Chapter 1: Unification
The Atrium of the Ministry of Magic shook as Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort clashed. From his position behind an animated statue, Harry Potter could only look on in wonder as he witnessed a true duel for the first time. This was no schoolyard brawl, nor even the fast-paced, duck-and-cover spellwork favoured by Aurors. The titans of their era, Dumbledore and Voldemort fought with elegance, precision, and unrestrained might, their each and every spell so powerful that the ground trembled and the air crackled with magic, causing the hair on the back of Harry's neck to stand on end.
A curse met a shield; a fire-whip became a serpent; a serpent dissolved into smoke. The fighters manoeuvred by apparition alone, with poise and perfect timing, each movement calculated to generate some advantage, disdaining the dodging and weaving of lesser fighters who needed to sacrifice position or attacking momentum to see to their own defence. Killing Curses flew from Voldemort's wand without restraint, finishing moves designed to end a boxed-in opponent, but Albus Dumbledore could not be pinned down, always wiggling out of danger at the last moment, turning each escape into an attack of his own.
As he watched, Harry finally understood. He had never stood a chance. All year he had played teacher, fancying himself an expert in defensive magic, allowing the flattery of the DA to go to his head, imagining that he was becoming a formidable wizard. But now the illusion was broken. The chasm between Voldemort's talents and his own was so great that he could not even see the other side: he had not even known that duelling such as this was possible.
The duel approached its conclusion. Water rose up; Voldemort was trapped within a sphere of molten glass, a dark figure within the shimmering mass, held imprisoned above the Fountain of Magical Brethren, and for a second Harry thought Dumbledore had done it, that he had successfully captured Voldemort—but a moment later the dark figure was gone, and the water crashed back into its pool.
Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. Assuming the duel to be over, Harry stepped out from behind his guardian, but Dumbledore shouted with alarm: "Stay where you are, Harry!"
He did not have the time to question Dumbledore's caution. The moment he stepped forward, his scar burst open, and all became pain. It was pain worse than the Cruciatus, pain so consuming that there was nothing else. The Atrium fell away, sight and smell and hearing ended; he could not even scream. He was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that he did not know where his body ended and the creature's began.
The never-ending moment lasted long enough that Harry began to sense something else through the pain: a third entity, a small, shrivelled thing of tar and smoke emerging from his scar like dripped coffee. As it took shape, Harry thought he could perceive red, hateful eyes within its mass. Looking into those eyes, somehow he knew that it sought to unite itself with his captor.
A measure of relief made its way through the pain. Whatever the smoke-like entity was, Harry was glad to be rid of it.
The dark mass shifted upwards, away from Harry, moving at a crawl through the coils of the creature binding him. At last, after what felt like an eternity, it reached out a dark tendril towards the great snake-like head—only to be repulsed by some invisible force. Again and again the smoke-like creature sought to make contact with the coiled beast, but each time it was blocked. With each failure its movements became more frantic, and Harry noticed that its mass seemed to be reducing, slowly evaporating into nothing.
It paused in its efforts, and its red eyes turned back upon Harry.
No, Harry thought, sudden dread filling him. Not me.
But the more he urged it away, the more the creature seemed to be attracted towards him. It crawled its way back through the coils towards Harry's face and extended a tendril of dark smoke his way. Bound as he was, still in enormous pain, there was nothing Harry could do to stop it. The creature probed around, feeling at his lips and cheeks, before finding its way to his brow, where his famous lightning-bolt scar lay. There it seemed to find what it was looking for, and, rearing back, the black creature launched itself at him, its cloying, suffocating mass latching onto his face. Helpless, Harry could not even struggle as it began to infuse itself into him, its acrid smoke entering through his eyes, nose, and mouth.
At last the pain was too much, and Harry lost consciousness.