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The New Dawning

Chapter Nineteen: Her End

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February 21, 2000

Harry slammed a book shut in frustration, still coming up empty. They'd been searching for tracking charms for three hours, but it felt like thirty years.

"Calm down," Paul murmured, rubbing Harry's shoulder. A small pile of guilt built up in the pit of Harry's stomach – he'd barely paid any attention to Paul or, indeed, Teddy in what seemed like forever. Turning, Harry couldn't quite erase the scowl from his face as he muttered,

"I can't."

"Why not?" Paul hummed, tugging Harry up out of the chair. "You need to."

"It's Hermione. I can't just..." Harry pulled on his hair in frustration, slipping away from Paul. "I need to find her, Paul, I need to!"

Ron, across the room, was also tense. A book whizzed past Harry's head, slamming against the wall, and he turned to watch Ron pull another book off the pile.

"Don't you guys, like, have a wizarding internet or something?" Paul demanded, getting a lost look from Ron and a tired one from Harry.

"No."

"Well calm down a little, I'm sure you're just overlooking it," Paul snorted, turning away. "I'm going to go play with Teddy."

Teddy was looking up at him from behind the child barrier on the second floor, face contorted into a pout. Paul snagged him up and sauntered into the kid's bedroom.

"Let's see, got any G.I. Joes? I used to love those things. The hell is this?" Paul asked, picking up a box that read 'dragons' on the front. He opened it up, and inside were writhing little...creatures. "You keep dragons in your room? Naughty, naughty," he teased.

Teddy stuck his fingers in the box happily, grabbing at a palmful of the squirming (hopefully) toys. One was red and he pointed at it.

"China!"

"China?"

"China!"

"He means Chinese," a soft voice said from behind the duo. Paul turned to see Harry smiling wryly. "Sometimes you take better care of Teddy than I do. That's a Chinese Fireball."

"These are real?"

"They're just scale models of the actual creatures," Harry responded, tugging a Hungarian Horntail out of the box. When all the dragons were on the floor, Paul could see that the bottom of the box was meant to be a city. The dragons were bigger than all of the cars.

"Scale models, you say?"

"Oh yeah. They're loads bigger than this," Harry chuckled, tossing an Estonian Waterwalker at Paul. "Those guys are my favorites. Waterwalkers. Only peaceful dragon you'll ever meet."

Ron, from upstairs, screamed for Harry. Harry looked torn, and then placed the dragon on the ground. Paul sighed, watching his boyfriend leave with a worried look.

When he got up thirty minutes later, sleepy Teddy in the crib across the room, to go find Harry – neither he or Ron were in the house.

– – –

"What, Ron?" Harry demanded, looking at his frantic best mate and the Auror he was talking to.

"Mr. Potter, sir!" The Auror saluted.

"Stand down. Ron?"

"They know where Hermione is, Harry. Bellatrix has her in Diagon Alley."

– – –

"Inconspicuously," Ron ordered, looking at his team. Knowing that his wife was only a block away from him was making it quite hard to hold still. "Remember your wards. Go."

He watched the Aurors pair up and run off. Ron wasn't stupid enough to believe he could ward Diagon Alley without Bellatrix noticing – so instead they were warding the entire three-block radius around Diagon Alley, making it impossible for the woman to escape by any means except running.

And hell would he have an army waiting for her then.

"Level three, Jenkins!" he hissed at the stout Auror, reminding him to up the wards to the highest level. It was extremely hard to get through a Level Three anti-apparition ward – the only time he'd seen someone do it, they'd splinched their whole leg off and died in the process. If Bellatrix got through alive, she deserved to live.

Except not really.

It was taking all of his concentration not to just run right in and get himself killed or alert Bellatrix to the fact they were warding the city. This was Harry's fight – the only thing that was Ron's was the prize. And heaven help Harry if the 'prize' wasn't breathing at the end.

"I'm going in," Harry stated boldly once the anti-apparition wards were up. "Keep warding. Any wards you can think of really. Just be inconspicuous."

"Good luck, mate."

"I'm going to need it."

– – –

Bellatrix glared around at all of the frightened civilians, trying not to sneer. Sneering wasn't frightening. "Is ickle Harry Potter not going to show his baby face?" she taunted. "Too much a coward to defend his dearest friend from the evil Lady Be-"

"Shut your hole, Bellatrix."

She jumped.

The Alley went quiet.

How had the brat gotten inside without her noticing? A trickle of fear set in to her bones, somehow she knew this would be the last fight between the two of them – this must have been what her Master felt like on the eve of his death. Excited, nervous, and just a bit proud.

And, really, pride would always be the downfall of humanity, wouldn't it?

"Let her go and face me like a woman, Bellatrix."

She's six inches taller than him without shoes, but wearing her signature death-trap boots, she's a goot foot taller. She's not afraid and somehow terrified at the same time.

Hermione Granger is flung to the side and Bellatrix turns, facing Harry Potter straight on.

"This is the end, Potter. You will close your eyes for the final time today," she hissed, wand raising.

"Right, okay," Harry played along. "But first, answer me this.

"What is your motivation? Because, really, you must have one. Revenge? If you haven't noticed, Voldemort's dead. He won't be opening his eyes anymore, either. The measly followers who are supporting you are even starting to back down."

Bellatrix whirled on spot, and sure enough – only six men remained, looking horrified to be there themselves.

"You murdered my Master, Potter, I need no more motivation than that."

"Oh, boo-hoo," Harry snickered sarcastically. "And you murdered my godfather. And his cousin, and her husband, and his father-in-law, and countless many others. You think that's not motivation enough for this whole Alley to turn on you? Bella, I think you might not have noticed your last mistake."

She didn't answer, but she didn't need to. He kept on speaking anyways.

"You holed yourself up in a small area with dozens of people who want to murder you. You didn't take any precautions to get you out of here. I have one thing left to say."

Potter is looking like a hero, like one of those sickening people who stand up before a crowd of people – a motivator? She swears she can see him pull himself up another three inches and suddenly she feels tiny, more afraid than she'd ever been.

"This is paybacks."

Curses come from every direction and she's helpless. She spots the faces in the crowd: little Neville Longbottom, stoic and steady, wand held out as if he was always meant to do this. A sixty-year-old man whose wife she killed ages ago. Twin girls orphaned at a young age because of a fire she set. Hermione Granger, standing with her bloody lip, a wand – not her own – held in the arm forever scarred "MUDBLOOD."

In the midst of them all, Harry Potter – world-weary, skinny little baby Potter – looking so extremely sad that she couldn't stand it.

She screamed.

Because Potter had won and she'd learned her lesson, but too little, too late.

You don't mess with Harry Potter.

And suddenly, just then, she knew: those were Voldemort's last thoughts.

The curse came from someone she'd never set eyes on before, a taste of her own medicine. It was green, the same green she'd seen sprouting from her wand so many times in the past. But she wasn't allowed that peaceful death. One of the twin girls sent a cutting curse her way – badly aimed, or extremely accurately aimed, whichever you choose. It sliced right across her jugular, severing, and she went down.

The Killing Curse missed.

Bellatrix bled out.