Chapter 64: Elfish Warfare

Friday, 1st September 1995.

Voldemort worked his way down the enormous black-tiled room.

The plan seemed to be working well for the moment. Most of the Ministry was empty as they chased down the multiple attacks he had his remaining forces engaging all across the country. Each group had several targets they were to attack before retreating and going after the next when Ministry forces arrived. Leaving the Ministry scrambling to respond and then losing manpower to the cleanup that each attack would require as well.

One of Yaxley's slaves had delivered their small gift to the Fountain upstairs earlier too, ensuring that anyone standing about in the Atrium would be convinced that they needed to go elsewhere, leaving the entry and exit to the building wide open for Voldemort's plan.

And yet, he had not expected this area to be so abandoned.

The Unspeakables did not respond to general Ministry business. They were basically a foreign entity that was barely a part of the Ministry makeup.

Not that he was concerned that one might have noticed him. Lord Voldemort had delved into the deepest depths of magic and knew ways of concealment and infiltration that none could hope to uncover. Not until he allowed them to.

But Voldemort focused his mind back on the task at hand. He had arrived at his destination.

The dusty shelves stretched off into the distance in both directions, yet Voldemort knew what he was after. He had ripped the information out of the mind of one of the Unspeakables earlier that very month when Rookwood had brought the man before him. Shortly before Potter recaptured his lieutenant.

Voldemort's snake-like eyes narrowed as he spied the tiny spun-glass orb resting on a small dragon-shaped stand. He had been slightly concerned that Potter may have beaten him to its recovery until Rookwood had assured him that if the record had been taken, the Keeper of the Hall would have created another. He had even considered finding the Keeper and pulling the information from their head. But again, Rookwood's knowledge had proven vital. The Keeper did not know any prophecy in the Hall. They were empowered only to enact the magic of the Hall itself to create the tiny prophecy records that lined the many shelves. Ancient magics now mostly lost to time that the Ministry only knew how to enact, not repeat.

Hanging off of the stand in front of him was a small yellowing label. The tag had three distinct lines of text, each seeming older than the next.

First was a typed line of text reading S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D. The initials of the one who had given the prophecy and the one who had received it. Apparently, Severus was not considered a part of this receipt. Although, given the fact that Lord Voldemort had needed to enter the building of the group currently leading the battle against him to personally retrieve this object, it was clear that Severus had been less than useful in that exchange. He would need to muse on what was to be done with the dour man later. Voldemort was beginning to question the man more and more.

Next, the label bore a minute summary. Handwritten in black ink were the words Dark Lord and (?). While it pleased Voldemort to see that, even here, they had dared not record his name, it also irked him that the prophecy had been so vague that it was not initially clear who the other participant was. Not even those who had made study of prophecy their entire lives had been able to parse the possibility successfully. Not until after Lord Voldemort had made his ill-informed move. For underneath this black ink was a third, far newer addition. In red ink were two large words.

Harry Potter.

The 'mythical Boy-Who-Lived'. Protected by another form of ancient magic that Lord Voldemort had misjudged, and paid a heavy price in exchange for that impatience. A mere child that had somehow survived death at his hands twice now. And who had captured or killed a significant number of the Dark Lord's forces.

A boy who would soon lose his advantage when Lord Voldemort learned the full wording and made ready his plans to counter it.

He stretched out his pale left hand, the one that remained his own after his previous encounter with the boy. While the marble arm he had conjured continued to serve him well, Lord Voldemort felt it was only proper to collect this nuisance with his true hand. His fingers lightly touched the spun-glass ball and in the deep cold of the massive Hall of Prophecy, the record felt warm to the touch.

Voldemort lifted it free of the little stand and brought it over to his face, scrutinising it as he held it aloft. Such a small and insignificant thing that had caused him so much trouble. Impatience had been his downfall the last time, and he learned his lessons well.

However, prophecy records were incredibly fragile, and no foreign magic could be cast on the tiny orbs to reinforce them. He would need to listen to it here and now to ensure that he heard it all.

Pulling his wand free of his robes using the marble arm, Voldemort tapped the tip against the glass, and a slender figure rose from the glass, seeming to be made from the glowing smoke that had resided within the now-dark ball.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

As the smoke pulled back down into the ball, Voldemort considered the words he had expended so much effort to acquire.

Severus had delivered very little of the overall prophecy. The man had missed crucial information. The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal. Something that young Tom Riddle would have thought was absolute nonsense. Lord Voldemort had no equal. He was unique among men and unmatched among magicals. And yet…

Potter had stood back up in the graveyard.

While the mudblood's magic had certainly been responsible for his first survival, the boy had most certainly defended himself in their most recent encounter. He had fought hard and well in retaliation. And he had taken a pound of flesh from Lord Voldemort. Something not even Dumbledore had achieved before.

He will have power the Dark Lord knows not…

Another concerning line. Although, he already knew it to be somewhat accurate. The rumours he had heard about the boy claimed he possessed unheard-of powers. Powers no one else seemed to match. No one except the girl who had remained elusive to Riddle's capture. While most seemed to consider these powers trickery or illusion, Voldemort was not so sure. These words made him wonder just how powerful the boy might truly be. And yet, the boy's power was not nearly what concerned him the most.

Either must die at the hand of the other.

The true terror held in these words laid bare.

When he had originally heard the first line, Voldemort had assumed it merely meant his downfall as a Dark Lord. That his life would continue in captivity or obscurity, but would continue nonetheless. Yet this portion confirmed that the death of one of the two parties was involved in this prophecy. And, while he had informed his troops that the boy was Voldemort's alone to finish, it seemed true in the opposite direction as well. Given what he had learned in the past few days about his anchors, this left Lord Voldemort most unsettled.

He would need to avoid any encounters with the child until he had found a way to counter these ridiculous words. Lord Voldemort would not be defeated by a mere child.

He had dwelled on the words enough for now. As with his earlier trip to the school which would currently be keeping the old fool occupied, if not killing him altogether, he had additional purpose here tonight. It was time to free his subordinates and ruin this building on his way out the same way he had ruined their prison.

Time to leave a definitive message about who the people needed to fear.

ϟ

"For the last time, Harry," his friend said, "we are all fine."

Neville smiled at him as he waited for a carriage to take them up to the castle. While no one from the Ministry had yet arrived to lend aid, the nearby town of Hogsmeade had shown their fortitude. Every home was now empty and a line of guardians flanked the entire road to Hogwarts. Watching the carriages passing between them, carrying the children up to the safety of the castle.

Nym had eschewed the carriages altogether, popping herself and the Head Boy, a seventh-year Ravenclaw that Harry was not yet familiar with, up to the school directly. So that they could ensure a smooth exit from the carriages at the far end of the trip. Given the mess that the professors were in after the fight, it once again showed the character that had seen Dumbledore choose her for the role.

Harry had wanted his friends to be on the first carriages out of the station, but most were already overfilled by frightened students hunkering down from the initial moments of the battle. They had refused to be moved and so the first batch had gone as is.

Once the second set returned, his friends had refused to budge until the first years, now unable to make the usual trip across the wide open and indefensible expanse of the loch, were safely to the school.

And so on it had gone, always someone else more important. It both irked Harry and filled him with pride. Every one of his friends had stood there stoically, wand drawn and helped the others from the train to the carriages and sent them on their way.

The final returning set of carriages were now approaching, rapidly flying back across the lake behind the leathery-black flying horses guiding them forward. Remus had confirmed that the train was now virtually empty. Only a few stragglers left in the nearest carriage to the archway onto the road were still to make the journey. They would all soon be tucked within the protection of the school's wards, safe from Riddle and his schemes.

Though, Harry wondered how tonight's feast would go, given that five of the school's professors now lay in the hospital ward with numerous injuries caused by Evandra. Professors Flitwick and Hooch had so many broken bones from their impact with the rock wall that they would require skele-gro to repair the damage.

Thankfully only Professor Moody had taken any direct damage from the basilisk's potent venom, where the wooden leg that the large snake had thankfully bitten into met his real body, having leaked down as it tossed him around a few times before they had freed him from the caustic jaws. The large red phoenix that had arrived with Professor Dumbledore had cried into the burning wounds that the acidic venom had left behind, clearing the venom and healing the fresh injuries nicely. Though not even phoenix tears could fix the rest of the leg anymore.

Professor Babbling had a serious concussion from when Evandra had tossed several of them through the air and down the nearby hill. She had landed fine, using a cushioning charm to soften the impact like the others, but had clipped a tree with her skull as she tumbled and had been taken quickly up to the school by the others who had been scattered amongst the trees.

And the last was Professor Sikander, who had only been present at the school again to cover until the new Muggle Studies professor could take up the role in the new year. The poor man accidentally dislodged his blindfold partway during an attack and caught sight of Evandra's livid gaze in one of the shiny metal plates on the rear carriage of the Hogwarts Express, leaving him petrified. Harry felt a certain amount of guilt for that one, as he had been so focused on the windows, he had forgotten about the railings and other reflective surfaces all over the train. Hermione had already tried to resolve his guilt by pointing out they were all wearing eye protection, and it was a fluke that had resulted in the man's petrification, but Harry still felt slightly responsible.

However, Harry considered five injuries and zero casualties a win against a basilisk as powerful as Evandra had been. Countless students could have died tonight if not for a suggestion made by Mr Scamander based purely on their proximity to a nature preserve a year ago.

Out in the open on the platform, chattering away to one another, so many of the students would have succumbed immediately to Evandra's gaze the moment she had crested the hill. There was nothing on that side of the platform that would have blocked the lethal line of sight, not even the footbridge over the tracks would have spared many. As the first students fell, others would have turned to see what had befallen them, succumbing to the gaze as well. Within moments, tonight could have become a massacre. So many lives had been saved.

And yet, as the thestral-guided carriages began to touch down on the road behind the train once more, Harry's blood ran cold yet again.

Hermione swayed beside him as well as several of the threads of connection they held to the hundreds of house-elves in Britain were violently severed. Harry felt as if someone had stabbed him in the heart as he blinked away the pain, trying his best not to worry those still standing around them both.

Instead, he tried to focus on where the pain had come from. But the absence was resounding. The elves that he had been connected to were dead. Several at once did at least narrow the possibilities of where such an event could have been occurring.

Harry closed his eyes as his friends guided the last of the students out of the train and onto the now stationary carriages. He followed his magic as it roared southward, seeking a place that could have housed so many elves at once. Brief flashes of small magic brushed his own as he spread it far and wide across the island they called home, but while some felt awful, they were not what he was searching for.

It was London where he finally felt his magic connect with a concentration of elves that might match his search. And the moment he did, Harry felt the taint of Riddle's magic nearby once more.

Harry's eyes snapped open and he noted that Luna and Neville were watching him and Hermione closely, both with concerned looks on their faces.

"Please, get on the carriages. You are safe, and we will be up shortly." Hermione said, gesturing for the two to climb into the one still carriage left at the station.

They were now the only four students left at the station.

"We are coming wi…"

"No." Harry said firmly, cutting off Neville. "You can't help with this. Get inside with the others. We will be there as soon as we can."

"Harry, please," Luna begged, and her wide silver eyes would have had him capitulate to any other request.

"No. This is Riddle himself. Go to the school. And don't tell Nym where we have gone. The school needs her more right now."

Harry quickly gave her a firm hug before he turned away and saw Sirius and Remus leaving the train nearby. He rushed over to them.

"Riddle is in the Ministry right now." He told them the moment he was in range, not willing to shout it across the platform. "We need to go."

"Harry…" Remus tried to argue, but Harry was not having it.

"Don't. I'm going. I've told you where and why. You can come along if you want but do not try and stop me. That bastard just tried to murder an entire generation of children. This ends now."

Harry was livid, but trying to keep his calm through it all. Even as he spoke, he could feel more death underneath the touch of his magic. Arguing was costing lives.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw two concerned faces looking out at him from inside the now-moving carriage. The townsfolk assembled behind it as it passed and corralled the final journey up to the school. His friends were safe.

Hermione quickly joined him with the others and Harry turned back to the men.

"Riddle stuck his head out, exactly as we knew he would. He is killing people even now. So… coming, or not?" He asked the two Marauders.

He linked his fingers with Hermione and Harry could feel her magic directing their impending journey. And he could feel the indecision flowing off of the men who had sworn their lives to protect his own but so dearly wanted to keep Harry from this fight.

Harry could wait no longer and he nodded to Hermione. He could feel fingers grasp his shoulder as Hermione relocated them from Scotland to London in an instant. The expansive Atrium of the Ministry spread out before them as they stood at the arrivals section.

"Damn, I was aiming for direct," Hermione grumbled, but Harry saw the flaw.

While it was not properly warded against elf popping specifically, and the Portkey Station upstairs allowed for Ministry-approved portkeys to depart, the Ministry itself was designed to funnel all incoming magical transportation to the arrivals station here in the Atrium. It must have taken the elves who worked here some time to account for and bypass that restriction as they went about their work. Or, they simply walked from place to place. Not that it mattered tonight, from Harry could now feel coming from the lower levels.

"Cover us from here. We need to ensure that no one gets out and that no enemy reinforcements come in." Harry told Remus and Sirius, who he could see holding onto one shoulder each of himself and Hermione, having made their decision to join them instead of stopping them at the last possible moment.

"We're coming with you," Sirius said resolutely.

"You don't need to," Hermione replied, feeling the same thing that Harry could.

"No! We're not going to stand here and wait while you go and fight." Sirius said fiercely, the man's desire to protect his charges plain on his face now that he was here with them.

"That's not what we said," Harry replied, turning away from the approaching sensation. "A, look at this place." Harry paused and allowed them all to look at the usually bustling atrium. There was no one in sight. The entire floor appeared to have been abandoned. "I can feel something in the fountain."

"There is a desire to find something else to do coming from it," Hermione noted, clearly feeling the sensation as well and redirecting it from affecting her as they had practised so often with Andromeda. But they had been expecting something to be awry when they arrived. Anyone who had been in the atrium when the magic first took hold or had wandered through since then likely would not have noticed the change.

Harry shook the feeling away and turned back to Sirius. "B, as much as I love how much you want to protect me, we all know that I need to do this. I need to know that you aren't in the line of danger if I'm going to give Riddle my whole focus and end this. And C, we took too long to notice and get here. Riddle is already coming this way, backed by everyone he just managed to free from the cells downstairs. We're going to need help to fight that many."

The two Marauders looked terrified for the first time Harry could recall. He'd seen them concerned before and upset. But never utterly stunned by fear, though he wondered if part of it was the magic coming from the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Whatever it was, he did not have the time to break them free of it or figure out what the source of the magic was and break it down. They would need to fight it for themselves.

"Summon anyone and everyone you can to come and help us fight." Harry insisted. "Tell them that Riddle is here freeing his forces. We will buy them time to arrive. And, if we're lucky, end this before anyone else gets hurt."

"If we are right, summoning the other Ministry staff could see them come in behind Riddle's force and catch them between us. That would end the fight real quick." Hermione said, whispering a message to Madame Bones into her wand and flicking it away. They all saw it rush upwards, but could not know if it was headed to level two or up to street level London somewhere.

Harry turned away and he could feel how much Sirius in particular wanted to grab him and run. To protect him from the impending battle that was slowly working its way up the stairs. it would not take the incoming force long to finish the journey from level ten up to level eight.

"Can you try and pin him down?" Harry asked Hermione. "I doubt the magic they've cast on this place is enough to hold Riddle inside once things kick off," Harry said, not looking away from the stairwell exit at the far end of the hall. "And I would sooner he didn't bring the whole Ministry down on our heads like he did to Azkaban."

Hermione just nodded her agreement and Harry felt her magic flow outwards and blanket the hall. All except the area behind them where Sirius and Remus had finally shaken off the shock and were furiously casting messages off to anyone they could think of to help in the fight to come.

Harry took a deep breath and pulled his magic back into his body, cutting himself off from the pained feelings left in the few still-breathing elves downstairs. He would see to their care as soon as he could, but right now, he needed his focus on this room alone. On Riddle.

The first black-cloaked figure burst out of the stairwell and bounced across the floor like a gleeful child. But they were not alone for long as dozens soon followed. Very few were carrying wands, and Harry was grateful that evidence lockup was up on level two. Those couple of foci that he could feel would have been stolen from the guards, meaning they would not be well-matched.

Not like the rowan he summoned back into his hand again today in preparation for a fight, or the elder in Hermione's.

He remembered Ollivander's words as he clenched his fingers on the powerful piece of eager wood. 'Tremendously protective, and with the heartstring, powerful too. Great things.'

Harry had been mildly distracted in the moment itself, having felt a true magical connection like the one with Hermione from another source for the first time in his life. He was awed by it. But those words had fallen into the steel trap of his memories, and finally, he understood some of what Ollivander was saying. He also recalled the words about Hermione's wand. A length of wood so intimately infused with her magic that he could feel it wherever it resided at all times. 'A truly powerful and loyal wand.' Just like the girl herself had proven to be. 'Both of you are clearly bound for great things.'

Harry had thought nothing of the man's prediction at the time, so worried about being caught out in public, distracted by the reaction of holding his wand for the first time. And yet, here they were, about to face Riddle again, intentionally this time.

It seems the old man had been correct.

And so, Harry did not wait for their enemy to become aware of his presence. He flicked his wand in their direction and a resounding explosion shattered the tension that had been building in him and flung Death Eaters in every direction.

The explosion of the spell echoed loudly in the contained, reflective space of the atrium. The tiled surface kept it within and several figures that had been safe from the blast covered their ears and cowered from the intense sound. Harry, however, just flicked a spell over his ears to protect against any further shockwaves and continued his attack.

There was no need to hold back here. He could feel Riddle's taint on every single person coming up those stairs. Each one a convicted killer or terrorist caught publicly attacking innocent people. This was a public service.

He had cast twelve spells by the time the first one came back at him and he didn't even need to bat it aside it went so wide. But it was clear that the enemy now knew where he was. Harry slowly stepped wide, ensuring that he was not in line with Sirius or Remus further down the entranceway, so that any stray spells that whipped past him would not be a risk to the two of them.

Hermione mirrored his movements on the far side as they both crept further along the numerous fireplaces. If Riddle had planned to bring in more troops from outside, this could have left their backs exposed, but Harry was fairly certain that any forces Riddle had outside were staying there. Otherwise, he would be risking his entire force trying to free the rest of it. As asinine as some of Riddle's choices had seemed to be, he was not a complete fool who would risk all of his troops for a prison break.

Dozens of cloaked figures were now scattered across the dark tiled floor, moaning in pain or outright unconscious from their combined assault. As per the family rules of engagement, neither Harry nor Hermione were pulling their punches tonight. Over two hundred prisoners had been freed, and even with their skill and power, if they got into close enough quarters, they could be in trouble with those kinds of numbers. All it would take was a lucky shot from someone to put them in significant danger.

"Potter." A shrill voice sounded through the chaos and most of the Death Eaters turned to see their master crest the stairs at long last.

Harry tilted his head slightly, observing the man he was supposedly destined to vanquish before he simply continued casting. He wasn't here to have a tête-à-tête with Riddle. He was here to stop him.

"Not in the mood for talking?" Riddle continued as several of his number continued to be battered about the room by Harry and Hermione, "...how rude of you."

Harry ignored the pitiful taunt as he knocked another group of five down, unconscious. His eyes flicked back to Riddle and the man looked back with a triumphant smirk. Which suddenly vanished as Harry felt Riddle's awful magic swell in his chest before fizzling out with no effect. The smirk was replaced with first confusion and then furious anger, and a touch of fear at Harry's own returning smirk. Hermione had the bastard pinned down.

"What have you done?" Riddle hissed, glaring at him.

Once again, Harry did not bother with words. He simply swished his wand and a powerful cutting curse was soaring at Riddle's torso.

The man was fast, Harry would certainly give him that. He went from unarmed to battering Harry's spell into the crowd in the blink of an eye. Riddle had not summoned the wand as he and Hermione did, but he had drawn it from his robes in a curiously quick fashion. And he did not end his movement there. A spell was roaring back at Harry just as quickly and he sidestepped it, allowing it to splash against the fireplace behind him.

Harry could feel others approaching from outside now, and he hoped they were the forces that Sirius had called in, rather than Riddle. But his focus tightened anyway. Riddle needed to be his target. Anything else that got in the way of that risked himself and Hermione. He could sense her holding everyone in place magically, but it was most strongly centred on Riddle. Who clearly had no idea that his girlfriend was the source of his inability to apparate away, as Harry could once again feel him attempting. And Harry was not about to disavow Riddle of his incorrect assumption that Harry himself was the problem.

Riddle growled and a flurry of spells left his wand. Harry countered some and knocked others into Riddle's stunned troops. This was very familiar. Harry was tired from the encounter with Evandra, as he had been from his trip through the maze the last time he had stood before Riddle. While Riddle was far fresher. Harry doubted the guards downstairs had put up much of a fight against the man. And Riddle was proving up to the challenge this time as well.

Foolish though some of his choices may be, there was a good reason for the public's fear of the man from his last reign of terror.

A single fireplace at the furthest end of the atrium sounded behind Harry, but he ignored whoever had arrived. He trusted Sirius and Remus to have his back if that person should try to fire on him. He was here for Riddle, and he would not make the same mistake he had in the graveyard.

His enemy would not escape a second time.

Riddle snarled, the movement looking so wrong on the man's disfigured face. Another spate of spells were exchanged between them. Harry was barely even cognizant of what he was casting, simply allowing instinct to guide his wand. He had spent hours duelling his tutors, to the point that casting combat magic had become second nature when in such a state. He did not need to think about which spell would be best.

It just flowed, and the rowan sang.

Never before had Harry ever needed to cast such powerful magic so constantly as he had tonight. And the wand was proud to be his conduit. Its protective nature wanted to put an end to the danger Riddle posed as much as Harry did.

Before long, a wide hole had appeared in the crowd as Harry and Riddle had been gradually funnelled into the centre of the wide-open atrium. Those few who did possess wands were standing dumbstruck as they watched Harry and Riddle exchange fire back and forth. Harry doubted that any of them had seen a duel of this calibre in their lives. Immense amounts of magic were pouring out of the two duelists, neither one gaining ground, but not yielding a millimetre either.

Harry slowly circled the foul man and Riddle matched him, spells crackling across the space, occasionally diverting and knocking out or even killing a member of their stunned audience. Hermione's magic still blanketed the space, and Harry knew she was getting antsy watching this fight. If he missed something, he knew she had him covered as she too moved around the wide circle. Watching. Feeling.

Even more people had arrived, but Harry did not have the time or attention span to spare on them right now. Riddle was proving even more potent than he had expected. While Harry could easily duel his four tutors to a standstill, Riddle was something else.

Only Hermione herself had ever posed such a challenge to him in the past. But those few sparring matches always had a limit neither would cross. Harry could never bring himself to actually hurt her, and he knew she felt the same.

Some of the spells flying from his own wand surprised Harry as the two duellists moved back and forth with the flow of magic a constant between them. Bursts of colour, snaps of exploding sound, whistles of danger and death, all of it flitted back and forth. Sometimes colliding in the air, sometimes whizzing into the crowd. Sometimes going wide enough to be unworthy of their attention at all.

All Harry cared about was ending the threat to his friends and family. His green eyes locked on the vicious red opposite. The man who had killed his parents. Who caused so much pain and suffering for no reason but his own selfish vanity.

Suddenly, Harry smiled.

The battle had felt fairly even throughout. He had no idea how long they had been at it. He had completely entered the zone and was allowing his body to manage the fight for him. But the only thing that could ever pierce his focus in such a state had reached the edge of his awareness of the circle around them, standing at the far side from himself, and it cracked the veneer of his focus just a little.

Not enough to break his flow, but it amused Harry to know that it was about to fall directly behind Riddle.

As he side-stepped another green spell, Harry felt the familiar magic leave the circle and clip Riddle's thigh. It wasn't much, a small blasting curse that knocked loose a good chunk of the blood and muscle of Riddle's upper leg. But it was all Harry needed to break the stalemate between them.

All four of Harry's next spells found their target.

First, Riddle's wand exploded in his hand, shards of wood going everywhere as the focus was destroyed, just like the last time. Preventing Riddle from blocking what came next as a mirrored blasting curse took out Riddle's left foot and sent him sprawling to the tiled floor. Third, a bludgeoning charm that scored a direct hit on the foul man's centre of mass, propelling him backwards and finally, another blasting curse, this time aimed at the same arm Harry had removed from the man once before.

The sound of that final spell hitting the marble arm was awful. Like an entire pack of chalk being gouged into a blackboard, the living stone rebelled before Harry's magic overwhelmed it and the arm cracked, becoming a dead weight on Riddle's right side as his body hammered hard into the Fountain of Magical Brethren, cracking the marble and creating a slow leak out onto the floor around Riddle's slumped body.

Silence fell over the atrium as Harry walked past his smiling companion. Hermione had taken advantage of Riddle's focus on Harry and snuck in behind him, waiting for an opportune time to aid Harry in the fight. Playing fair was for fun. When a battle was to the death, there was no such thing as cheating. Harry was so proud of his girlfriend. She had kept Riddle pinned and stayed out of the fight, watching Harry in imminent danger for as long as was necessary to find the perfect time to strike. Had she tried to help sooner, Riddle would have been expecting her involvement and been better prepared for it. Instead, she had caught him completely focused on Harry.

He interlocked their fingers as he passed and pulled her with him as they approached the downed and groaning figure of Tom Riddle.

He looked truly pathetic now. A pile of black cloak wrapped around a gasping pale figure clutching at its stomach with one arm, while the other lay entirely still. It reminded Harry of their first encounter, way back when he was fifteen months, not fifteen years. A baby sitting in his crib as a monster tried to murder him in cold blood. The bloody pile of robes that had been all that remained of Tom Marvolo Riddle's original body slumped against his closet. With a choked cough, Riddle finally seemed to regain the ability to breathe, but instead of snarling at Harry and resuming their battle with words, Riddle simply vomited all over the floor, adding to the gradually growing puddle by his face.

Harry felt a curious peace as he looked down on the man he was supposedly destined to kill. Who had taken so much from him over the words of a stupid prophecy. Harry wanted to kill him. Had every right to do so. Had promised many people that he would if they ever met again.

And yet… It felt wrong.

Harry had killed before and allowed others to die in front of him when he could have prevented it. While the spell had not been his, Harry had been the direct cause of Draco Malfoy's death. But then, the boy had been actively trying to murder Hermione in front of him. Riddle was wounded and disarmed. A pitiful pile on the floor with only one arm and one foot. Still dangerous for sure, but not an active and immediate threat to himself or his family.

To strike him now felt too much like murder in cold blood. Had it occurred during their duel that would have been one thing, but now, standing over the lump on the floor, planning to cast magic solely to end a life that presently could not defend itself? The idea made Harry uncomfortable. Surely it was necessary, wasn't it?

Harry noted several sensations nearby as his magic flowed outwards once more, the indecision he felt had allowed the tight control he'd been keeping over it until now to waver. Around him were several individuals with whom he was familiar, some family and some allies, and an alternative seemed to present itself to him as he recalled several offers that had been made by those individuals.

Yes, Harry could lift his wand and end Riddle here and now, but others needed him right now. Elves were downstairs dying because of this monster. He had more important things to deal with, and standing silently nearby were the people who could handle this in his place.

"Minister Fudge. Madame Bones." Harry said aloud, breaking the spell of stillness that held the entire Atrium in its sway.

"Yes?" Fudge asked, stepping over through the crowd, Amelia Bones quickly passed off the individual she had been cuffing to one of her aurors and followed.

"I present the terrorist Tom Marvolo Riddle to Ministry custody. As much as I would like to kill him for all that he has done… That is not my decision. Not like this. I suppose that even he should face justice."

Riddle finally managed to master the control of his muscles again leaning up on his one good arm and he glared up at Harry, vicious intent clear in the man's eyes. Not that Harry was afraid. Riddle was unarmed and Harry was still primed and ready to act if the man was stupid enough to try.

Bones snapped her fingers and a pair of aurors rushed over to the Fountain. They hefted Riddle between them and pulled him to his knees, each holding an arm tightly to prevent him from trying to wriggle free. Hermione's magic still bathed the entire room, preventing him from trying to escape magically. She was no fool and someone like him did not need a wand to perform that kind of magic.

Riddle vomited again as he tried to do exactly that, seemingly believing that Harry had lowered his guard. The conflicting sensations did not seem to agree with the evil man's digestive tract. Not after Harry had bruised it so badly with his final attacks.

"You can't escape this Tom," Harry said. "You are going to face the music."

Throughout the indecision, Harry did not remove his eyes from the other man. Locking his own forceful gaze on the hateful one searing back out at him.

"About that," Fudge said, stepping around Harry and moving to stand at the Fountain's edge, stepping up onto the raised stone right behind Riddle.

Harry finally tore his eyes from Riddle and flicked them up to Fudge, wondering what the man intended now, and whether he had just made a big mistake in handing the monster to the Ministry to deal with.

"We all know who this is. The terrorist who proclaimed himself Lord Voldemort." The shudder that ran through the room was comical, but Harry was now focused on Fudge, who had not shivered at all. A curiosity that could mean one of a few things, several of which could be very bad in a room full of Riddle's supporters, several of whom had wands on them at the moment. "Tom Marvolo Riddle has been a thorn in the side of magica… of all of Britain for decades. He has murdered indiscriminately. Incited rebellion and insurrection. Has committed treason against both this Ministry and the Crown. Does anyone here doubt his guilt?"

Murmurs went through the crowd at the question, but nobody moved to speak up for Riddle. They knew his crimes. A significant number present had aided him in them. Harry even noticed, as his eyes flickered around at the question, that several of the Wizengamot members were present and they all indicated their belief that Riddle was guilty. While not done in the proper environment, this was at least bearing some of the hallmarks of a real trial.

"I thought not. Does the accused have anything to say in his defence?" Fudge asked, looking down at Riddle.

Riddle coughed and Harry was sure that he had almost vomited yet again. The man's furious red gaze was still fixed on Harry as he barely managed to talk, his voice high and scratchy. "You are unfit to judge me."

Harry suppressed the scoff that nearly came forth. Riddle still believed himself to be the most powerful sorcerer in the world, and yet he had just been defeated yet again by a teenager in front of a crowd of his closest supporters and the Ministry he sought to overthrow. At least the man was consistent in his delusion of grandeur.

"Very well," Fudge replied. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, your usage of the Unforgivable Curses in this Atrium tonight alone, witnessed by numerous members of the Ministry of Magic, would be enough to sentence you to life in prison. However, you have proven more than once now that our prisons are insufficient for holding one such as yourself. So, for your numerous crimes of treason, terrorism and murder, and the continuing danger you would present to the public through incarceration, I, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic of the British Ministry of Magic, hereby sentence you to death."

Fudge glanced up at the rapt crowd. "All opposed?" No one spoke in Riddle's defence. "All in favour?"

Every member of the Wizengamot present raised their hands. So too did the Ministry personnel dotted about the Atrium, at least the ones that Harry could see.

"So be it," Fudge said.

Without further warning, Fudge pulled his wand from his robes and pointed it at Riddle's neck. He took a single steadying breath and incanted a single word. "Diffindo."

A wide slice of magical energy cut straight through Tom Riddle's throat and the foul man's red eyes went wide in shock. Shortly before his entire head slipped forward due to the downward angle the curse had cut through his flesh and toppled off the body underneath.

Harry was surprised at the simplicity of it all.

Tom Riddle had spent his entire life seeking to evade death and sell himself as the most powerful wizard of all time. And now, he was dead. Head lying on the floor as the aurors held his lifeless body between them. Even they seemed shocked and unsure of what to do now as they slowly lowered his limp body to the ground.

Harry could feel the tainted remainder of Riddle's blackened soul inside his body wither and dissipate into nothingness. No hidden tethers holding it in place. No powerful magic keeping it on this side of the Veil. Nor did Death make a show of taking it either. While he could still feel echoes of Riddle's magic in the bodies of his supporters, likely the residue of their Dark Marks, the tattered soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle simply passed into whatever afterlife he would be subject to without so much as a whimper.

Sent on by a man that Harry had seriously misjudged at times throughout their efforts it seemed.

"See these escaped prisoners back to their cells, please," Fudge said, tucking his wand back into his robes.

"Right away, Minister." Madame Bones said, a wide smirk on her face as she looked at the man with no small amount of appreciation.

As the Atrium once more became a hive of activity, Harry stepped around Riddle's dead body and over to Fudge. The elder man hopped down again and smiled at Harry as he approached.

"Thank you, Mr Potter. Without your efforts, a simple resolution like that could never have been possible."

"I'm just surprised, Minister," Harry replied, unsure what to say.

Fudge's smile slipped for a moment, replaced by a solemn expression. "I have done a lot of thinking over the past few months, Mr Potter. About who I am as a person. About the kind of legacy I want to leave behind as Minister. And that a true leader should never ask those under him to do something he is not willing to do for himself."

"I think that you showed considerable fortitude, Minister," Hermione said from Harry's side.

The man smiled again. "You do not think that I stole Mr Potter's thunder?"

Harry smiled as well. "If I truly wanted to kill him, I would have done so, Minister. I handed him over for justice to be done. However, I do have one request."

"Name it, young man," Fudge said.

"All of this was your idea. I was just helping out."

Fudge seemed entirely taken aback at the idea. "You do not wish credit for your work?"

"I have far too much fame for my liking, Minister. I just want a normal life. And a spot of help from anyone you can spare with skill in healing. There are several wounded downstairs that need urgent care."

"Right. Of course. Head along, I'll send everyone we can. And contact St Mungo's immediately." Fudge said, and Harry felt that bringing the man into matters had definitely been the right call.