I'd like to thank brianna-xox, fredfred and Otium for betaing. They improved the story a lot.
Chapter 23: The Final Fragment
The Weald, Kent, Britain, October 2nd, 1999, 08.21 hours
Tom hadn't been as weakened by Severus's efforts as he had hoped and expected, Albus Dumbledore had realised shortly after the two had started to duel. And the Dark Lord weathering his own assault by using metal shields, then counter-attacking when Albus spent a bit too long trying to transfigure the shields - without success - proved it further. Those shields weren't conjured metal, he realised out, but an illusion laid upon a variant of a Shield Charm. Clever, indeed. After stopping the first volley of curses with some quick Conjuration, Albus switched targets, transfiguring the earth around Voldemort as he had done before, even though that hadn't been as effective as he had hoped for. So far.
Not that he had the time to truly appreciate his enemy's guile, not with green Killing Curses flying at him in the midst of other dark curses. A wave of his wand raised a wall of earth, which blew up, stopping the last volley - but for the curse that flew high above and sent acid raining down on him, barely stopped by Albus's Shield Charm. He managed to send the acid to the side with a Water-Making Spell, hitting one of the last remaining abominations he could see, and dodged to the side while the acid ate into the dead skin and flesh.
Unlike many of his followers, the Dark Lord was very skilled in battle, and aware of how often indirect attacks were the key to victory. Though, Albus thought with pride possibly unbecoming the occasion, Tom had never even come close to mastering Transfiguration on his own level. Nor, he mused as he turned debris near the Dark Lord into animated wolves charging his inhuman opponent, then transfigured more of the topsoil, had Tom ever mastered Alchemy. While the wolves were destroyed with rapid curses, each of them no more powerful than needed, Albus turned the ground beneath his enemy into tar, then animated the sticky mass in an attempt to engulf the Dark Lord.
Tom countered by flying up, evading the grasping tendrils of tar that would not let go without the proper solvent, and blew up those that followed him. His own storm forced him to the side though, and Albus managed to shatter the man's shield with his curses. Before he could exploit that opportunity though, he was forced to protect himself against another wave of curses that left the very earth around him corrupted and sizzling with unnatural poison while the Dark Lord found cover on the ground.
Albus was out of breath by now, and his robe was in tatters, ripped sleeves hanging from limbs that were hurting from the effects of barely-countered curses. Yet he would go on. Had to go on. He just had to hold on, and hope his plan was working. Hope Severus had not spilled that last secret.
The Dark Lord Voldemort rolled out from behind the conjured wall that had shielded him from Dumbledore's last attack a second before it turned into steaming poison that splashed his former position. The old man was not quite as desperate as Voldemort had thought. He'd fall anyway. And even if the unthinkable happened, the Dark Lord would return. He was immortal!
He stood up and thrust his wand at the old wizard. A rippling wave shot out from its tip, shooting forward, trailing a dark red line dripping with corruption behind it. His enemy twisted away, but to no avail - Voldemort flicked his wrist, and the spell turned, weaving a pattern around Dumbledore. No Bubble-Head Charm would protect against this dark curse. He barely noticed the very earth rotting away, creating dark holes, wherever the dark red drops fell. All that counted was to destroy his enemy.
The spell turned again, under his control. Even the storm's fury couldn't break it, couldn't prevent him from cutting his enemy off from the sky. Dumbledore was now caught in a web, and could neither run nor fly. Another twist of his wand sent the spell down, straight at the wizard. Victory was…
His arm started to sink, the spell following, too early, veering off-course, and slamming into the ground, instead of Dumbledore. He forced his arm up, but too late - the spell's force had been spent on rotting a patch of earth instead of his enemy. No matter, the web was still there. Dumbledore was still trapped!
Sluggishly, the Dark Lord raised his wand. Aimed it. Panting, he shouted with all his hatred: "Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!"
The two curses flew straight at the old wizard - until they were stopped by the very web he had woven. How…He blinked, his vision flickering. Why couldn't he move faster…
Albus Dumbledore let out a relieved sigh when he saw Voldemort sink to the ground. That had been close - too close. If he hadn't been able to coat the cursed web with a transfigured substance that hardened… He carefully stepped around the scattered remains of Tom's curse, and started to walk towards the fallen Dark Lord. The storm was still raging above, but on the ground its force was not enough to hinder him, not behind his Shield Charm.
A crippled monster was stuck in a patch of stone to Albus's left, futilely trying to break the transfigured earth, and a quick Fire Whip tore it apart. Nearby lay the remains of a member of the Order - the shredded remains of the blood-soaked robe covering the mangled body were neither brown nor black - but he couldn't tell who it had been. He knew only that another friend had fallen in this war.
A war he was about to end.
Voldemort was on the ground, but still moving when Albus reached him. He wasn't able to lift a wand though, and he was moving at a snail's pace. Still, it was remarkable, given the amount of poison in the air and on the ground he was lying in. Poison tailored to affect snakes, and only snakes. And, in this case, half-snakes.
Tom's mouth was moving, his inhuman face warped with rage, but if he managed to say any words, the wind's roar made it impossible to hear them. Though Albus might try to read lips later, in a pensieve. The old wizard flicked his wrist and the Dark Lord's wand vanished. His foe's eyes widened - had he thought Albus would risk dark curses for a trophy? Gellert had taught him to expect such traps.
Tom bared his teeth - were those fangs? - and hissed. He was probably wondering why he was still alive. Maybe he was realising that Albus knew about his Horcruxes. Albus didn't care. Not now. He pulled out a vial from his robe's interior pocket and aimed his wand. The wand that had now felled two Dark Lords.
A flick later, the contents of the vial had been spelled onto the Dark Lord's form, and, where they touched it, the skin hardened, white changing into a dull grey, the effect spreading.
"It is quite astonishing what an alchemist can create with Basilisk blood," Albus said as Tom turned to stone in less than a minute. A swish of his wand, and the stone figure shrank.
Now he had just to find Harry.
Wand-Leader Hermione sent a few more curses at the burning body of Lestrange when she saw it fly through the air towards Harry, only relenting when she realised that the dark witch was truly dead. Then she whirled around. Dean!
She raced towards her fallen friend. He didn't look that hurt. No missing limbs, no pool of blood, no guts spread around him. But his eyes… She clenched her teeth. Dean was dead.
She wanted to scream, to rage, but controlled herself. Ron reached her, gasping at the sight.
"There are still enemies!" she yelled, turning to the wall that had shielded them from the other Death Eaters. Her Blasting Curse ripped a large hole into it, revealing the battle that was raging on the other side between the Dark Lord's followers and the Wands that had charged them to relieve Hermione and her group - all of whom were dead now but for her.
She aimed her wand at a Death Eater who had been struck down by the blast of her spell, and blew his chest out with a Reductor Curse before he managed to get up. Ron killed another with a pair of Cutting Curses. A spell flew past them, blasting a crater in the middle of the enemy line. Harry had joined them. One of the moving victims of his spell jerked when Ginny peppered him with Piercing Curses.
Hermione was already casting again, turning the earth beneath the dark wizards into mud. They were breaking now. They had probably realised that Lestrange was dead. Killed. The Wand-Leader smiled cruelly. A routed foe was a dead foe if they could not apparate, portkey, or fly away. The scum were trapped!
She saw the Wands now, one team moving to cut off the fleeing enemies, another pushing forward, towards her. One Death Eater, casting wildly, stumbled into her mud field, his leg disappearing in the morass up to his thigh. He tugged on it, then twisted his upper body around, raising his arms. Her Bludgeoning Curse smashed his mask into his face, breaking both, before she could tell if he had been about to surrender, or hex her.
Another enlarged a broom while running. He even managed to straddle it before Ron's Blasting Curse blew him off, and Harry finished him off with a Fire Whip. Hermione aimed at the next Death Eater, but that one was already falling, guts trailing behind. She couldn't see any other enemies. Not even with her Human-presence-revealing Spell. And there were the Wands who had come to her rescue. Keavan's team. She forced herself to smile, even though she had lost her own team. "Thank you."
The older Wand-Leader grinned, mirthlessly. "I thought you were lost when we saw Lestrange. The others?"
She shook her head, and he muttered a curse under his breath. "Let's move up the hill. We need to link up with the rest!"
She nodded. "How's Sarah doing?"
"Surrounded but holding," Keavan said.
"Sirius!" Harry's yell told her he had heard the Wand-Leader as well. "We need to help them!"
Hermione expected the other Wand-Leader to say something sarcastic, but Keavan just turned to his team and yelled. "Make certain all enemies are done for, then form up - we need to move!"
"Let's go," Ron said, next to her.
She nodded. Benjamin and his team would be with Sarah, as would Sally-Anne. Her last close friends among the Wands. She'd not lose them as well.
Unlike Harry, Ron Weasley didn't mutter a curse when the Wands took a minute to form up. He was worried for Sirius as well, and the twins, but he knew rushing out wouldn't help anyone right now. Instead, he said: "Mate… the Wand-Commander has the best troops with her. We made it, they'll be fine."
"Unless Voldemort attacks them," Harry muttered.
Ron would have liked to say that Dumbledore would take care of the Dark Lord, but couldn't. Before he could utter another comforting half-lie, the Wand-leader - Keavan, Hermione called him - gave the order to advance.
Four Wands moved in front, forming a rough screen, two more stayed in the rear, Ron's group and the rest in the middle. Ron hadn't been in a war before, or such a large battle, but he could see the ease with which the group moved in formation.
Hermione transfigured a stone path. "Just to prevent underground ambushes," she said to Keavan, who nodded. Ron remembered his old sergent in the Gendarmérie Magique. The man would have yelled at the witch about casting without orders, despite the good sense shown.
They reached the hill easily enough without further combat, then started to move towards the last known position of Sarah and Sirius. The storm was still roaring, so there was no way to fly and get an aerial view - though Harry almost tried it anyway. Ginny held him back, but more by her insisting that she'd come with him if he flew up, or so Ron thought, than by any sensible argument.
It soon became apparent that the Wand-Commander's forces hadn't moved - flashes of spells were visible, as well as smoke from fire and explosions, right where they were expected. And then the smoke cleared for a moment, and Ron could see about two dozen of the abominations and a dozen Death Eaters assaulting conjured earthen fortifications. But Ron didn't see Voldemort.
"They've dug in," Keavan yelled, "let's relieve them!"
The group charged ahead. Ron wasn't too keen on attacking an enemy who had triple their numbers, but at least the Death Eaters would be shaken, caught between two forces. The monsters though… He clenched his teeth together and stuck close to Hermione.
They were spotted just before they were in effective range for spells, but it was so close that the Death Eaters couldn't react quickly enough to meet them with an organised force. Blasting Curses scattered them further, leaving one of the dark wizards dead on the ground, his lower body shredded, and another crawling with broken limbs.
Green Killing Curses met the charging Wands, but they were hastily aimed, and missed or were dodged. Keavan's force was casting as fast as they could, it seemed, to keep the enemy off-balance. Another difference to the Gendarmes, Ron knew - they were trained to not risk hurting bystanders with stray spells. But here, in the middle of the largest battle he had ever taken part in, he too let loose, casting with wild abandon, sending curse after curse at the dark wizards.
One dark wizard tried to rally them - at least that was what his gestures looked like, to Ron; the storm made understanding anything at that distance impossible. It didn't work though - all the man accomplished was drawing attention, and he quickly died in a crossfire from half a dozen Wands. That broke the rest of the wizards and witches.
But even as the Death Eaters started to flee, or die, the creatures they had with them turned around and charged. Ron didn't know if they had been ordered to, or simply felt that they were easier targets than the Wands and Order members inside the field fortifications. He didn't care either, he was too busy trying to stay alive.
Hermione once more transfigured the ground in front of them into mud, but most jumped over, and came at them with a leaping gait. Harry cut two apart with a Fire Whip, setting the remains on fire, and Ginny slammed one back with a Bludgeoning Curse, but there were too many to stop them all.
One of Keavan's team had advanced a bit too far, chasing a fleeing Death Eater, and found himself cut off by three monsters, and cut down soon after. Hastily conjured walls gave the group a quick reprieve, allowing Hermione to transfigure more mud holes behind the walls, which caught two of the creatures jumping over the walls. Another two were blown back by Keavan and his remaining team, while the other team secured their flanks.
Or tried to - the creatures were enveloping them, Ron realised. Circling around. His Severing Curse stopped one, but two more sped on, then turned towards him. Hermione held one off with a Sticking Charm when it touched the stone path she had created. The other pounced. Ron nailed it with a Cutting Curse, but missed its inhuman head, then dived to the side, evading the monster's claws.
Hermione fell back, her shield absorbing a swipe from the monster's hind leg, and then Ginny and Harry blew the thing to pieces. Pieces that were still moving, and had to be set on fire. As soon as the other monsters were dealt with.
Two more climbed over the wall in front. One jumped down, and sank to its hips in the mud, but the other noticed, and stopped. Just when it was crouching, about to leap over the muddy terrain, a spell hit it from behind, blowing a hole a foot wide through its chest. It collapsed, its limbs flailing, and fell down into the mud as well, which Hermione then set on fire.
Sarah's forces had sallied forth, and were now hitting the monsters in the rear. That allowed Keavan's teams and Ron's group to focus on the flanking creatures. Volley after volley of curses of all kinds hit them, blowing them apart, cutting them to pieces, burning them to ash.
And yet they came on. Burning, limping, trailing their guts and cut off limbs, they attacked. Ron saw one drag itself towards him using its teeth, all limbs gone, and its body on fire. He cast a Reductor Curse that blew the head apart, but the trunk kept twitching while it burned.
Another figure came at him from the side, and Ron almost fired off another Reductor Curse before he recognised Sirius. For a moment, both wizards stared at each other, over Ron's glowing wand, then both turned away and started attacking the trapped and stuck monsters, and the pieces that were still moving.
Until the last creature had been reduced to ash, they could not stop fighting. Even if he really needed to know that Fred and George were fine.
Albus Dumbledore stared at the battlefield while he stashed the shrunk stone figure in a pocket. The storm above was winding down, or so it seemed, but it was still too powerful to use a broom - unless you were an exceptional flyer, like Harry. The boy he now had to find. The petrification he had caused wouldn't fade without the counteragent, but Voldemort might die, and that would set his spirit free again - anchored by Harry's scar. He shouldn't die too soon, but who could tell with a Dark Lord's unnatural body? Not even an alchemist who had helped create it, apparently.
The old wizard pulled out his communication mirror. There was a risk if he used it. He might distract Harry in the middle of a fight. And yet… He touched it, causing it to activate. A mere alert wouldn't surprise Harry. Hopefully. No answer. He hoped that meant the boy was too busy to answer, and not...
He walked up a small hill, more like a bump in the field than anything else, past the smoking remains of about a dozen trees, blown up and torn apart - he couldn't tell if they had been used to form a barrier, or had simply been collateral damage. Nor could he tell if anyone or anything had died with the trees. On top he found shreds of a brown robe, though no body.
From his small vantage point, he could see the burning hideout of the Dark Lord, and those parts of the battlefield not obscured by smoke. Conjured or transfigured walls dotted the landscape, alternating with craters and even trenches. To his right was the hill he had last seen Sirius and the Wand-Commander on. He had moved quite a bit away, battling Tom. By design; he wouldn't have been able to fight to the best of his ability if he had to care about others in the area. They were under attack, it seemed. Albus saw several spell flashes. And fires. And bodies.
He activated his mirror again. Still no answer. He sincerely hoped the boy was alive, and well. To lose him, so close to defeating Tom, would be unbearable. Even if the Dark Lord died as well. But for that to happen, Harry would have had to have succeeded destroying the Horcrux that had been in the house. If the Death Eater carrying that had escaped… Albus didn't know how to track the foul things without Harry. Although he might devise a way with Tom's petrified form. If it lasted long enough.
A basilisk was one of the most venomous creatures, after all, and its blood was only second to its poison. The Dark Lord would die even while petrified.
Harry could be anywhere, Albus knew. He didn't like it, but the best course of action was to find and defeat whatever was left of the enemy, and then look for the boy. He started to walk towards the Wand-Commander's position.
Wand-Leader Hermione staggered, holding her side. One of the creatures had hit her, and while her shield had saved her, she still had been flung away, and had landed hard on a rock. Even with her ribs numbed, breathing hurt. But there were still monsters to fight. Or at least to destroy. She would do her duty. She aimed her wand, and burned a shredded leg that was dragging itself over the ground. She looked around for Ron and spotted him moving towards her. He was unhurt, as far as she could tell, and he smiled widely when he saw her.
He embraced her, and she yelped with pain.
"You're wounded!" He sounded shocked.
"Just some cracked ribs," she assured him. At least she hoped they were just cracked. He didn't look very reassured. Before he could say anything though, they were interrupted.
"Hermione!"
She turned around. Cleo was there. Robe torn and stained, but she was walking. Hermione smiled at her friend. "Cleo! Is Benjamin…" she trailed off.
"Wounded, but alive," the Wand said. She looked at Ron, then around.
Hermione shook her head. "Dean and Colin died."
"Damn." Cleo stared at Ron.
"That's Ron. My boyfriend," Hermione said. "Ron, Cleo."
The two nodded at each other. The scarred Wand set another corpse on fire while Hermione vanished unmoving bits and pieces and Ron stuck a wriggling torso to the ground, then burned it.
"Hermione! Report!"
That was Sarah. The Wand-Commander didn't look hurt. Hermione stood straighter, wincing, then said: "James' team was wiped out fighting those abominations and Death Eaters. I'm the last one alive of my own team. But Bellatrix Lestrange is dead."
The witch nodded. "You're wounded, get treated! Cleo, take two more Wands and scout towards the enemy's hideout!"
"I'll take you there," Ron said.
Hermione wanted to protest, but she was exhausted, and the pain was getting worse. So she nodded. Before they had taken more than a few steps though, she heard something that stopped both of them in their tracks.
"It's Dumbledore!"
Albus Dumbledore had arrived at the end of the hostilities, or so it looked. The Wands he could see were cleaning up - burning the still moving remains of the abominations, and checking the bodies on the ground.
To his great relief, he also spotted Harry, together with Miss Weasley, Mister Weasley, and Miss Hermione, among the Wands. Sirius was there as well, close to his godson. Albus didn't see many of the other Order members who had been with the Wand-Commander, though. Which wasn't a good sign.
"Professor!" Harry exclaimed, loud enough to be heard over the storm's slowly fading noise, coming towards him. "We killed Bellatrix Lestrange. And dealt with her property."
Albus felt a weight drop off his chest. That meant that the sacrifices had been worth it. He smiled. "I have dealt with the Dark Lord, though he is not dead yet." He patted his pocket.
Harry's expression grew grim. The boy understood. Before he could say anything though, the Wand-Commander approached.
"Did you defeat the Dark Lord?" the witch asked straight away.
Albus nodded. "I heard Bellatrix Lestrange was killed. What is our present situation?"
"The battle seems to be over. We're linking up with scattered teams, but there haven't been reports of Death Eaters or monsters so far. And the storm's weakening, so we'll have flyers up again soon."
"I saw many bodies on my way here," Albus said.
"Our casualties were high," the Wand-Commander confirmed. "The underground attack by those Inferi took us by surprise, and not all of our forces were in a position to defend themselves readily enough." Her guarded expression didn't waver.
"I see." He didn't bother correct her about the nature of the abominations. The less such knowledge was spread the better.
"We need your help dealing with uncontrolled Fiendfyre." The witch was frowning, no doubt she resented having to ask for his help.
Albus wasn't surprised. "The hideout's flames are spreading then."
"No, those are still contained by the transfigured barriers we put up. But someone must have become desperate, and cast it on an Inferius. It's slowly spreading, though it has trouble traversing the transfigured stone on the ground."
"Ah." Albus would have preferred to deal with the Dark Lord right away, but an uncontrolled cursed fire could not be ignored, or it might ruin the attempt. "Please show me the way then."
"Elisabeth!" Sarah yelled.
A young witch sprinted towards them. Albus recognised her - she had been at his side when Tom had sallied forth. He hadn't known her name then.
"Lead the professor to the Fiendfyre!"
"Yes, Wand-Commander!" Elisabeth turned to him, smiling.
Albus returned the smile. "Let us be off then, tarrying will make the situation worse." And he had no time to waste. He held up a hand when Harry wanted to join him. "Stay, Harry, and look after your friends and family."
The boy frowned, but Miss Weasley took ahold of his arm. "We haven't seen Fred and George yet!" That made him cave, and he nodded.
Albus continued with the young witch. He soon spotted the cursed fire - it was bigger than the other flames on the battlefield, and with a slight green tint. Elisabeth showed some - understandable - apprehension as they stepped closer, though she didn't waver.
"Please stay back a bit, miss. This might be a bit dicey," Albus said drawing his wand. To counter Fiendfyre, the best and usually easiest way was to deny it fuel and let it burn out. That would take quite some time though. There were other ways as well. Some of them weren't even part of the Dark Arts.
He reinforced the stone patches hemming the fire in, and raised them, forming a wall around the cursed fire - and underneath it. They were not in a moor, but he'd rather not take the risk of setting up a catastrophic blaze. The storm had abated some more, which made his plan possible. A flick and swish, and foam started to appear in the air, falling down into the fire. Some might mistake it for muggle extinguishing foam, but that wouldn't work with Fiendfyre. An alchemical concoction, though, would resist the fire long enough to smother it.
It still took some time, time he knew he could not waste. And it was exhausting, conjuring the material in a steady stream, covering the entire area. Once, he missed a spot, and flames shot up in the sky, and he had to struggle to smother those. Finally though, the flames died, and he transfigured the foam into stone, sealing the area for good measure.
Wiping sweat from his brows, he smiled at Elisabeth. "I believe we are done here."
She nodded. "Will you deal with the Fiendfyre in the house now?"
He shook his head. "That one seems under control. There is another matter I have to deal with now." A rather pressing one. The storm had now been reduced to a strong wind, which meant they could fly back to Harry and the others. A fact his tired old body was grateful for, Albus knew.
He and Elisabeth were not the only ones in the air, Albus noticed. Patrols were flying around, occasionally landing to check on a body, or setting some remains on fire. And where he had left the others, he saw rows of bodies laid out - black-robed Death Eaters, brown-robed Wands, and a lot of Order members. He pressed his lips together when he realised just how many of his old friends had lost their lives in this battle. He shouldn't have called them, or refused to let them join, but…
He spotted Harry and the Weasleys on top of the hill, and landed next to them. They were standing around one of the twins, who was lying on the ground, wounded, but conscious. And, judging by his grin, joking.
"Is it time?" Harry asked as soon as Albus had dismounted.
The professor nodded and drew out the small figurine that Tom had been turned into.
"He doesn't look so tough now, does he?" the wounded twin sniggered. The group chuckled, but no one would miss how forced the laughter felt. Even Elisabeth noticed it, blinking. Unless she was simply surprised by the Dark Lord's fate.
Harry stared at the petrified shrunken form of his nemesis, then whipped out his Cloak of Invisibility, and disappeared underneath it. That would hide him, and the soul anchor in his scar, from Voldemort, allowing Albus to summon Tom's soul with the Resurrection Stone.
The old wizard transfigured a patch of ground into marble, then put the figurine down. "Ready?" he asked.
"Do it!" sounded Harry's voice from beneath his cloak.
Albus pointed his wand down and the stone shattered. Green mist appeared, wobbling and growing thicker. Tom's shade. Albus held the Resurrection Stone, and summoned the Dark Lord's shredded soul.
For a moment, the shade seemed torn. Then, with cackling laughter, it sped off. Towards Harry.
And Albus gasped, realising that the Cloak of Invisibility, the Deathly Hallows, didn't work how he had thought they would.
Then Harry started screaming.
For a moment, the Dark Lord Voldemort had been afraid. Deathly afraid. He had just been defeated - killed - by Dumbledore. Reduced to a shade. And he had felt something tug at his very soul, trying to pull him away, towards his worst foe. For a moment, a weak, unforgivable moment, he had believed himself lost, cut off from his soul anchors. Dead.
But then he had felt his Horcrux's pull, his soul fragment overpowering whatever weak hold Dumbledore had on him, and laughing, he had fled, certain he would return, more powerful than ever.
To his great surprise though, he had not traveled far, but a mere few steps, before plunging into someone. Had Bellatrix been so close with the cup? No, it was a wizard. A living Horcrux. How had a fragment of his soul ended up in a wizard? It didn't matter right then - he had to possess the man. That would allow him to escape, or at least strike back at his enemies.
It wasn't until the man started to scream that he realised who it was.
Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived.
He laughed. It all made sense now. This was fate. The perfect revenge for this defeat!
The body wasn't laughing though. It wasn't his, yet. But it was just a matter of time. He was the Dark Lord Voldemort, he had vanquished death itself! A mere boy couldn't stop him! He pushed on, trying to crush the boy's mind and soul, tearing his consciousness apart.
Something resisted him. Some protection. But it was weak. Strong enough to have kept his soul fragment at bay, he realised, but too weak to stop him. He tore through the enchantment with all his hatred, and plunged into the boy's mind.
A cottage in Godric's Hollow. A room, painted in warm colors, with a soft bed. Soft toys too. And a plush broom. Noise. Screams.
"No, not Harry!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
The memory almost made him falter. Almost. He pushed on.
Green hills. Blue Sky. Blue Sea. Warm. Sunshine. A tall wizard. Not dad. A dog. Padfoot!
"This is France, Harry. Your new home. You're safe here."
"France!"
More warmth. A cat - his cat - is playing with some toys. His broom, his own broom, is waiting. Waiting to be ridden.
He snarled as he tore through the memory of Southern France and stupid childhood.
A boy with red hair. Many freckles. He has some dirt on his face. As does he himself. The adults have gone to discuss something, and the older children supervising are busy with something or other.
"Hi! I'm Ron. Ron Weasley."
"I'm Harry. Harry Potter."
"Wanna play?"
"Sure!"
He and the other boy end up even more dirty. Padfoot laughs. An older woman frowns. And yells. More laughter.
He sneered. Weasleys. Blood traitors.
More children with red hair. And one with brown hair. And a cake. A big cake! It's his birthday, and all his friends have come to celebrate. To party, as Sirius says. He receives presents too. A new broom. Still a toy broom, but a faster one. Ron looks envious, until he can fly as well. Then he says the broom is not fast enough. The two decide, secretly, to borrow the brooms of Ron's older brothers. To really fly.
A girl with red hair follows them. She wants to fly as well. But she's a little girl. He hands her his toy broom. She's angry, and stomps her feet. But he doesn't budge. Until she threatens to tell her mum.
They borrow three brooms. Flying is great!
He remembered the orphanage. The other children. The weak, dirty muggles. And he pushed on. Towards Potter's consciousness. Towards his very soul.
He's in a shop in the Rue Magique, a wand shop. Hundreds of wands are there, all in their proper place. One by one, he tests them. One by one, he discards them. They don't choose him. Until the one. His wand. He flicks it. He swishes it. The room lights up. He can feel the magic rush through him. It feels wonderful. Part of the counter turns into stone, and everyone laughs. Sirius tells him that his father was a Transfiguration prodigy. He feels proud.
He scoffed. Magic was might. Power. Not some toy. Brushing past those memories, he dug deeper.
"There's Professor Dumbledore," Ron whispers, next to him. They're in Beauxbatons, the finest School for Magic in Europe, now that Hogwarts has lost its best teachers and students. The professor doesn't look different. He looks like he always does when he comes visiting Sirius and him. And when their eyes met for a moment, he smiles like he always does. He feels better. The school isn't home, but his friends are there. Ron, Neville, and the twins. And new friends.
He felt anger, rage filling him. Dumbledore, nice, friendly? He remembered the first meeting with his worst enemy. How powerless, how humiliated he had felt when the professor had demonstrated his power. This boy had led a charmed, privileged life. He'd pay for this, soon!
Fleur is a goddess! He knows it. Just the sight of her takes his breath away. Her long, blonde hair, her blue eyes, her body, covered and yet hinted at by her robes, the grace with which she moves… past him without sparing him a glance. He sighs. Ron claps him on the shoulder, trying not to grin. He glares at his friend. As if the redhead could understand! At least Ron had not been ignored by Estelle! He scowls, and turns away, walking past Ginny. At least Ron's sister doesn't think this is funny.
He scoffed at the silly, stupid crush of a teenager. Distractions, nothing more.
They have won! With half the team sick, and the reserves doing their best, they have won! He has caught the snitch just after Ginny has scored, and that is enough to win by 10 points! He lands after a victory lap, and Ginny jumps into his arms. "We won!" she yells, hugging him as hard as her mum usually does. He twirls her around, smiling widely, and she kisses him on the cheek. For a moment, he freezes. As does she. He feels her chest pressing into his. Her body isn't as curvy as Fleur's, or Marie's, but she's no longer the gangly girl he remembers. They separate, each of them blushing. Then Ron arrives, slapping him on the back and picking up Ginny to hoist her in the air. He keeps staring at her, though, and their eyes meet again.
More of that stupidity. He sneered as he banished the memory. Love is an illusion. A weakness.
"You came!" she whispers, hidden in the alcove at the small garden near the kitchen.
"Of course." He smiles at her. As he approaches, she stands up from the stone bench, and they embrace. Their lips meet. And he forgets everything but her.
If he had a head, he would have shaken it. More of that stupid, useless infatuation. Hadn't the boy done anything of significance? Anything important other than surviving his Killing Curse?
"... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."
When he pulls his head out of the pensive, he isn't shocked, since he has known about the existence of the prophecy for some time. But to hear it, as it was uttered so long ago… he looks to his godfather, his father in all but name, and the older wizard pulls him into a hug while Dumbledore smiles sadly.
"I am sorry to do this to you, Harry, but ignorance is not bliss in this case. He will return, and you will face him."
"How will he return? Isn't he dead? Twice, if you believe Malfoy's claim."
"Ah… this is why you have been taught Occlumency, Harry. The Dark Lord has cheated death by using the darkest arts. He has created Horcruxes."
This shocked him. Dumbledore knew about his soul anchors? He didn't push through the memory now, but dived into it, trying to find out just how much the old wizard knew.
"Where do I stand?"
"Sit down in the center."
He sees Dumbledore raise his wand, weaving it back and forth in increasingly complicated movements while the old wizard chants words in a language that was thought to have died with Atlantis. Then the glowing tip touches his forehead, and he screams with pain, for a long time.
"Five more shards. Four Horcruxes and the Dark Lord himself."
"And this. Can't forget this. I know, I tried." He points at his scar.
"Can you locate them?"
"Vaguely. I know four lie in this direction and the fifth in that."
"We shall hunt down the single one first."
He recoiled. They knew! They could locate them! They had started to hunt them down! Months ago! How many had they found? His attempt to possess the boy forgotten, he sifted through the memories, past the insipid trysts with the boy's girlfriend, or the meaningless talks with lesser wizards. He had to find his soul anchors!
And he did. All of them. Dumbledore and Potter had destroyed all of them. Even Bellatrix had fallen to the boy and his blood traitor friends. All but the boy's scar. He couldn't sacrifice the boy now. He was all he had left that kept him from dying. He was frantic. He needed a way to protect the boy, a way to escape, so he could create new anchors. He was vulnerable. He was closer to dying than he had ever been in decades!
He pulled himself out of the memories. He had to take over the boy's body. But then… should he act as if he had been defeated? Try to fool Dumbledore? Or take the boy hostage? Would Dumbledore truly murder a boy to kill him for good?
Before he could decide, he was struck. Pain shot through him - pain he shouldn't feel as a mere shade. Who was… the boy! Potter was attacking him! Another blow hit him, pushing him back. Out of the boy's memories. Out of his mind. Towards oblivion!
He snarled and pushed back. He was the Dark Lord Voldemort. Most feared wizard of Britain, no, of Europe! He wouldn't fall to a mere boy, prophecy or not!
For a moment, he managed to stop his enemy. Then he felt himself slide back a bit more. Towards death. Fear shot through him. He knew what awaited him, should he die. What fate he was facing, should he lose this battle.
He would not die! He would not be defeated! Mustering all his hatred, all his fear, he struck back.
And the boy shrugged it off. He had to be hurting, had to be in pain, and yet he didn't falter. Didn't give an inch. Kept pushing.
He started to panic now, as he felt his mind, his soul starting to lose its grip on the boy's body. What drove him on? What gave him the power to not only resist him, but to defeat him?
What was he missing?
He was screaming the question when he lost the struggle, and with it, his life.