Year Six: Chapter Twenty-Three

As expected, the ritual to cure Astoria was entirely bland and uninteresting, save for the runes painted onto her skin in blood. Hermione just looked resigned as the blood faded without so much as a flash of light, while Astoria, Daphne, and Draco's expressions fell. "What happened? Didn't it work?" Daphne demanded.

Tom hummed noncommitedly and started casting diagnostic spells on Astoria. "It will take a month or two to know if it succeeded, but at the very least, it didn't harm her." Not that he doubted Hermione's ritual, but he couldn't prove definitively that it had worked until the girl's health improved. That would only happen once all the old, cursed blood cells had been replaced with fresh ones. "I'm fairly certain it was successful though."

"Then why was it so…" Astoria started.

"Boring?" Hermione finished. She huffed. "You see…"

Tom tuned them out, already turning his mind to the next ritual he would be doing. He needed to capture Voldemort long enough to switch out his soul with Potter's. The problem there was that he'd need it to be readily apparent to even the biggest idiot that Voldemort was really dead this time, problematic since not only would he not be dead, but his body wasn't even going to be dead either. Tom groaned and pressed a hand against his forehead. The logistics of the thing were a headache, but leaving the public nervous and uncertain about the fate of the Dark Lord would be an unacceptable hindrance to his ascension into the upper echelons of the British Wizarding World.

That night, watching him map out everything that needed doing, Ginny frowned. "Why not just kill his body, wait for them to finish making sure it's his, then transfigure it to look like Harry's?" At the looks that garnered her, she flushed. "What?"

Tom sighed. "For the first part, bodies don't have terribly good longevity once they're officially dead. I need to either have a very public execution that leaves no traces of the body or, preferably, a permanent body they can examine and accept as the deceased Dark Lord." Besides, he thought to himself, he wouldn't be surprised if people wanted to desecrate it. At the very least, they'd likely want to watch it burn for some peace of mind.

"As for the second part…" Tapping his head, Tom gave her a wry smile. "Because of this. Putting me into Potter's body, with Potter's brain… It had all manner of effects on my personality. Positive ones, perhaps, but you can't deny that I'm hardly the same person anymore."

Ron was the one to first grasp his meaning and put it into words. "So you don't want to see what happens to Harry if he's put into Voldemort's brain."

"Indeed. At the very least, his ability to feel empathy and love would be muted. I think it more likely he'd lose those things entirely. Perhaps his soul is so inherently good," he continued, unable to help sneering at the idea, "that he would overcome that, but I'd rather not take the risk."

"Can a ritual really give him the exact brain he had before back?" Hermione asked skeptically.

Tom shrugged one shoulder. "No, but I'll be using a fair amount of this body's blood to give the ritual its reference point for recrafting the body. Some of Black's blood will be included, since the man wants to make Potter his son, and that will do to make the body sufficiently different that no one will think we're one and the same person. After that, if you don't trust his new brain's chemistry, well… I can only hope that his supposed innate goodness will influence the ritual enough to fix any remaining flaws." If he sounded disgusted, he thought it fair, given how unpredictable this ritual's results would be.

"If you're wrong?" Hermione pressed.

"Then Potter can inherit the Black madness or whatever you want to call it." Tom rolled his eyes. "I am the foremost expert in ritual magic in the British Isles. If even I can't manage it, there wasn't much to be done about it in the first place."

Luna scooted closer to Hermione, rubbing her back soothingly. "On the bright side, it does seem like Death is happy to help, so I think it will go right one way or another." She didn't seem to realize how discomforting that thought was to the others in the room, but that was Luna.

The days that followed included endless combat practices among members of The Gray, plotting out where the battle would take place, who would do what, and planning contingencies upon contingencies. The Weasley twins smuggled themselves into the school and were taking bets for all manner of things from who would kill the most Death Eaters (favorite being Tom, followed by Hermione and Luna) to what creatures Voldemort would use to fill out his ranks (vampires were the current favorite, despite the fact they'd be useless during a daytime battle). Meanwhile, Tom met secretly with Severus and Lilith, who, despite looking under the weather, had her own thoughts on Voldemort's death that neither man appreciated. Neville had Bellatrix and, strangely, most of Hufflepuff acting as errand runners under his command.

Only one last point needed deciding: how to get Voldemort there at the right time.

So he spoke to Rita, who was more than ecstatic to write a piece about how Harry Potter had discovered the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw and would be unveiling it in a ceremony outdoors the week before finals. Combined with Dumbledore's death, Tom couldn't have made approaching Hogwarts more enticing if he'd stuck the Philosopher's Stone in the middle of the Great Hall.

However, not everyone was pleased with the plan.

"I don't like you making Hogwarts, and so the students, a target," McGonagall told him after calling him to her office. She was acting as the Headmistress until the end of the year, when everything would be made more official.

Tom nodded. "Understood. It grants us the best chance of success though. We'll simply have to make sure the students who aren't fighting are secured safely beforehand." He cocked his head to the side, thinking. Honestly, protecting the students should be her job, but it wasn't as though he'd had no thoughts on the matter. "The Room of Requirement would probably be best. It can offer escapes to different parts of the castle, making it easier to evacuate through the Hogsmeade tunnels if need be. I'd offer the Chamber of Secrets, but there'd be no easy exit from there if Voldemort makes it in."

McGonagall sighed and closed her eyes, accepting his reasoning. She'd already known all that, most likely. It was just a matter of voicing her displeasure. Tom could appreciate that. It wasn't particularly productive, but it did make one feel somewhat better to have had their say.

And then came the day.

A stage was already conjured outside, and it nicely covered the enormous circle Tom had constructed out of graphite and diamonds - a hit to the Black and Potter accounts made more bearable by the amount of lost jewelry to be found in the Room of Requirement. It was between the school and the lake and layered with spells to preserve the integrity of the stage above it. Order members filled the audience, while around the stage stood a good two dozen Aurors. Generally, only a few Aurors would be stationed at a press event like this, but because the Minister was invited, there was greater security than there might otherwise have been.

At last, Tom stepped up onto the stage with the diadem and began his speech. A beetle on his shoulder listened intently as he described his discovery. How he'd spoken with the Gray Lady to discover the location of the diadem, how she'd directed him to a hidden room, how he'd discovered that it'd been cursed - and that's when he was cut off.

"Harry Potter!"

Tom made a show of looking about wildly and definitely not suppressing any sort of maniacal laughter. "Voldemort," he hissed, sure that the reporters would pick up on it.

Judging by the sudden shrieks, they had.

From across the lake, a low rumbling preceded the appearance of giants emerging from the Forest. Death Eaters, enough to be Voldemort's entire force, followed, and Tom breathed deeply as the teachers began herding their most vulnerable students back inside the castle. He ignored them and waited. "Sonorus," he murmured, then said, more loudly. "If you want a fight, Voldemort, I'll fight you, but leave everyone else alone!"

The man didn't appear, but his voice crossed the grounds easily. "No, I don't think so. My legion has orders to kill as many as possible, and it does get so confusing when one's leader keeps changing their commands, don't you think?"

Tom grit his teeth. He'd more or less expected this, but it did mean higher casualties, which would reflect badly on him. He closed his eyes. Severus? She's still set on this course?

There was a sense of resignation, then at last, Yes, Master.

And you're still willing?

Yes.

Tom wondered at the man's sheer devotion and then shuddered as the bond between them spasmed, faltered, and then shone a brilliant ebony in his mind, thicker and stronger than ever. Pain and regret and pride and remorse and hatred warred in his mind before he felt his - no, Snape's - Occlumency shove them all back away. Tom remained still for a moment longer, shaken, before he put the experience behind him, drew Death back into himself, and strode off to confront his enemy.

The others could handle Death Eaters and lethifolds (where had those even come from?) and erklings and whatever other beasts Voldemort had summoned, but the giants were too large and magically resistant to leave to anyone wlse. Tom grimaced, but drew on his magic and cast. "Fiendfyre."

Just the cursed fire wasn't enough to kill the giants - not quickly enough anyway - so he was forced to focus his will until the fire became chains of snarling beasts that snared the feet and strangled the throats of his enemies. While he fought against the spell's predisposition to simply burn, because there was far too much that needed burning to wait for it to do just that, he saw person after person fall. Most were his enemies. Some were not. Those he knew, he checked off of a mental tally, resigning himself to writing some sort of condolences once things were over.

Then Luna fell.

A man had his wand trained on her, and Tom saw red. He raised his wand, and Death's magic mixed with his to fill it. "Avada kedavra."

It wasn't the bright flash of a single spell but a rolling wave of golden green magic cutting down all it touched. It swirled and eddied, forming islands of life where it encountered his Marked and leaving all else barren. Tom drew himself up and staggered forward until he reached Luna and pulled her into his arms. The emerald glow faded, and his remaining enemies held back, unwilling to approach him in case he managed to do it again. Instead, Hermione and Ginny and Ron and Daphne and Astoria and Draco Malfoy of all people led his allies forward, downing more Death Eaters while also protecting the pair on the ground.

"Tom," Luna breathed. Blood covered her. It was hard to believe it could all have come from a still-living person.

"You won't die," he ordered.

She smiled weakly. "I know." Her eyes closed, but Tom pulled on the bond and held her tightly to him until Neville arrived. "I'll keep her safe," the boy said firmly. "You go finish this." Not far away, Bella cackled as she cut down her former allies.

"Right." Tom turned and made his way toward the Forbidden Forest, where a familiar magic pulled at him. As he walked, he grasped control of the Fiendfyre again, smothering out the last sparks of life in the giants before dispersing the spell with a flick of his wand. Just at the edge of the Forest, a tall, reptilian man stood watching him approach. "Harry Potter," he breathed.

"Voldemort," Tom said.

"I'm surprised," the man said, looking out at the battlefield as though he had nothing to fear from the man before him. "I was unaware Dementors even could be killed. And now this new version of the Killing Curse. How did you do that?"

Tom said nothing, because Voldemort couldn't possibly expect a real answer..

The man turned and gave Tom a bloodless smile. "I don't suppose you've reconsidered. You need only swear to serve me, and I can spare you. I might even be convinced to spare your friends."

He sounded sincere. Tom bared his teeth in some semblance of a grin. "I might have agreed, once," Tom said. "But now? I think I'll make a much better ruler than you. How about it? If you make an oath promising to serve me, I'll let you live. With some restrictions, of course."

Voldemort's smile had disappeared. "You've tried my patience for the last time. Avada Kedavra!"

It was a slaughter. He was exhausted, for one, and this wasn't where Voldemort needed to die anyway. This was nothing but a performance. At last, a bolt of green caught him, and Tom found himself staring blankly at the sky as his bodily functions ceased for all of a fraction of a second. He heard footsteps walking past him toward the castle.

Tom?

Tom?!

He heard the alarm from two of his bondmates, followed, moments later, by a fainter but still-present, "Tom," in Luna's voice and a sense of concern from Astoria.

"I'm fine," he thought toward them. And he was, in the sense that he was alive. It hadn't even hurt, getting hit with that curse this time. If anything, he felt better for having a chance to catch his breath. He also wasn't though. Death's hold on him had broken when it absorbed the killing curse, and the loss in the middle of battle was painful. His hand twitched toward the clasp of his Cloak. He knew that it was a bad idea, but he still wanted to call Death back into him. With it, he was invincible.

He'd smoked cigarettes for a single summer, then given them up when he returned to Hogwarts. He'd had several different alcohols, but thought of liquor not at all outside those few occasions. He'd gotten high from the most addictive potion he'd been able to find, all in the name of science, but hadn't felt anything. Thus, he'd considered addiction a sign of weakness, because even the most addictive of things had failed to leave any impression on him. Now though, he thought he understood.

He licked his lips and fastened the clasp on the Cloak again expectantly.

"So eager to lose yourself, Tom Riddle?" came the amused voice from beside his ear.

Tom couldn't deny it.

"I believe you claimed this kill for yourself though," Death murmured.

The power he wanted refused to come, and finally the urge to experience it again dwindled. Feeling absurdly rejected, he made himself stand and stagger toward the school after Voldemort. Death was right. This was his kill, he remembered as he spotted Voldemort ahead, doubtlessly gloating about having killed The Boy Who Lived. "You're right," he muttered. "Thank you."

A flicker out of the corner of his eye was all he saw of the god he served now. "Of course, Tom Riddle."

Now was the time. Voldemort stood on the stage, and the fighting had mostly stopped. Tom's allies were frozen in disbelief and horror. It was silly of them to doubt him, he thought, but he could forgive them. Tom dropped the Cloak and Ring. He climbed onto the stage and shouted, interrupting Voldemort's gloating, "Sorry, Voldemort, did you think you were done with me?"

His counterpart turned, eyes widening. A flash of fear crossed his face before he flew toward Tom, snarling. "It seems you live up to your name, boy," he spat. "No matter. Let's see you continue to live after I remove your head from your shoulders."

No doubt he was expecting another slaughter. When Tom instead grinned and matched him spell for spell, the man's expression grew ever angrier. "What is this?"

"Oh, sorry, I just couldn't feel motivated without a proper audience earlier, you know?" Tom taunted, laughing as he dodged a blood-boiling curse and blocked an entrail-expelling curse and caught and threw back a Romanian decapitation curse.

When a piercing hex caught Voldemort in the shoulder, both froze. Tom's grin widened. "Oh look, your blood is red. I wasn't sure." He cast again and again, speeding up as Voldemort finally found himself retreating.

Then he made a fatal mistake. He tried to Apparate out. It failed, of course, and Tom got the chance to cast a spell he'd never thought he'd use: a balancing spell from the Far East. It only worked to correct injustice, and Voldemort's entire existence was, after all, an injustice. Gray glittering sickles of magic crashed into him, slicing through his flesh and leaving him unprepared to defend himself from the barrage of curses designed to main him… but not kill. Tom flicked his wand as the man fell, and smoke poured out, blocking others' view of them.

"What's wrong, Potter? Aren't you going to kill me?" Voldemort hissed, blood burbling in his lungs and making him sound even more defeated than he looked.

Tom approached, panting with both exertion and exhilaration. He knelt down, knee on the man's chest, and withdrew a crystal. "No, I won't." Though he said that, his smile wasn't kind.

Voldemort choked out a wheezing laugh. "Too honorable? It doesn't matter. Either way, you can never kill me."

"That works out well for me," Tom said agreeably, "as I don't intend to try."

Now the reptilian man before him looked wary. "What do you mean, Potter?"

Tom grinned nastily. "You know, all this time you've been calling me that, but I haven't been Harry Potter for a couple years now." He laughed at the confusion on his other self's face. "Did you never wonder about the nature of our 'connection?' You should have." He cupped Voldemort's cheek in his palm and ran his thumb along the man's cheek almost lovingly. "Thank you, my other self, for being the sacrifice that fuels my rise to power."

Now Voldemort understood, his eyes widening in shock. "You -"

He never got to say more, as Tom pressed the stone to his chest. There was a sharp spike of magic, and when he pulled away, 'Voldemort' coughed and looked around wildly. "What the-"

"Drink this," Tom ordered, pressing a healing potion to the man's lips. "I took the trouble to ensure this body could be saved, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste it."

"Who - wait, but you're -"

"Yes, yes, Potter. Drink. We can discuss things later. For now, I need you to let me work in peace and please drink these potions in order." Tom stood, moving quickly now. The smoke screen wouldn't last much longer. "Hermione!"

"On it!" As she passed by Voldemort, she flashed him a tight smile. "Hi Harry, it's good to have you back. We'll answer all your questions later, so don't move once you're done with those."

The ritual took precious minutes, but it finished within the allotted time. As the light died down, Tom smirked in satisfaction at the result. Green eyes and black hair like himself, but the face was narrower and more aristocratic and his skin was paler. He looked stronger, which was vaguely annoying, but what could you do? The teen in front of him was a strange cross between Tom Riddle, Harry Potter, and Sirius Black.

While the ritual proceeded, Luna and Severus had appeared with a body. It looked just like Voldemort's body. Now they laid it on the ground, and Tom carefully didn't look at Severus as he damaged it as Voldemort's body had been damaged, then removed the head.

Then the Aurors were approaching, and Tom had to announce to the world that yes, Voldemort was dead. And this time there was a body, see? He left Potter to Hermione and Ron and sent Luna and Ginny out to ensure all the fighting was satisfactorily finished. All the while, he kept his hand in his pocket, caressing the crystal inside.

AN: Almost done, yay. Not gonna lie, if I never have to write a fight scene again, it'll be too soon.