The Fulfilment
It was a scream in the distance that pulled the wedding guests from their shock at what was happening and the sudden influx of coldness that washed over Godric's Hollow.
Isabella, doing her utmost to quell the fear that had gripped her, set to work, immediately making her way towards the horror-stricken Flamels, placing a portkey in Perenelle's hand.
"You must leave," she whispered.
The woman looked down at the Potter crest she'd been given and nodded.
"I'm so sorry, my child," Perenelle offered. "Of all days…"
She shook her head as Nicholas wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"Come, my dear, we can be of no help to him here."
Isabella had no doubt that they would stay, but the truth was, both were so old and frail that they would simply be killed.
Nonetheless, it was minimal relief the newlywed felt as the Flamels vanished, and she shifted her attention to her mother and brother.
"You have to go too," she instructed.
"And you," her mother urged.
Isabella shook her head.
"No," she refused. "I won't leave him to do this alone. He's my husband, and I will fight with him."
Her mother looked at her imploringly before conceding with a nod.
"You're too much like your aunt for your own good," she murmured, wrapping her arms around Isabella. "Come, Theo."
"Fuck that," the man denied stubbornly as he drew his wand. "If she's staying, I am too. If I don't stand and fight now, then I am no better than my father. I am no coward."
Isabella was surprised by the vehemence in his voice, and she nodded gratefully.
"Then I will be staying," Violetta declared. "I will not have my children fight whilst I hide."
Isabella wanted to argue with the woman, but she knew it would only be a waste of time.
She nodded and accepted that she had just one more thing to worry about.
Taking her own wand, she looked at the perfect dress she had chosen for the day that had now been ruined and cut away the parts that would hinder her.
A wedding dress was not a suitable outfit for what was to come, after all.
"You're not leaving?" a voice questioned.
Isabella watched as two people around her age approached, and she shook her head.
"Of course not."
The redhead nodded.
"Then you can stick with us," he declared. "Harry would kick my arse if anything happened to you. Are you staying, Nott?" he added sceptically.
"What does it look like, Weasley?" Theo returned.
The redhead looked as though he was going to respond, but a hand on his arm from his brunette companion stopped him.
"It's not the time for petty squabbling," she said irritably. "Come on!"
She led them out of the churchyard into the chaos, and Isabella experienced her first glimpses of just what the Dark Lord and his followers were capable of.
Already, several buildings had been damaged, the dead and wounded were trampled over by those attempting to flee, and the smell was a pungent mixture of faecal matter and blood; the harsh reality of a war that had been raging on and off for decades now.
(Break)
He had not hesitated in his reaction. He'd sent for the members of the Order that had not attended the ceremony and a message to Severus informing him that the coast was clear for him to make his attempt.
Tom was here, Albus could feel the man's familiar, sinister presence.
With Nicholas gone, the headmaster turned towards the few allies he had and released a deep breath.
Cedric was imploring Nymphadora to leave, and the woman was being her ever-stubborn self, though she did see sense as Cedric reminded her that she was not only responsible for her own life but that of their unborn child.
Reluctantly, she took her leave, warning her husband that he was not allowed to perish.
"What can we do with so few of us?" Cedric asked.
"What we can," Albus replied encouragingly. "The others will arrive shortly. Sirius?"
"The Aurors are coming," he assured them. "For now, we will have to hold them off."
"You're staying?"
Sirius nodded.
"I think I've sat out this war on the side-lines for long enough," he grumbled. "Of course, I'm bloody staying."
Albus offered the man a grateful smile as they threw themselves into the fray, and the headmaster wondered just what Harry was doing.
His answer came in the form of a rhythmic beating, and he looked on as dozens upon dozens of armoured knights charged from within the trees in the distance and began engaging the seemingly never-ending stream of Tom's followers, beginning a battle that would undoubtedly be remembered for generations.
(Break)
It hurt Harry to see the land his ancestors had so diligently protected being overrun by those who wished the village harm. Ignotus, his sons, and their sons, all the way until Harry had spilt the blood of their enemies and sacrificed their own to keep their home safe, and yet, Voldemort was doing his utmost to destroy it.
Harry would not allow that to happen.
He knew that Tom was here, lurking in the shadows and looking on, likely smiling at his perceived stroke of genius, but it wouldn't last.
Harry would destroy everything the man threw against them, and then he would drag the Dark Lord from where he was hiding before squeezing the last vestiges of life from him.
The day had finally come.
He'd felt it drawing closer minute by minute, the feeling of inevitability growing stronger with each passing moment, and now, that fateful meeting that had hung over him had arrived.
There would be no more running, no more delaying. The prophecy would be fulfilled this very night.
Whether Harry lived to see a new day remained to be seen.
With the odds stacked against them, the task would not be an easy one, and with Voldemort hiding, Harry knew he had a fight on his hands.
Already, significant damage had been done to the village in only a matter of moments, and the night would get much worse before there was any hope it would be better.
"Come Death, come," Harry murmured to himself, taking hold of the resurrection stone around his neck as he took to the sky once more.
As much as he wished to find Voldemort and put an end to the fighting, he knew the man would not show himself until the most opportune moment arrived.
For now, he had another job to finish, and as he drew the Sword of Gryffindor, he began scanning the ground for the foes that had plagued him for so many months.
With it being dark and difficult to see below, he fired several blinding balls of light into the sky, making Godric's Hollow clear as day.
Amongst the masses of people, it would be a struggle to locate the Death Eaters the Dark Lord had worked his magic on, especially when most below were garbed in black robes and sporting the bone-white masks.
No, being above the fighting as he was would not do, and as Harry urged Mallory towards the ground, he unleashed a length of searing chain towards a Death Eater that was pursuing one of the villagers.
It wrapped tightly around the neck of the man, eliciting an agonising scream, and with a sharp tug. He was pulled backwards, and his head bounced off the pavement with a dull thud.
Upon landing next to the flailing man, Mallory began trampling him, and he fell still as Harry set his sights on a trio of Tom's followers who were charging towards him.
With his wand in one hand and sword in the other, he fended off their first flurry of attacks, mirroring their intention with a charge of his own.
Spell after spell left was sent forth as he closed the distance between them, the conjured shield of the first he reached collapsing from the swing of his blade.
The very same blow cut deeply into the man's arm, and he dropped his wand with barely a moment to realise it before Harry relieved him of his head.
Taken aback by the brutality they'd witnessed, the other two attackers froze momentarily, and Harry seized the advantage, killing one with a blasting curse to the chest and tearing out the innards of the other with a slash of his sword.
Death would indeed be busy this night, though Harry could not help but wonder briefly where the Aurors were.
Before he could ponder it, he found himself in need of defending himself once more as he came upon another group of attackers.
These, he caught by surprise, his wand spewing a blackened flame towards them, filling the air with the smell of scorched flesh.
They died screaming as they fought to extinguish the flames that only burned hotter with the more attempts they made.
Nonetheless, even with his summoned knights, they remained considerably outnumbered, and his own fighting force would begin to take its toll on his endurance if they were needed for a prolonged period.
It was his magic that sustained them after all, and Harry looked towards the church in the distance, hoping their reinforcements would arrive soon.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a loud crashing just a short distance away, and Harry gritted his teeth at the sight of one of Tom's monstrous creations.
The smell of death permeated around it, and without thought, Harry blocked the first spell sent his way with the flat of his blade, only to snort humourlessly as it was joined by three others of its kind.
With a nod, Harry wasted no time and hurled himself forward with the knowledge that Tom was looking, and positively licking his lips at the thought of him being weakened by his followers.
(Break)
The sudden relief he felt at receiving Dumbledore's message instructing him to proceed was quickly replaced with a sense of dread. Having been lying in wait for weeks for his opportunity, Severus did not hesitate in cutting away the leather bracer he'd been wearing and making his way towards the Riddle house, which had, as he'd hoped, appeared to him.
Beginning he first phase of his plan, he fed the large doe he'd captured the antidote to the Draught of the Living Death he'd fed it and placed it under the Imperius Curse as it came round.
Nagini would not be able to resist such a meal that so willingly walked into the serpent's lair.
Following behind the creature closely, he looked on as it began eating some of the unkempt grass in the back garden, and Severus waited.
His time in hiding and efforts to secure his opportunity proved to not be in vain as, after only a few moments, he flinched as Nagini struck seemingly from the shadows and began coiling herself around the unsuspecting doe.
Severus waited, grimacing at the sound of breaking bones and wheezing from the strangled creature. Worse were the noises that came from Nagini's gullet as she opened her jaw and began swallowing her meal.
Again, Severus waited until half the deer had vanished, and then, he struck.
The basilisk-venom-coated blade sunk into the snake's body, though in his eagerness, Severus had forgotten the anatomy of such a creature.
With a screech, Nagini regurgitated the doe, swinging her head around as she did so, and sunk her fangs into Severus's arm.
Nonetheless, his job was done, and it only took a matter of moments for Nagini to succumb to the superior venom, the human-like shriek that escaped her was followed by a violent explosion that sent Severus skidding across the ground where he lay still.
He felt the venom of the snake coursing through his veins, slowly but surely shutting down his organs, and Severus could only laugh at his lot in life.
It was fitting really.
His life had been miserable for the most part, and it seemed that it would end that way.
Still, if the Dark Lord managed to survive the night, it would be him to find Severus's remains, and the man would learn of his final act of treachery.
That thought alone brought him some comfort, and even when the agony began tearing through every fibre of his being, Severus smirked through it, knowing he'd done his part in seeing the downfall of the man who'd murdered the woman he'd loved.
(Break)
Sirius had not hesitated to make his presence known, disposing of four Death Eaters quickly before making his way down a familiar alleyway which would bring him into the centre of the village.
Here, it was nothing short of chaotic, and the Minister of Magic fired curse upon curse into the swathes of cloaked figures, giving them a sample of his family magic that even the late Bellatrix would approve of.
Several more died screaming, sporting various wounds and symptoms courtesy of the Blacks.
Sirius grinned maliciously.
Having spent so long directing the war effort from his office during attacks, he knew this was where he should have been all along.
As much as the country needed him as a strong figurehead, Sirius Black was a man of action.
Nonetheless, with the Aurors yet to arrive, he found himself heavily outnumbered, and it was inevitable that he would come under fire soon enough.
He managed to kill two more of the Dark Lord's followers before that eventuality came to fruition.
Through the crowd, he was spotted by a particularly eagle-eyed Death Eater who took it upon themselves to challenge Sirius, and they were quickly followed by another trio.
With the odds stacked against him, the Lord Black found himself fighting for his life, though he laughed as he did so, not having felt so alive in as long as he could remember.
Perhaps he had not entirely avoided the madness his family were famous for, after all.
Dodging and shielding the attacks, he was barely able to offer any offence, and Sirius breathed a sigh of relief as the centre of the village was suddenly flooded by the red-robed Aurors, half a dozen immediately circling him from the ongoing onslaught.
With the Aurors here, maybe they had a chance, but even with more than one hundred of the best witches and wizards Britain had to offer, it was a tall order.
(Break)
He looked over the village from above, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to enter the fray. He'd seen many of his own followers fall to the efforts of those who had arrived much sooner than the Dark Lord had expected.
Potter himself was here already, cutting a path of murderous destruction through the men and women he'd liberated from the various prisons across the wizarding world.
Not that it mattered.
To the Dark Lord, they were merely collateral damage, pawns to be sacrificed in a carefully devised strategy to see the end of his foe.
Such a thought brought an anticipatory smile to his lips, and his fingers twitched towards his wand impatiently.
By the time Potter and his ilk had reduced the numbers of his followers down enough, their efforts would see them spent, and then, the Dark Lord would strike mercilessly, ridding himself of the burden that had plagued him for close to two decades now.
His own losses would be inevitably high, but with Potter gone, the sacrifice would be worth every drop of blood that was spilt and every life lost.
Without Potter, there was nothing to stand in Lord Voldemort's way, and his grab of power would be all but assured.
His smile widened as he nodded, though he frowned as he felt something of a sudden disturbance within himself.
Nervousness, or perhaps fear?
The Dark Lord shook his head at that thought.
There was nothing to fear, not anymore.
Potter would already be beaten when he was confronted, and it would be as simple as murmuring two words to see the damned prophecy finally fulfilled.
(Break)
Isabella had never been in such a situation. She'd duelled regularly at Durmstrang, but nothing she'd done at school could have prepared her for being in an open battle where every spell she faced was either frighteningly debilitating or lethal.
She would not, however, shy away from what had unfolded around her.
The mixture of fear of what was at stake, and the anger she felt for the Dark Lord ruining her wedding day spurred her on, and though she was part of a foursome proving to work well together, every moment was filled with an indescribable terror that her life could be taken in the very next second.
Isabella instinctively ducked beneath a severing curse and blocked another before returning the same spell back towards another robed assailant.
It caught the woman flush on the neck, and she collapsed to the ground, dropping her wand in favour of attempting to stem the flow of blood spurting from the wound.
Her efforts would be in vain.
In only a moment or so at best, she would be dead.
Isabella didn't have time to focus on how she felt about taking a life, however.
As one Death Eater fell, another emerged to take their place, and she quickly stepped out of the path of the killing curse, feeling the sinister magic pass her by much more closely than she was comfortable with.
Isabella breathed a sigh of relief and continued the fight, wondering where Harry was and if he was okay.
Was he hurt?
She didn't know, but all she could focus on was those that were in front of her, and she did her utmost to ensure Theo remained safe in the ongoing melee.
That would be no easy task.
(Break)
He removed the blade from the chest of what had once been Augustus Rookwood and cast a hasty skin-knitting charm on the bite wound the Death Eater had given him in his final throes of life.
Harry couldn't quite believe that whatever Augustus had become had sunk his teeth into his shoulder.
Nonetheless, out of the ten of Voldemort's monstrosities that existed, only three remained, though eliminating them would be quite the undertaking.
Already, Harry had been bitten, burned, and hit with a blood-boiling curse that only his quick thinking had prevented him from succumbing to.
Despite being quite dead, the Death Eaters that Tom had violated had retained their magical abilities and were even resistant to most offensive spells. As such, Harry found he needed to kill them with the sword, which meant getting close enough to do so.
It was risky, and already, he was sporting the wounds from his efforts.
Still, there seemed to be no other way of stopping them, and he knew that this was undoubtedly a part of Voldemort's plan.
The Dark Lord had yet to enter the battle, but Harry knew it wouldn't be long.
When he felt the time was right, he would strike, and then it truly would come down to the outcome between their confrontation.
In truth, Harry hoped it would be sooner rather than later.
Even with the Aurors and the members of the Order having arrived, the numbers were not in their favour, and it didn't help that he was bearing witness to the destruction of the village that had been home to so many of his kin.
Tom choosing Godric's Hollow of all places was but another insult to Harry, and he would not let it lie.
Even if he had to follow the man to the ends of the Earth, he would put an end to him this night.
With that in mind, he began carving another path through the many robed and masked figures that seemed to be an endless stream of enemies that needed to be defeated, searching for the rest of Tom's creations.
They had to be stopped, and Harry suspected the Dark Lord himself would not arrive until they'd, in his eyes, weakened Harry sufficiently.
"Come Death, come," he murmured tiredly, splitting the skull of one of the Death Eaters, who simply collapsed lifelessly to the ground.
(Break)
Two of the group of Aurors that had immediately surrounded Sirius to protect him had fallen, but between them all, they'd killed several of the Dark Lord's followers as they made their way through the village to rid it of the threat.
Sirius himself had been wounded, the cut he'd received on his ribs still leaking blood, though the flow was now beginning to stem.
The same could not be said for the man he'd caught with a cleaving curse, and Sirius stomped on his neck before stepping over him to engage a large group of Greyback's pack.
Despite not being transformed, they were still a blood-thirsty and feral lot, using their long nails and teeth to tear into any that came across their paths.
Those who still retained their magic used their wands to great effect, cursing the fleeing muggles before setting upon them in the most brutal fashion.
Nonetheless, they were not trained or prepared for the militant Aurors who engaged them with equal viciousness.
The bodies of the werewolves began to stack up rapidly as the Aurors tore through them with practised efficiency, and it was in the heat of battle that Sirius saw the hulking figure he'd envisioned killing dozens of times over the years.
Greyback.
His hands and lips were dripping with the blood of his victims, but there was only one Sirius could think of as he looked upon the intimidating form.
Remus may be dead, but his friend would rest more peacefully without Greyback in the world.
Unleashing a guttural roar, the Minister of Magic surged forward, raising his wand, and firing a plethora of spells towards the infamous werewolf.
Greyback laughed mockingly as he defended against them before the black fog enveloped him. His amusement of what he seemingly deemed to be a weak attack died on his tongue as Sirius clamped his canine jaws around his throat.
Dragging the struggling Greyback to the ground, his grip tightened, and he tore at the softer flesh until he came away with much of the man's neck in his mouth.
Fenrir Greyback died gasping for breath, reaching for where his throat had been as the blood spurted between his desperately grasping fingers.
Even when Sirius reverted to his human state, he could taste it, and nothing had ever tasted better than the revenge he'd taken for his fallen friend.
(Break)
So much death.
Wherever he looked, the ground was littered with the bodies of friend and foe alike, and Albus could not help but lament on the loss of life incurred here tonight.
The blood of each of those was on the hands of Tom Riddle, who remained elusive in the sea of bodies strewn across Godric's Hollow.
For Albus, this had been his childhood home, and though the good memories he'd shared with those he'd cared for had already been tainted with the loss of his sister and the beginning of Gellert's rise to prominence, what was happening now would only tarnish them further.
Much of the village was already in ruins, and the reality of what was being destroyed truly hit home when Albus came across the corpse of the elderly Bathilda Bagshot.
She'd died with an expression of horror, of disbelief at what was happening in the village she had spent many decades in, and Albus absentmindedly thought that he would have to break the news to Gellert.
The man would not take it well.
Despite not having been on the best of terms, Gellert still thought a great deal of his aunt and she of him.
"Albus, there's too many of them," a heavily breathing Arthur declared.
He was bleeding from a deep cut above his brow but seemed to be coping with it well enough.
"We must fight on, Arthur," Albus encouraged. "We must."
Arthur swallowed deeply as he nodded.
"One of the twins," he choked. "I don't know what happened. Molly has taken him to St Mungo's."
"Then he is in the best possible place," Albus offered in a way of comfort, though he knew it would bring the man none. "Come, Arthur, Ronald is here somewhere. I will help you find him."
Arthur merely nodded, and the two of them, joined by Minerva and Filius, began searching the village for the youngest Weasley son.
(Break)
He ground his teeth at the sight of Potter killing Yaxley, the last of the Death Eaters he'd liberated from Azkaban. The young man was indeed proving to be a worthy foe, and though he had been wounded, Potter was not as spent as the Dark Lord had hoped.
Nonetheless, with Greyback dead and his own numbers beginning to wane, he knew that his time had come.
It was now or never, and Lord Voldemort could already taste victory on his lips.
With a grin, he took to the air before plummeting towards the centre of the village, ready to put an end to the boy who had plagued him for so long.
The screams that sounded at his arrival were music to his ears, and the Dark Lord quickly disposed of two Aurors who had the temerity to attack him.
Their final moments would be filled with agony, and having seen the suffering he could exact upon his enemies, those who remained near enough to challenge chose not to do so.
A wise move on their part, however, they would all die before the night was done.
The Dark Lord had no time for those who had so stubbornly stood against him.
"Come out wherever you are, Potter," he whispered, his voice echoing from every corner of Godric's Hollow.
Another smile crested his lips as, only a moment later, a laboriously breathing Harry Potter complied.
Clutching an intricate sword in one hand and a pale wand in the other, he stood before Lord Voldemort as defiantly as ever, his own smile firmly in place.
No words were exchanged between the two, and it was Potter who struck first, immediately putting the Dark Lord on the defensive.
What surprised him was the power the boy was able to muster. Coupled with the odd magic he wielded, he begrudgingly made for quite the opponent, but he was still just a man.
He may have delved into magicks unknown to most, but none had made the sacrifices the Dark Lord had. None had taken the very same steps, and there was no man alive that could claim to be his superior.
Potter would learn that, and to his detriment, it would cost him his foolish life.
(Break)
Sirius could only look on as Harry and Voldemort faced off with one another, the rest of those fighting giving the pair a wide berth. Already, the ground between them was little more than a crater of scorched earth and stone, the debris glowing hot from the force of magic exerted by both.
He wanted nothing more than to intervene, to do as he had promised James and Lily the moment they'd named him Harry's godfather, but there would be no intervention from any.
It would only mean certain death for any foolish enough to attempt to do so.
Sirius had witnessed the power of the Dark Lord, had seen him cut down many during the first war, and the man had only become more impressive.
What impressed him more, however, was that Harry did not miss a step and was often beating Voldemort to the punch.
It was as though both knew what the other would do next, and it became something of a physical game of chess in which they attempted to outmanoeuvre the other.
It was as violent as it was awe-inspiring, and though the fighting continued around them, it was lessening now as all knew that the outcome hinged on what would happen between Harry and Voldemort.
With a final glance towards his godson, Sirius continued his own battle, his thoughts not far away from Harry and the monumental task he was undertaking.
(Break)
Their group had swelled throughout the duration of the fighting, and as Ron stood back-to-back with his father, fending off a much larger gathering of Death Eaters, he felt the man beginning to slow down, his casting becoming slower as the fatigue set in.
Releasing a deep breath, he doubled down on his own efforts, dropping two Death Eaters to the ground before spinning to stand in front of the Weasley patriarch.
His father had been trying to fight three at once, and though he was a capable wizard in his own right, that would take its toll on many.
Ron was only more than willing to share the burden, though as he cast a shield, he heard a single word that filled him with dread, more so than his mother calling him in a shrill tone.
"Crucio!"
The word was spat in a foreign, gruff accent, and as Ron watched the spell collide with his unsuspecting father, his blood ran cold.
Arthur Weasley screamed in agony, and his son felt an anger course through his veins like nothing he'd ever experienced.
Without hesitation, he cast a particularly nasty rupturing curse towards the assailant, and the torture curse ended with the explosion of blood that spewed from the man's mouth.
Briefly checking on his father, Ron breathed a sigh of relief to see the man still conscious, though wheezing, as he fought to make it back to his feet.
Helping him, Ron supported his weight as he banished another robed figure into one of their comrades, his eyes widening as a sickly yellow curse was offered in return.
At the last moment, a strong, pearlescent shield appeared in front of him, followed by an uncharacteristically scowling Cedric Diggory, who sported several wounds of his own.
"Move him!" Cedric growled.
Ron nodded appreciatively as he all but dragged his father behind a nearby tree which had not escaped the battle unscathed.
The trunk had been torn in, and Ron rested his father against it.
"I'll be alright," the man assured him breathlessly.
"You need to get to St Mungo's," Ron urged. "You're no good to anyone here like that."
Reluctantly, his father nodded.
"I'm so proud of you, Ron," he said sincerely.
Ron snorted.
"You can thank Harry. He's the one that has been teaching us."
His father nodded.
"Then Merlin bless Harry Potter," he murmured weakly before activating a portkey he wore around his neck.
Ron waited only long enough to ensure the man had indeed left the village before returning to the ensuing battle, standing beside Cedric, Hermione, Isabella, Nott, and their mother.
The Death Eater numbers were dwindling, but the real fight was taking place only a short distance away, and the ground trembled as Harry and the Dark Lord continued their deadly dance.
"Come on, Harry," Cedric prayed.
Ron's mouth was dry, and though he could scarcely speak, he nodded the sentiment internally, his gaze shifting to Harry's wife.
Isabella was worried, they all were worried, but none seemingly more so than her.
(Break)
Death had arrived.
Although those within the village would not be able to tell the difference between the magic Harry exuded and its originator, he could, and it blanketed Godric's Hollow in anticipation of claiming the souls of the fallen.
For now, Death was patiently waiting, looking on as Harry and Voldemort danced their dance for Fate.
The Dark Lord had evidently expected an easier fight than he was getting. With purpose, he'd hidden and only attacked when he felt the time was right. Harry, however, had given no quarter and fought the man off at every turn.
Nonetheless, he could not deny the effort he'd exerted had taken its toll on him.
With the number of Tom's followers having been reduced, he'd returned his summoned souls from whence they came, unable to sustain them as he battled his foe.
Still, they seemed to have reached a stalemate.
Both had given their all, and they bore the wounds to prove it.
Harry's left leg had been compromised, and his body was littered with cuts and bruises alike, but he fought on, as did the Dark Lord.
Tom had been the recipient of a nasty burn across his neck and shoulder and was missing three fingers from his off hand.
He winced as Harry's next offering crashed into his shield, the sound of another bone breaking echoing around the village.
The Dark Lord acknowledged it with a pained hiss as he destroyed a nearby war memorial and sent the debris towards Harry, who had the foresight to conjure a molten wall of flame instead of trying to block them.
The stony serpents Voldemort had transfigured them into just before impact were reduced to ash, which blew away in the breeze.
Harry nodded as he offered a rebuttal, tearing a circular chunk of earth around the Dark Lord's feet and hissing, creating an enormous snake of his own that lunged towards his shocked foe.
By a hairsbreadth, Tom managed to repel it, and he looked at Harry in surprise before he screamed in fury, his wand becoming a blur as he did his utmost to put an end to him.
(Break)
The now unmasked woman she faced was particularly vicious, and Isabella was already diving deeply into the tricks her Aunt Rosalina had spent years teaching her.
The wedding dress she wore was no longer salvageable, having been dirtied by blood and all manner of filth it had accumulated throughout the duration of the fighting.
With much of the battle being concluded, Isabella had seemingly reached the pinnacle herself. Both her mother and Theo had been hurt, as had the Granger girl at the hands of the woman Isabella now faced.
She would not fall victim to her.
Batting aside a duo of curses she did not recognise, Isabella sprang into action, sending several spells towards her opponent to conceal her intent. As expected, the woman defended them easily enough and even leered at Isabella.
"You'll have to do better than that, girl!" she mocked in a heavily foreign accent.
Isabella merely nodded in response, smirking before striking once more.
This time, however, she did not aim her spell towards the woman but high above her, a smile widening at the look of confusion sent her way.
It was a wet, dull thud that spelt the end for her attacker as the pebble Isabella elevated above them during her last flurry expanded into a sizable rock, which collided with the woman's head.
She collapsed to the ground lifelessly, and Isabella fought the urge to vomit at the sight of the remains that had been sprayed across the ground.
With the fight over, she rushed to where her mother was assisting Theo and began helping her counter the curse he'd been hit with.
"Did you get her?" her brother asked through a grimace.
Isabella nodded grimly as she continued to work, breathing a sigh of relief when she realised she'd caught it in time.
"You're lucky," she murmured.
"I don't feel lucky," Theo groaned. "Bloody hell."
The ground beneath them trembled and Isabella turned sharply to where Harry and the Dark Lord were fighting.
"Go," Theo urged. "I'll be fine."
She did not need telling twice, and as she fought her way to the front of the crowd, it was Sirius who wrapped an arm around her to prevent her from proceeding any closer.
"Don't," he warned. "You'll only get yourself killed."
He was right.
Between the two of them, it was as though hell itself had opened in the very centre of Godric's Hollow. Fire and ash whirled about them in a violent storm, and yet they continued to fight, non-plussed by the havoc being wrought upon the outside world.
Even as far away as she was, the heat was almost unbearable, but with it was that same cold she'd become familiar with since meeting Harry.
Somehow, it still chilled the air, and Isabella could only look on helplessly as Harry and Voldemort did all they could to kill one another.
"Come on, Harry," Isabella urged, her fists balled tightly at her side.
She couldn't say how long the battle raged on, but several minutes passed by in a frightful blur, and both were clearly exhausted from the exertion.
It wasn't until Isabella felt a sudden spike of coldness that the flames seemed to flicker, and with a final shout of desperation, the Dark Lord raised his wand triumphantly.
"Avada Kedavra!"
It was in indescribable horror that Isabella realised that Harry was no longer holding his wand, and everything seemed to slow to a standstill as the jet of green light raced towards him.
She gasped, choking in relief as he intercepted it with the blade he carried.
The spell seemingly dissipated, but then an almighty explosion roared across Godric's Hollow as the sword exploded, forcing her to close her eyes.
When she opened them, it was to see Voldemort standing where he'd been, though now, a large piece of sharpened steel was lodged in his throat.
He attempted to raise his wand a final time but only managed a muffled scream of agony as blood began to pour from every visible orifice, and his eyes bulged in a mixture of shock and pain.
He fell backwards, crashing to the ground, unmoving and undeniably dead.
After a moment of stunned silence, Isabella sobbed.
It was finally over.
The Dark Lord was finally gone, though as Harry turned towards the gathered crowd, her jubilation turned to what she could only describe as a living nightmare.
Protruding from the centre of his chest was a shard of steel, similar to that which had felled Voldemort.
Harry looked at it almost curiously before his gaze swept across those gathered.
His eyes met hers, and Isabella was frozen in place as he offered her a sad smile.
Still clutching the bladeless hilt of the sword, Harry collapsed forward to the ground where he no longer moved.
Screams filled the air, and Isabella wasn't sure if they were her own or from those around her.
All she did know was that everything seemed to be collapsing in on her, and as she fought to reach Harry before anyone else, she noticed that the world felt suddenly warmer though not in a way she'd hoped for.