater, green light gathered at the tip of his wand.

Without warning something slammed into his back, throwing him forward while dislodging his wand. As he hit the ground, a triumphant cry rang out from behind him.

"I got the bastard!" exclaimed Avery. On his back, Harry rolled to the right, another curse slamming into the ground next to him. Avery, his back propped up against a marker, launched another curse, but Harry scrambled to his feet, avoiding it. At a full sprint to took off, towards Gibbon's body.

The crippled Death Eater let out a mocking laugh, before focusing his wand on the dead body. A crimson Reductor Curse leapt from his wand, striking Gibbon's arm. The wand was vaporized in the blast, as was the right side of the body. Dirt, scraps of cloth and gore raining to the ground, Harry settled for the knife, drawing it from the corpse in a single movement.

Blade in hand, he ducked around a nearby tree, shielding himself from Avery's competent aim. His mind racing, the next step being plotted, the large form of Macniar crested a shallow rise, staring down at Harry. With slow, methodical movements, the Death Eater stowed his wand, before withdrawing a large, silver axe from within his robes.

The very same one, a lifetime ago, Oliver Wood had claimed for his own.

"So ye like blades, eh?" Walden Macniar asked, stalking towards Harry.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" demanded Avery, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth, ye whiny twat. This little cunt wants to go around stabbin' people? Well it's time for him to see how it feels."

Harry held the knife tight within his hand, the sensation of time slipping through his fingers almost physical. As much as he wanted to charge Macnair and finish him off, patience stayed his hand.

A few seconds saved wouldn't matter if the silver axe separated his head and neck in the process.

On the balls of his feet he waited, his muscles coiled like a snake ready to strike. The Death Eater's dark eyes narrowing in anger, he charged forward, raising up the axe. Harry prepared to roll to the side to avoid the swing, but Macnair instead thrust the blunt end of the handle forward, catching Harry in the chest.

The breath was driven from his lungs in a loud whoosh as he was knocked back into the trunk of the tree. Too late his mistake made itself clear: The silver axe was not for show.

Macnair knew how to fight with Muggle weaponry.

Harry ducked down, avoiding a horizontal sweep of the axe, which clove neatly through the tree. He rolled to the side, avoiding a vertical blow. Macnair lunged forward with another wide streak, the blade whistling through the air, bisecting a grave marker. Harry grabbed the upper half of the split marker, launching it at Macniar's head. The large chunk of stone struck his heavy jaw with a crack, breaking it. The Death Eater roared in pain, swinging out with the heavy axe.

Harry ducked under the wild swing, bringing the blade across Macnair's left knee. The large man kept him composure as tendons ripped and blood spurted, kicking out with his right leg. The tip of the boot connected with Harry's nose, breaking it with a wet snap, driving him back.

"Take that, yeh bastard!" Macnair roared, bringing the blade back down. Blood flowing down his face, Harry rolled backwards, the sharp edge kicking up dirt as it hit the earth.

"Ye're a quick bugger, I'll grant ye that," said Macnair, lunging forward. Harry cut to his left, forcing the Death Eater to follow. The large man went to pivot, only to have his left knee betray him. He stumbled, falling to his knees.

Harry was upon him at once, slashing out with the knife. The four fingers clutching the head of the shaft were amputated in a single slice, the severed digits falling to the ground. Macnair tried to bring back the axe with his other hand for one final swing, but with his front left unguarded, Harry pounced.

A rough, ragged crimson smile appeared on the Death Eater's throat, the knife opening him from ear to ear. Hot blood spurted from the wound in a high pressure spray, but Macnair never stopped trying.

"…bastard," he spat, blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth as he fumbled for his wand. Harry got to it first, ripping it from the large man's grasp. Macnair made a feeble attempt to win it back, but he pushed forward, knocking the Death Eater onto his back.

"Macnair!" cried Avery, from out of sight. "Please tell me you got the little runt."

The man in question attempted to answer, but all that emerged from his mouth was a wet gurgle.

"Not this time," Harry muttered under his breath, moving towards the sound of the high-pitched voice. Wand held high, he stepped into view of the crippled Death Eater.

"It was a good effort, but Macnair just couldn't close the deal."

Avery whitened at his words, before bringing his wand up. Harry's Disarmer got there first, slamming the Death Eater back against the marker. He snatched Avery's wand out of the air with his left hand, before advancing on the cowering man, both wands pointed at his heart.

"Where's the Anti-Apparation ward anchor?" demanded Harry.

Not bothering to wait for an answer, he thrust his wand forward.

"Legilimens!"

A brief image of the graveyard flashed by, before Avery closed off his mind, his Occlumency barriers raised. Harry withdrew from the Death Eater's mind, frustration eating at his psyche.

"Where's the fucking ward anchor?" screamed Harry, lashing out with his wand. An invisible force smashed into Avery's mouth, driving him back into the marker. He spat out a mouthful of blood, mingled with small white chips, before shaking his head.

"I'll never betray my Master again!"

Through his crimson vision, he shot his gaze towards the luminescent phoenix cage. Between the glowing webs of golden light, he saw silvery figures surrounding the two combatants, echoes of Voldemort's victims.

Which included both of Harry's parents.

With difficulty, he turned his attention back to the defiant Death Eater. How much longer did he have until the cage broke and Harry fled?

Five minutes? Two minutes?

One?

Time was too precious to waste playing mind games with Avery. Harry swung his wand back towards the man, felling him a killing curse. Without a second look down he stepped over the cloaked body, tucking the dead Death Eater's wand into an inner pocket, before marching towards the phoenix cage.

"Accio Wormtail!"

From the dense undergrowth the old, ragged rat flew, squeaking as it landed in front of Harry. Red light enveloped the small creature, before it began to stretch, sprouting arms, legs and a head.

The transformation complete, Pettigrew writhed on the ground, seeking mercy.

"Please, don't kill me! I-"

"Shut up."

Harry kept his voice level, but the rigidity in his words silenced the blubbering man.

"Give me my wand back."

Wormtail did as ordered, withdrawing from his cloak the wand stolen from the Malfoy Manor. If he was going to have any hope of besting Voldemort, he needed a wand close to the compatibility his old holly and phoenix-feather one had possessed.

The shaking man rose to his knees, clasping his hands together.

"Please let me go, I-"

A flat crack echoed out over the night as Harry's fist connected with Wormtail's nose. He fell backwards, whimpering as blood began to leak from his nostrils.

"That was for Sirius," said Harry, leveling his wand at Pettigrew's heart. "And this is for my parents!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, a supernova of light swept across the graveyard, blinding him. White pain filling his eyes, Harry cursed, spinning around. Through large yellow spots, he saw his younger self darting between the graves, dodging curses from Voldemort.

The teenager hooked a sharp right at a marble angel. A stray curse vaporized the angel, but Harry kept on going, taking a hold of Cedric's wrist.

All thought of Wormtail fleeing his mind, Harry thrust his wand forward.

"Accio Cup!"

For a moment, the twin-handled, golden cup flew through the air. Triumph shone is his younger self's bright green eyes, victorious at having bested Voldemort.

The elder Harry's Blasting Curse struck the cup in the center, detonating it in midair. Golden slivers and chips rained upon the ground, the teenager's mouth falling open as he saw his one chance at escape vanish. He stood motionless, the light within his eyes fading as hopelessness took hold, making no effort to move as a purple curse streaked toward him.

A marker flew into the air, taking the curse. His younger self blinked in confusion as Harry advanced upon Voldemort, wand drawn, eyes blazing.

It was time to end it.

X-X-X-X-X-X -|- X-X-X-X-X-X -|- X-X-X-X-X-X

The light of the phoenix cage extinguished, the graveyard fell into dark once again, illuminated only by the wide moon. Like a soft rain, chips from the stone marker pattered to the ground.

Voldemort's crimson eyes swept across the graveyard, searching for the soul who had been foolish enough to save Harry Potter. With satisfaction, Harry saw the malevolent gaze widen as he beheld his dead servants strewn about the cemetery, the papery features tightening.

"Your servants didn't pose much of a challenge."

The Dark Lord spun around at his words, wand drawn. At once Harry thrust his own forward, launching a Cutter.

"You!" exclaimed Voldemort, bringing his wand up. A black cord of energy burst forth from the tip as he summoned a Coil of Darkness. He brought the whip of dark energy across his body, snapping the spell out of the air. It discharged in a shower of sparks, but Harry's wand was already in motion.

A Crucifixion Curse leapt forth, before he cut the wand across the body, launching a high-speed arc of silver steel. An Ice Spear came next, followed by a jet of acid. Each spell was chained together, one movement leading into the start of the next curse. The wood grew warm beneath his hand as a constant stream of magic poured forth.

Voldemort, however, was faster.

With ease he swung the whip of Dark energy back and forth, snapping every single curse, spell and conjuration from the air.

Unease clawed at Harry as he continued to cast, launching a Gullotine Curse, followed by a length of copper chain.

Thirteen years of exile had not dulled the potency of Voldemort's spell work. Spell or curse, solid or magic, the Coil of Darkness cut through every single attack, disintegrating the spells with ease. Time had taken nothing from the Dark Lord's reflexes.

With every cut of the black whip, he gained upon Harry's cast rate, all while striding forward with confident steps, closing the distance between them.

Forty feet.

Thirty.

Twenty.

Sweat covered every inch of Harry's skin as he panted with exertion, trying to increase the speed of his casting, but Voldemort gained ground far too quick. He slung a Blasting Curse, only to have the black coil swing out, snapping the spell out of the air. Stepping forward, Voldemort thrust the coil forward.

Harry threw himself to the ground, letting the thin whip pass over him. The Dark energy fizzled out as Voldemort discarded the coil, thrusting his wand forward. A mottled grey curse leapt from the wand, forcing Harry to roll backwards. The grass in front of him began to blacken and shrivel as Harry cut his wand upwards.

A stone marker rose from the ground, detonating as a Killing Curse struck it. A Cruciatus Curse burst through the dust cloud, just missing his arm. His senses flaring, Harry jumped into the air, conjuring a steel plate beneath his feet.

Just as the platform materialized, the ground beneath him split apart as spikes rocketed out of the earth. They struck the underside of the plate, throwing Harry up into the air. He thrust his wand forward, Banishing the air in front of him as Voldemort Vanished the conjured platform. The resulting impact flung him backwards several yards, out of the way of the spikes.

He landed hard on the ground, before swiping his wand across his body, batting Voldemort's Nightmare Curse off to the side. Wand at the ready, preparing for the next attack, Harry's breath caught in his throat at Voldemort turned his wand upon his forearm, flaying the white skin open. Bright red blood spilt from the clean slice, spilling onto the earth.

The liquid smoked as it hit the ground, scorching the surrounding grass. The drops coalesced, before the mass began to move, cutting a burning trail through the earth.

Right towards him.

Harry whipped his wand forward, slinging a Vanishing Spell, but it had no effect upon the red, acidic pool.

A smirk playing at the corner of his lips, the Dark Lord's wand became a blur of movement as he began casting a steady onslaught of quick, simple spells. Harry batted each curse off to the side, all as the burning trail crept closer.

Deflecting a Cutter, Harry swung his wand down, unleashing a torrent of water. The river turned to steam upon contact with the line of blood, throwing wafts of white vapor into the air.

Harry swore, bringing his wand up just in time to deflect a Bludgeoner. He began to sidestep away from the trail, only to have the burning line adjust its path to follow him.

"You've cost me my remaining servants," Voldemort stated in a conversational tone, all while continuing to cast. "Who are you?"

Harry ignored the question, darting around a tree. For a moment he thought himself safe, before the smell of burning wood struck his nostrils. In a flash of flames, the burning blood exited the tree's trunk. Mere feet away, he rolled to the side, landing upon his knees. Swatting away another curse, he rose to his feet, running as he put more distance between himself and Voldemort's arcane Blood Magic.

Time slipped away like sand through his fingers, but he couldn't risk getting caught by the blood trap. He dodged a Body-Bind, before cutting his wand through the air, trying to Transfigure the blood, but the fluid was static, unresponsive to his command.

"The blood of Salazar Slytherin flows within my veins. How could your feeble attempts hope to overcome such ancient blood, upon which the Wizarding world was founded?"

Not responding to Voldemort's taunts, Harry rolled to the side, letting the trail of blood pass by him. The blood fire began to curl back towards him as he deflected another spell, stepping behind a large marker.

Behind him, Avery's cooling body lay sprawled upon the ground, his right ankle mangled, his face frozen in horror. Inspiration striking him, Harry removed Avery's wand from his robes, before Tranfiguring the wood.

"I admit, you intrigue me enough to make an offer," Voldemort's voice rang out. "Throw down your wand, and I shall call off the Bloodfire. There is much we must discuss."

Scratching the final few figures into the wooden shaft, Harry stuffed the wand back into his robes, before backpedaling. As he did, the Bloodfire cut through Avery's lower body, setting the robes alight and severing his legs at the knees.

"I don't exactly trust you," Harry fired back, ducking behind another tree.

"What would you require of me, then? An Unbreakable Vow, perhaps?"

To his shock, Harry heard truth in the Dark Lord's voice. Did Voldemort forget that he had just slaughtered all of his Death Eaters?

Clarity came quickly, prompting him to shake his head. The Dark Lord's servants were mere tools to him, replaceable. The Horcruxes, however, he valued greatly. To have any of them compromised…

"Fine!" Harry replied, stepping out from behind the tree, his wand held loose between clenched fingers.

"A wise decision," said Voldemort, waving his wand a single time. The snaking red line in front of Harry stilled, tiny wisps of smoke rising from the scorched trail left in the Bloodfire's wake.

Stopped, but not cancelled noted Harry, seeing that the crimson mass still boiled and rolled.

"I will, however, require a vow from you," Voldemort said, his lipless mouth stretching into a cruel smirk. "For all I know, you picked up a wand from one of my many departed servants."

"I could have," conceded Harry, holding his wand out. "But if I did, why would I give up my own wand, and not the stolen one?"

"Perhaps to make your surrender more genuine," replied Voldemort.

Right as the sentence ended, Harry spun the wand in his hand, slinging a Killing Curse. Voldemort hissed in annoyance as he jerked his own wand up, levitating a marker into the green curse's path, the resulting explosion showering him with stone chips.

"Foolish wizard! There will be no mercy for you!" declared the Dark Lord, slicing open his other wrist. The blood spilled to the ground, forming another stream of Bloodfire, which streaked towards Harry.

The second trail cast, curses and hexes began to fly from Voldemort's wand. Harry parried them as fast as they came, taking a few steps towards the Dark Lord. Two separate lines of Bloodfire approaching him from either side, Harry waited until the last possible moment, before leaping to the side, deflecting a Madness Curse.

The twin streams of Bloodfire converged for a moment, before curving back towards Harry.

"Shite," swore Harry, hoping that the two streams would cancel one another out. He backpedaled away from the twin streams, blocking curses as he did. Deep weariness pulled at his muscles with every movement, every cut of his wand.

As much as he was fighting it, the hours were catching up.

Voldemort, sensing his prey's weakness, caught a second wind, increasing the speed of his casting. Taken aback by the renewed ferocity of the attack, Harry parried as fast as he could, being pushed backwards. The two thin streams rushing towards him, he leapt to the side, landing off balance. Blocking a Stunner, he tried to roll under a Cutter, but the curse took him in the left shoulder, spinning him around.

A Piercer struck his unprotected back, opening it. Pain exploded through his back as the impact drove him forward. Stumbling forward, he threw out his left hand, breaking his fall. The action threw flecks of blood forward, onto the approaching line of Bloodfire.

Upon contact, the cursed fire fizzled, before extinguishing itself.

"Impossible!" yelled Voldemort.

Harry seized his chance, wiping his left hand across the blood flowing from the wound in his back. He flicked his hand forward, into the path of the remaining stream of Bloodfire, dousing it with his blood.

Pain radiating from the hole in his lower back, blood seeping into his undergarments, Harry conjured a shield. A Waking Nightmare Curse rebounded off it, followed by a Shield Breaker. He dropped the shield, only to be caught by a Bludgeoner. The impact spun him around, sending him to the ground, face-first.

His hands a blur of motion, a Disarmer struck him. The spell ripped the wand from his grasp, taking scraps of skin with it, flinging his body backwards in a tangle of limbs.

"Who are you?" demanded Voldemort as he caught the maple wand in his left hand. Crimson eyes narrowed, he stalked forward, wand raised high. "How did you break the Bloodfire?"

Harry shook his head in negation, unwilling to reveal that their shared blood disrupted the curse.

"Crucio!"

A scream tore through the night as Harry thrashed on the ground, thousands of invisible razors flaying the flesh from his bones. For what seemed like hours he thrashed on the soft ground, before Voldemort cancelled the curse.

"Who are you? I will not ask again."

Every one of his nerves singing, Harry struggled to his feet, catching the Dark Lord's gaze. He took a deep breath, before opening his mouth.

"Activate."

The key phrase deployed, the runes upon Avery's Transfigured wand lit up for a fraction of a second, before detonating. Voldemort's chalk-white, clenched fist exploded in a rain of blood, vaporizing everything from the palm up.

Harry drew his real wand from within his robes, thrusting it forward.

The Dark Lord, clutching his mangled hand, only had time to widen his eyes before the Kinetic Hammer struck him in the chest. A chorus of cracks rang out as Voldemort was flung backwards, as if hit by a wrecking ball. His body bounced a single time against the ground before rolling down a hill, out of sight.

Blurred, grey shapes filling his vision, Harry fell to his knees. The world faded from view, shifting to black, before his left hand shot up, cracking against his cheek. He barely felt the blow, but it was enough to bring the world back into focus.

"Just a little fucking longer," he urged, reaching around to his back. His fingers found wet, sticky blood, with layers of dirt beneath it, before briefly dancing over a hole in his lower back the size of Galleon.

The wound was still bleeding.

"Pull it together, Potter," he urged, before he reaching around with his other hand. A small jet of flame shot from his wand, onto the wound site. He let out a strangled cry as the fire did its work, sealing the wound. He Vanished the flames clinging to his robes, before drawing the last Pepper-Up from his bandolier. The red potion was downed in a single gulp. Steam sprouted from his ears as strength flowed back into his limbs.

His left shoulder and scorched back both singing with pain, Harry jumped to his feet, wand held high. He pointed it towards a nearby willow tree, before cutting his wand back and forth across his body, the movements becoming more intricate with each wave.

Beads of sweat breaking out over his body, he completed the process just in time to see the Dark Lord appear at the top of the hill.

Voldemort looked as if he had taken a battering ram to the chest. The cavity had partially caved in, giving it a concave look. The dark fabric of his robes had been shredded, revealing a flat, pale chest through which broken and splintered ribs poked.

Yet despite the damage, the Dark Lord stood tall, his wand slashing through the air.

At Harry's command, the willow tree came to life. The thick greenery blotted out the moon as it descended upon Voldemort, trying to smash him into oblivion. He conjured a large physical shield before the branches obscured him. The wooden arms cracked upon the shield, showering green buds onto the ground.

Voldemort emerged from the verdant rain, unscathed by the tree. Desperate, Harry commanded two more branches to crush him, but Voldemort's wand was quicker, his spells cleaving the two appendages from the tree. A third wrapped itself around Voldemort. The Dark Lord tried to blast the limb apart, but the branch jerked upwards, sending his spell flying into the sky.

Before he could cast again, the branch slammed down upon the ground, driving Voldemort into the earth. A second limb followed, but a conjured physical shield took the blow, driving him deeper into the earth. The leaves obscured the Dark Lord, hiding him from view. The branch lifted up, before smashing down again. The physical shield shattered beneath the blow, driving his opponent further into the earth.

The exertion of the large-scale animation sapping a good deal of his new found energy, Harry stalked forward, flicking his wand up. The thick, heavy branch lifted from the ground, exposing what remained of the Dark Lord.

A set of dark robes lay on the ground. Stained, red appendages trailed from the holes in the fabric, as if the robes had been stuffed with raw hamburger. To the right of the squashed figure was a long, yew wand.

"Is…is he gone?" a quiet, hesitant voice asked from behind him. Harry whirled around, to see his younger self standing next to an open vault.

Conflicting emotions warred within at the sight of his past. A burning will to finish the work his sacrifices had made possible, and the lost, almost hopeful look in the teenager's eyes.

"Not yet," Harry replied, before turning back to the body. Physical trauma could hamper the Dark Lord, but until every bit of his soul had been destroyed, he was immortal. Though it was strange that the figure was still, as if…

The truth of the matter became evident quickly.

"Harry! Get back in the fucking vault!"

"No, I can help!" the teenager insisted, moving forward. Harry spun around, wand raised, his boots kicking up dirt. The flecks passed through the illusionary construct lying on the ground, causing the doppelganger to waver.

Visions of the end of his fifth year flooded Harry's mind. The memory of that night, in the Ministry Atrium, amidst the ruins of the demolished statues still stood out. He remembered the crippling pain which had coursed through his veins when Voldemort had possessed him, hoping to goad Dumbledore into killing his adversary.

A scenario Harry had no intention of repeating.

As if strewn by an invisible wind, his younger self was blown backwards. End over end he tumbled, back through the open door of the vault. For a moment, he saw the teenager land in a pile of tangled limbs upon the water-stained concrete floor, before the heavy door swung closed. Harry sealed it with a wave of his wand.

Feeble, barely audible blows rained down upon the door from the other side, but Harry ignored them, his eyes scanning the darkened grounds.

"Come on out, you bastard!" Harry screamed. With the end of his quest so close at hand, to have his longtime enemy hiding was infuriating beyond description.

"If you insist," mocked Voldemort, his high, cold voice piercing the air. Harry spun around, to see the thin, cloaked figure emerge from the shadows of a willow tree. The concavity of his chest had flattened out. A silver hand gleamed in the radiant moonlight, affixed to his left wrist.

"I liked your hand the other way," said Harry with a malicious grin. "It was more satisfying to look at."

Voldemort responded with a smirk of his own.

"I look forward to breaking you, fool. When I do-"

Harry interrupted the Dark Lord's spiel, lifting his wand up. A solid wall of earth rose from the earth, before being struck by a Hurricane Banisher, flinging the entire mass forward. The cloud swallowed Voldemort briefly, before it passed by him, the dirt directly in front of him Vanished.

"Avada Kedarva!"

Harry leaned to his right, thrusting his own wand forward. With a thunderclap a blue bolt of lightning leapt from his wand, tearing off towards Voldemort. His movements too quick to track, the Dark Lord swept his wand down. Without ever touching his body, the blue lightning curved around the tall, pale body, before racing back at Harry.

Left no time to cast a shield, he cut his wand down, Transfiguring a nearby bush into copper. The lightning veered off course, detonating the metallic construct in a bright flash. His eyes burning, Harry flung up his left arm, shielding his eyes.

A rain of copper shards peppered his body, perforating his arms, chest, face and legs. Before the pain could make its voice heard, Harry lowered his arm, to see a column of pure black energy racing towards him. Startled, he leapt back, to see the curse slam into the ground.

An explosion tore through the earth, throwing sod into the air. In its wake, the very air seemed to wax and wane, like heat distortions. He whipped his gaze towards Voldemort, to see that the Dark Lord was gripping his wand with both hands, his eyes narrowed, his face tightened in concentration.

Fear lit into Harry's heart as the distortion rippled, before tearing open. Reality itself split, admitting a mass of tentacles formed of pure darkness. In all directions the writhing silhouettes stretched, grasping for anything. Grass rotted and died upon contact, the life drained from the plant.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Harry whispered, unable to help himself. At his words, a tentacle rose into the air, before lashing out. He rolled under the dark shape, the ground quaking as the limb struck it. From his knees, he tore a marker from the ground, Banishing it at the nearest tentacle. The grey stone struck the inky black, disintegrating into dust.

"A trifle upsetting, aren't they?" mocked Voldemort, before letting out a cold, insane laugh.

Harry backpedaled away from the writhing mass. As he did, the tear in reality grew wider, admitting even more tentacles through. Without warning, an alien presence began to batter at his mental defenses, with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

A wave of revulsion washing over him, Harry raised his Occlumency barriers. The touch had been brief, but enough to feel as it his soul had been stained.

They were beings of malice, of hunger. They cared nothing for Voldemort, or for anything, only of spreading discord, and of prey. The worst of his memories flashed through his mind, pulling at his psyche.

The vampires tearing Wood limb for limb. Dumbledore being blasted from the topmost parapet of Hogwarts.

Blood and clumps of red hair sticking to the walls, at his beloved slumped to the ground…

A loud explosion tore through the air, tearing Harry from the gates of memory. Iron shrapnel pattered to the ground as the younger Harry merged from the twisted remains of the vault door, his wand held high. The teenager faltered at the sight of the darkened monstrousities, his eyes bulging with terror.

Staring into the face of sheer evil, clarity descended upon Harry. Anger flowing in his veins, he thrust his wand forward.

"Expecto Patromum!"

A brilliant silver light leapt from his wand, coalescing into a mighty stag. The form lowered its antlers, before charging at the writhing mass. Like shadows before the sun the tentacles fled, back through the rift.

A single cry of disgust mingled with fear blared through his mind, before the intrusive consciousness departed. The last two appendages pulled the tear back together, mending the wound in reality in a flash of light.

The magical backlash from the sudden closure threw Voldemort's arms back, leaving him defenseless for a moment.

All the time Harry needed.

With a sharp flick of his wand, the Dark Lord was lifted from the ground, before being slammed back into the earth, sending his wand flying. Harry cut his wand to the side, conjuring a Flamewhip as he advanced upon his helpless adversary.

Victory at hand, Harry felt a heavy force slam into his back. His wand was torn from his grasp as he toppled forward. He landed hard upon the ground, spinning around to face his parents' betrayer.

Bathed in moonlight, Peter Pettigrew stood tall, catching Harry's stolen wand in his left hand.

"My wand, Wormtail!" rasped Voldemort. The rat-faced man jumped at being addressed, before turning his attention to the narrow length of yew.

"Accio wand!"

Wormtail spun around as the fourteen year-old version of Harry Potter stepped out of the shadow of the vault. Pettigrew let out a curse, before launching a spell at the teenager. Harry jumped back behind a large marker, avoiding the spell and letting the wand fly past him, into the darkness.

"Wormtail! Get my wand!"

With a flick of Pettigrew's wand, the marker flew into the air, exposing the young wizard. The Death Eater's back to the elder Harry, he withdrew his silver knife, launching it at Wormtail.

Just as Pettigrew began to cast again, the knife, flying end over end, buried itself in the former Marauder's back. The squat man took a single, unbelieving look back at Harry, before falling to the ground, face first.

Hearing movement behind him, Harry turned, to see Voldemort scrambling towards his wand. With a curse, he scrambled after the Dark Lord, but within moments, his opponent had crossed the rest of the distance.

"Accio wand!"

Again, the teenager's yell echoed throughout the graveyard. Voldemort let out a hiss of frustration as the wand flew from the patch of grass.

"Give me the wand!" ordered Voldemort, his crimson eyes blazing. His green eyes wide, the younger Harry shook his head a single time. The Dark Lord took a single step towards the teenager, before whirling back around.

Harry's footsteps thudded on the damp grass as he charged towards Voldemort.

"Without a wand, a Muggle is scarier," mocked Harry, closing the final few feet.

Voldemort swung out wide with his silver hand. A smirk of triumph stretching across his face, Harry bent at the knees to duck under the blow. A band of steel-grey magic shot from the silver appendage, wrapping around Harry's exposed neck. He brought his hands up, but not in time to prevent the grey band from encircling his throat, cutting off his air.

Choked gasps filled the air as Harry clawed at the constricting force, but his fingers passed through the collar, as if it were insubstantial.

"A Muggle is scarier?" the Dark Lord repeated, shaking his head. "The mere thought is insulting."

Voldemort raised the silver hand upward, curling the fingers in a fraction of an inch. Harry tasted blood in the back of his throat as the bonds tightened, digging into the flesh of his throat.

He wanted to rage. He wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, to be so close to victory, only to have it snatched away by the most arcane of magics.

However, all he felt was panic as the black spots began to bloom in front of his eyes, growing larger and larger. He stumbled, before catching himself, knowing that if he fell, he may never rise again.

"Yes, there it is," Voldemort hissed, drawing close, so that the two enemies were a foot apart. "The horror, the hopelessness, the truth of it all. You will die tonight."

The Dark Lord shoved the silver hand forward, the palm connecting with the center of Harry's chest. A chorus of cracks echoed through the air as Harry was thrown backwards. Pain exploded in his chest as he landed upon the soft ground, the bonds around his throat disappearing.

Harry made a desperate attempt to leap to his feet, before falling back to the ground gasping, pulling in deep breaths of air. Despite the swelling in his chest, every inhale felt like heaven, a divine gift.

Soft footsteps falling upon the grass, Harry turned over, just in time to see a red spell rocket towards him, striking him in the chest. His legs and arms involuntarily snapped to either side of his body, so stiff they could have been encased in concrete.

Like a stalking cat Voldemort strode forward, a victorious grin stretching across his face.

"You see it now, do you not? How foolish it was to ever challenge me."

Helpless upon the ground, staring up at the Dark Lord's crimson, merciless eyes, Harry felt the approaching end. With every fiber of his being, he fought against it, trying to throw off the shackles of the Body-Bind.

To his shock, something gave.

Like brittle stone the spell began to crack beneath his will. With every inch of his consciousness he stretched, his magic grasped and tore at the binding. He didn't know, nor care, if the weak Body-Bind was due to the casting method, or the Dark Lord's fatigue, but given this one last chance, he had no intention of squandering it.

"You are far too dangerous of an opponent to let live," continued Voldemort, oblivious to Harry's struggles. "I do not think that you can be broken. You would gladly take your secrets, as well as mine, to the grave."

The Dark Lord knelt down beside Harry, and began reaching towards Harry's throat, the silver hand gleaming in the moonlight.

With one final mental heave, Harry broke the chains of the Body-Bind. The deadly grip inches from his face, he delivered a sharp kick to Voldemort's back. The blow knocked him to the ground, head first. Harry spun around, stomping upon the wrist connected to the silver appendage.

Voldemort thrashed against his wait, hissing with anger, but Harry bore down all of his weight on his left foot, pinning the arm. He dropped his body atop the thin, skeletal form, pinning him in place.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance," spat Harry, pressing his heel further into the wrist. The Dark Lord let out an angry hiss, but couldn't free his metallic hand, but succeeded in twisting his fingers enough to grasp the back of Harry's foot.

He tried to pull his foot away, but the silver fingers closed first, trapping his foot in the vise-like grip. A grunt of pain escaped his lips as Voldemort made a fist, the bones in his foot breaking with a low crunch. With a cry of anger, Harry threw an elbow into the back of the Dark Lord's head, driving it into the dirt.

The unexpected blow caused the silver fingers to open, allowing Harry to withdraw his crushed foot. He fell backwards, landing on his backside. Voldemort was up in a flash, slinging another spell from the silver hand. Harry rolled to his left, the attack missing by inches.

"I am getting annoy-"

Voldemort's words were cut off as Harry, pushing off the ground with his hands, landed a kick to the jaw of the pale fiend. The bone broke with a wet snap, sending the Dark Lord staggering backwards.

The weight of his left foot balanced on his toes, Harry leapt to his feet. He shuffled to the side, dodging another spell, before landing a swift sucker punch to Voldemort's midsection. The strike drove the air from his lungs, involuntarily keeling him over. Harry grabbed the back of Voldemort's hairless head, and brought it down into his rising knee.

The knee struck the Dark Lord in the center of his face, with a sound akin to a plate breaking. His opponent wavered on his feet, the crimson eyes cloudy, unfocused. Harry took the opportunity, shuffling forward on his broken foot. In a single movement, he kicked out Voldemort's legs, and drove the frail form into the ground.

A loud crack echoed through the night as Voldemort's unprotected back slammed into a worn stone marker poking from the grass. Harry landed atop him, before rolling off to the side. Spinning his head around, expecting another attack, he saw that the Dark Lord had not moved.

The pale, bald head threw itself from side to side, angry, incoherent hisses escaping his shattered jaw, his crimson eyes blazing with hatred. Both his arms and legs remained, however, remained stationary, motionless.

The Dark Lord had been paralyzed.

Every inhalation painful, Harry pushed himself into a sitting position, his back supported by a nearby tree.

"I got you, you bloody bastard," he whispered.

There was still more to do, including the hardest part of all, but the dust had settled, and it was he who remained.

With a hiss of pain, he reached around his neck, withdrawing the brass watch. Both the minute and hour hand held shy just short of a vertical position.

Ten minutes remained.

A loud explosion tore through the air, ripping him from his muted elation. Iron shrapnel pattered to the ground as the younger Harry merged from the twisted remains of the vault door, his wand held high.

From the shadows the younger Harry emerged, his wand held high. Green eyes wide with fear regarded the shrieking, spitting form of the Dark Lord.

"He's beyond hurting anyone right now, save for their ears," Harry said. At his word, the teenager's gaze darted towards him, before refocusing on Voldemort. The fear departed as the teenager's eyes narrowed. He drew his wand back, before spearing it forward.

"Stupefy!"

The spell cut off the Dark Lord's cries, restoring blessed silence to the graveyard.

"Thanks," Harry said with a grimace. Aside from his broken ribs, his crushed foot throbbed like a rotted tooth, while the dozens of deep cuts across his body stung.

At once the teenager swung his wand around to Harry, the tip shaking.

"Who are you?"

Ignoring the query, Harry reached around his neck, reaching to tuck the pocket watch back into his robes.

"Don't move!" his younger self ordered, his eyes wild.

"You sure you want to point that thing at me?" asked Harry, leveling his gaze at the younger version of himself. To his credit, the teenager bore the cold stare well, refusing to drop his eyes.

"You tried to kill me! What am I supposed to think!"

Harry let out a deep sigh, showing nothing of the deep sorrow welling within him. Even with Voldemort defeated, he was forced to sink of these depraved levels? Capitalizing upon the gullibility of youth?

"I also saved you," Harry pointed out after a moment's pause, never dropping his gaze.

Unsure of himself, the Triwizard Champion shuffled his feet.

The last remnants of his morality screaming out in horror, Harry raised his hand towards his face.

"Don't move!" repeated the teenager, his wand trained upon Harry's chest.

"If you're going to curse me, just do it," he replied without slowing.

The wand shaking within his clenched first, the teenager made no attempt to stop Harry as he lifted the fringe of ragged, matted black hair covering his forehead.

His younger self let out an unbelieving gasp, taking a step backward. As he did his hand rose up, tracing the outline of the lightning bolt shaped scar.

Harry said nothing, letting the sight do all of his speaking.

"Wh…where are your glasses?" the teenager finally asked.

The question caught Harry by surprise, eliciting a dry chuckle.

"A friend fixed my eyes, so I'd never need them again. Glasses will always pick the worst time to fog up."

"It…it doesn't go well, does it?" the young teenager asked after a moment's silence.

Harry reinforced his mental shields before replying, giving no hint to the turmoil raging within his mind.

"No, it doesn't. At the end of my Fourth Year, I was taken to this same graveyard. After placing Cedric under the Imperius, they imprisoned me. Wormtail took Polyjuice containing my hairs, before going back to Hogwarts, and killing Dumbledore when he turned his back."

"No!" exclaimed the teenager, his eyes widening.

"Within two years, the Ministry fell. And that was just the beginning."

"I…I don't believe it," he said, shaking his head. "How-"

"My time is short," interrupted Harry. "So listen to me: Thirteen years ago, as a child, you destroyed Voldemort's body, yet his spirit remained, allowing him to live on. The Dark Lord split his soul into seven pieces, encasing them with objects called Horcruxes."

"Horcruxes?"

The revulsion in the teenager's voice was unmistakable.

"Horcruxes, just like the one you destroyed using the basilisk's fang. While even one remains, Voldemort is immortal. In the future, they were scattered, impossible to find, but here…"

"Did – did you get them all?"

His heart growing heavy, Harry shook his head.

"There is one left," he replied, before motioning towards Wormtail's dead body, and the wand clasped within his left hand. "My foot is crushed though, and I need to fix that first."

"Oh – okay!" the teenager responded, summoning Harry's wand, before handing it to him. "So where's the last one? What is it?"

"You."

The teenager's eyes narrowed in confusion, before transitioning to panic. Betrayal in his gaze, he began to lift his wand, but Harry was far quicker.

"Avada Kedavra!"

As if in slow motion, his fourteen year-old self slumped to the ground. His open, glassy eyes bored into Harry, penetrating his soul.

What little of it remained.

"I…I'm so sorry," he whispered, staring at the frail, black-robed figure. His stony heart ached, the magnitude of his betrayal weighing down upon him. He had used the gullibility of youth, and used it against a defenseless child.

If this hadn't damned him, nothing would.

"I…I have an offer for you," a high voice croaked, the words distorted. Harry turned towards the Dark Lord, his eyes burning with rage. The thin, papery lips began to move further, but the sound was blotted out by the blood roaring in his ears.

Harry whipped his wand at Voldemort, before jerking it backwards. The lower part of the Dark Lord's jaw tore away from the rest of his face, before being casually tossed aside. Blood poured from the wound, revealing a thin, forked tongue which hung down like a deflated balloon.

"I'm not interested," Harry said. His lower jaw missing, Voldemort began to slobber, dripping saliva and blood onto the ground, but Harry turned from the sight.

His job was almost done.

What was one more betrayal?

Closing his eyes, Harry brought up his wand, pressing it into the hollow between his shoulder and neck, before casting.

X-X-X-X-X-X -|- X-X-X-X-X-X -|- X-X-X-X-X-X

The Elder Wand clattered to the floor, bouncing a single time rolling to the side, landing next to Ginny's pale, freckle-splotched hand.

Tears brimming in his eyes, Harry fell to his knees, grasping her hand, trying not to see the wreckage of her head, half of it ragged, bloody.

"…Harry…"

As if awakening from a deep slumber, Ginny's remaining eye opened, the warm brown orb rolling in its socket, seeking him out.

"I…I'm so sorry," Harry stuttered, shocked that she was still capable of speech with half her head missing.

"We…we all fucked up," she croaked, her mouth forming into a wistful smile. "Murphy's Law in action."

She let out a small giggle, squeezing his hand back.

"I could have saved us all," he said, a lump forming at the back of his throat.

"And nothing I could say would have changed that," Ginny said, letting go of his hand. She reached up, effortlessly, and caressed his cheek. "Same old Harry. You'll never rest until he's gone, will you?"

"I won't," agreed Harry. "If I have to tear the world apart-"

"Stop," Ginny ordered, the gaze of her single eye growing hard. "You can't lower yourself to his level. What good is victory if you become just as bad as him?"

"Ginny…"

He trailed off, not knowing how to finish the thought. Can you lie to someone in the final moments of their life? Don't they deserve better?

Harry held no illusions. With only twelve hours, he was going to be forced to take every unsavory shortcut available to complete the task in time.

"This may be war, Harry, but…what was it Dumbledore said? The most important thing is choosing between what is right and what is easy?"

Harry nodded. It didn't matter that the words were incorrect, only their meaning held importance.

"Promise me, Harry."

"I…I promise."

"Good," replied Ginny, satisfied. She lowered her hand to the ground, before violent shivering began to wrack her petite frame.

"It's so cold, Harry. Hold me."

Tears leaking from his eyes, Harry did so. With the greatest of care he cradled her body, as if she were made of china.

"Mmm, this is better," she said, her voice fading as she closed her eyes. "Do you remember the end of our Sixth Year, when we'd spend those spring afternoons just like this, down by the shore."

"Those were the best days of our life," Harry choked out.

"They…they were. L-l-look…in…my…pocket…"

There was no dramatic build-up, no climatic final words. One moment Ginny is telling him to look in her pocket, the next she is still, holding in her final breath.

Openly weeping, Harry placed one final, bloody kiss upon her freckled forehead.

"I'm so sorry," he said, unable to articulate the depth of his sorrow, his regret. Blood staining his hands, Ginny's final words ringing in his mind, he reached into her robes. Cold metal, a chain of some sort, met his hand.

Five years ago, upon Bill Weasley's untimely death at the hands of Fenrir Grayback, a grieving Fleur had given a simple brass pocket watch to Charlie Weasley. The last of the Weasley family heirlooms, it had traveled from son to son, eventually entrusted to sole remaining Weasley.

Ginny.

"I'm going to make it right," he promised, before reaching out. He closed Ginny's glazed eye with his palm, before setting the watch aside. His vision blurry, he conjured a white cloth, draping it over her frail form.

"And then none of this will happen."

His heart heavy in his chest, he turned away from Ginny's body, casting a Cleansing Charm over his face. With crimson hands he picked up the pocket watch.

With a hand that bore the scars of his twenty-seven tumultuous years on this planet, Harry Potter wiped away the blood which had splattered onto the brass pocket-watch with a heavily calloused thumb. It streaked upon the glass, but revealed a few of the Roman numerals placed around the circumference of the watch's face.

Perhaps a Cleansing Charm would have been more efficient, but this was a moment that Harry knew he needed to remember, one that could not simply be wiped away with a casual wave of a wand.

If he was going to have any hope of succeeding, he would need to remember what he was fighting for.

And why.

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A mighty cracked echoed through the night air as Harry appeared on a familiar property fringing Ottery St. Catchpole. For a few agonizing seconds he hobbled, putting his weight upon his shattered left foot. Beneath his weight, the pain radiating from his foot multiplied ten-fold, temporarily blotting out the agony from the numerous other wounds.

With a grunt, he fell backwards, his back colliding with an ancient oak tree. Bereft of grace, he slid down the rough bark to a sitting position.

Tall grass grew in front of him, before the ground sloped downward. The smooth, black silk surface of the pond lapped against the bottom of the shallow decline. Upon the dark canvas a luminous moon shone, a perfect replica of the one hanging in the night sky.

Across the water, cloaked by dusk, stood the only place that had ever felt like home to him.

The Burrow.

The fight was over. He had won, but the cost had been incalculably high. What price could you attach to someone's soul?

When the green light had snuffed out his younger self's life, he had forfeited all claim to it. Though his time was short now, evidenced by not only the dwindling seconds on the watch face, but by the curse burning through his chest, he was well aware that if indeed there was some sort of existence after death, his would be of agony, of torture.

Every moral boundary that he had crossed, every innocent person that he had sacrificed in the name of defeating Voldemort…

He would pay for every one.

None more so than the last.

The depth of his betrayal was intractable. Perhaps he could have let Voldemort kill his younger self, and spared him the burden of such a decision, but to let the Dark Lord himself make such a decision…

No, absolutely not.

Better to be damned than to allow Voldemort to succeed in his goal. If his younger self was indeed supposed to die, let it be for the sake of the greater good, than in the name of conquest.

There was more to think about, more to second-guess, none more than his final plan to dispose of Voldemort, but he let them go easily. His thoughts were graying around the edges, fading. The end was near.

All that remained was one final task.

In slow motion, as if walking on the bottom of the sea, he began to raise his right arm up. His muscles fought every step of the way, resisting his brain's commands. A quarter of the way off the ground, his arm stopped, unable to rise any higher.

With the determination that had gotten him through the previous twelve hours, he tried to fight against the exhaustion, but it was too strong. Like a tidal wave, it took him under.

His arm, covered in deep gashes, fell back to the soft earth. The bloodstained fingers, tightly clasped around the handle of his wand, loosed one by one, dropping the wand to the ground.

In his deteriorating state of mind, Harry didn't notice.

"Well, I guess that isn't happening," he slurred, his vision growing dark. He had planned to take himself out with a Killing Curse, ridding the world of Voldemort's last remaining Horcrux.

Though it was possible that he wasn't connected to this Voldemort, it was not a chance he was willing to take.

"Not that it matters anymore."

As his voice faded into the darkness, he heard the slight tick as the minute hand passed the twelve.

One minute remained.

Croaker had never known what would happen when time ran out. The Big Combination had never been tested. For all Harry knew, the future he came from didn't exist anymore, and he would be dropped into inexistence. Or perhaps the universe he had come from had been torn in half by the waves of the paradox he had created.

"I…I j-j-just d-don't know," Harry concluded, his eyelids growing heavy. Cold descended over his body, settling into his bones. It obliterated the pain radiated forth from the self-inflicted wound in his shoulder, forcing it into the background.

In the silence of the night, the watch ticked off its final minute with a click, the sound deafening. It rolled across the water, announcing its arrival with great fanfare.

Midnight had fallen.

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Author Notes:

The end is almost here. Only the epilogue stands in the way of finally being able to label this story as 'Complete'.

If the end seems somewhat fragmented in terms of plot progression, it is. There is missing time between when Harry casts a spell on himself, and when he arrives at The Burrow. The particulars will be cleared up in the epilogue.

I don't know when the epilogue will surface. I'm nailing down the details right now, but may opt to finish the next chapter of 'Ouroboros' before starting the epilogue. After working on this finale chapter for over a month, I'm a bit worn out on this story.

The concept of 'Bloodfire' was first conceived by jbern, in his wonderful story 'Bungle in the Jungle'. So I thank him for allowing me to borrow the concept.

Thanks to Grinning Lizard (who spilled scotch all over his keyboard while beta'ing this), Mira Mirth, Nuhuh, and Swimdraconian for their valuable help with the planning stages of this chapter.

Thanks to Liron Aria and Princess Serine for their valuable beta work on this chapter.

As always, I value feedback very highly, and urge readers to review. Even a simple 'liked it' or 'it sucked' is usually enough to coerce me into coming back to the computer. The huge response to the previous chapter kept me coming back to writing when all I wanted to was rest after yet another long day at work.

DLP Thanks:

T3t, Einstern, samkar, Provis, CheddarTrek, Jarik, Violent Red, Portus, Euro, Sooner90, Basilisk, Vtigo, blazzano, Xantam, mknote, Eidolonic, Inert, Celestin, TheWiseTomato, Garden, Fardeki, animekingmike, klackerz, djbe, bugler, pirazy, azrael, DarkShadowPhoenix