Chapter 72 – Titans Collide

Harry cast a glance at Orion, his green eyes sharp and intense. "If you don't want your father to know about your involvement, you've got to leave. Now."

Orion hesitated, his shoulders tense, his usually smooth composure rattled by the brewing storm of dark energy in the air. Finally, he gave a short, decisive nod, his voice low but steady. "It's in the top right drawer of the desk. That's where I last saw him place it."

Without another word, Orion slipped out of the Lord's study, the heavy oak door closing behind him with an audible click.

Harry turned toward the desk. Its dark obsidian surface gleamed in the flickering light of the room's solitary lamp, a stark contrast to the sinister aura creeping through the air. Quickly, he tugged open the top right drawer. His fingers brushed against the cold, smooth surface of the Resurrection Stone. The black gem glinted faintly as he lifted it from its resting place.

He pocketed the stone and pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his robes. This time, he didn't fully shroud himself beneath it. Instead, he draped it over his shoulders like a mantle, its silvery fabric flowing down his back. The moment the cloak settled against him, a surge of raw, electrifying energy shot through his veins. His breath caught.

It wasn't just magic—it was something far deeper, a primal connection that hummed in his core. The Deathly Hallows were united.

The Master of Death.

Power coursed through Harry, his own magic amplified to a magnitude he'd never experienced. He could feel every ounce of his magical potential heightened. But there was more to it, something vast and intangible. A whisper of understanding brushed the edges of his consciousness, as though the Hallows carried secrets older than time itself. He didn't yet understand what it meant, but the sensation was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Then the world shifted.

The light from the single lamp dimmed as the sky outside the high windows turned an impossible black. It wasn't nightfall; this was something more profound, as if the heavens themselves had been smothered by shadows. The oppressive darkness seeped into the room, suffocating the air and pressing against Harry's skin.

The sudden crash of glass shattered the heavy silence. The windows exploded inward, shards scattering like frozen raindrops. Tendrils of shadow crept through the gaping panes, writhing and twisting as though alive. They gathered in the centre of the room, condensing into a form—a man, tall and cloaked in inky blackness, his eyes burning with cold, furious light.

Rigel Black.

He stepped forward, his boots crunching on the broken glass, his gaze locked onto Harry with an intensity that froze the air between them. His voice was low, a venomous growl. "You tricked me."

Harry clenched his fists, his own magic flaring in response to the tension in the room. Rigel's rage was palpable, a storm barely held in check, and the room seemed to shrink under the weight of their unspoken challenge.

Harry smirked, his hand resting casually on the desk, though his entire body was coiled, ready for the storm brewing before him. "Technically, Hermione tricked you," he said, his voice calm, almost mocking. "Give credit where it's due."

Rigel's eyes narrowed dangerously, his fury barely contained. "I should have known," he snarled, his tone razor-sharp. "It couldn't be a coincidence. First, I unveil her plan to lure me away tomorrow. Then, right after, Denmark starts making noise, threatening to leave the Order? Too perfect." His lips curled into a sneer. "No matter. You won't slip through my fingers this time, Potter. Not like you did four years ago on Noirisle."

Harry's smirk faltered as his expression hardened, the air around him shifting. The charged energy in the room seemed to ripple outward from him, subtle but undeniable. He straightened, stepping away from the desk, his green eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and resolve.

"You're right, Rigel," he said, his voice low and deadly serious. "This time, we'll finish it. For Hermione. For Ernie. For my family." His fists clenched at his sides as his magic surged, the invisible force stirring the shadows in the room like a gale through leaves. "You'll pay for what you've done."

Rigel's response was a deep, guttural laugh that reverberated through the shattered study, dark and menacing. His blue eyes, cold as winter frost, gleamed with disdain. "You think you're ready to take me on, little brother?" he asked mockingly, his tone dripping with contempt. "How quaint."

The air between them crackled with tension, thick enough to suffocate. The dim light of the room, broken and splintered by the invading shadows, painted their figures in stark relief: Harry, cloaked in the power of the Deathly Hallows, and Rigel, his presence steeped in darkness and dominance.

The air in the study ignited as their duel began. Rigel's wand whipped sharply, and shadows erupted around him like writhing serpents, lashing toward Harry with venomous intent. Harry's wand was already raised, a jet of fire roaring from its tip to meet the encroaching darkness. The flames hissed and crackled as they collided with the shadow magic, the two forces sparking in mid-air before dissipating in an explosion that shook the room.

Rigel vanished into the darkness, his form melting seamlessly into the shadowy tendrils. Harry pivoted, sensing rather than seeing the attack coming. He summoned a gust of wind, scattering the encroaching shadows just in time to see Rigel materialise behind him. A blade of shadow sliced toward Harry's throat, but Harry spun away, his wand slashing downward as a wave of fire burst forth, forcing Rigel back.

"You're quicker than I expected," Rigel remarked coldly, his figure flickering as if struggling to fully materialise.

"And you're as cowardly as ever, hiding in the dark," Harry shot back, his voice steady despite the roaring fire that enveloped his hands and wand.

With a flick of Rigel's wrist, tendrils of shadow slammed into the obsidian desk, shattering one corner of it and sending shards skittering across the stone floor. Harry didn't hesitate. He launched a bolt of lightning, its crackling energy illuminating the room for a split second before Rigel absorbed it into the surrounding shadows.

"Is this all the Master of Death can muster?" Rigel taunted, his voice resonating with an otherworldly quality as he stepped through the darkness. His wand moved like a conductor's baton, commanding the shadows to swirl into jagged spikes and shoot toward Harry.

Harry bellowed, "Incendio Maxima!" A towering inferno erupted from his wand, engulfing the shadows and racing toward Rigel. The flames painted the room in hues of orange and gold, casting flickering reflections off the polished obsidian desk. Rigel conjured a barrier of dense shadow, but Harry's fire burned through it, forcing him to leap aside.

Bookshelves lining the walls caught fire, and the acrid scent of charred wood mingled with the ozone of magical discharge. The heavy velvet curtains burst into flames, collapsing in fiery tatters to the floor. Sparks and ash swirled in the air like embers in a dying forge.

After deflecting another fiery assault with a wave of his hand, Rigel straightened, his breath visible in the now superheated air. His lips curled into a smirk, though his eyes burned with cold menace. "I can feel it, you know," he said, his voice as dark as the shadows he commanded. "The power of the Hallows surging through you. The power of the Master of Death. But tell me, Harry—" He raised his arms, the shadows responding to him like a tide pulled by the moon. "Will it be enough to defeat me? Not just the Master of this Castle, but the Master of the entire wizarding world?"

Harry's eyes flashed dangerously, but he said nothing. Instead, he lifted his wand high, a circle of fire encasing him as if shielding him from the encroaching darkness. With a roar, the fire erupted outward, a wave of heat that sent books, debris, and even shards of the shattered desk flying.

Rigel laughed darkly, his figure flickering as the shadows pulled him back and then thrust him forward, a jagged spear of pure shadow energy clutched in his hand. He hurled it at Harry with deadly precision. Harry's reflexes snapped into action, and with a fierce slash of his wand, he conjured a wall of stone from the floor, the spear shattering against it in a shower of black mist.

The duel grew fiercer, each spell they hurled more destructive than the last. The walls cracked under the strain, portraits fell, and the chandelier above them exploded in a cascade of glass.

Harry called forth water, a roaring torrent that surged toward Rigel, seeking to drown out his shadowy constructs. But Rigel countered with a void of darkness so intense it seemed to swallow even the light of Harry's spells.

"This ends today, Rigel!" Harry shouted, his voice cutting through the maelstrom of magic. He raised his wand, flames swirling around him like a phoenix reborn, and prepared to strike again.

Rigel sneered. "Yes," he replied, his voice brimming with cold certainty. "One of us will fall. And it won't be me."

The study trembled as Harry drew upon the wellspring of power within him. His wand blazed with golden light, the glow growing brighter as he poured every ounce of his magic into a single, devastating spell. The air thickened, humming with the raw force of the incantation as the ground beneath his feet cracked under the strain.

"Fulminare!" Harry roared, thrusting his wand forward.

A torrent of energy erupted from him, a storm of fire, lightning, and wind converging into a single, unstoppable force. It tore through the room with a deafening roar, obliterating the obsidian desk, shattering walls, and reducing everything in its path to rubble.

The foundation of the tower groaned under the strain. Cracks raced up the stone walls, and with a thunderous rumble, the entire structure began to collapse. The room tilted violently as debris rained down. Shadows coiled around Rigel's form, and in an instant, he dissolved into the darkness, his figure dissipating into tendrils that slipped through the destruction like smoke.

Harry didn't hesitate. Calling on the power thrumming in his veins, he became lightning. A blinding flash split the air as his body transformed into a streak of pure, crackling energy. He shot through the falling debris, racing after Rigel as the tower crumbled behind them.

They emerged into the open sky above Black Castle, the darkness of the night swallowing them whole. The rain began to fall, soft at first, then quickly turning into a torrential downpour. Sheets of water poured from the heavens, soaking the battleground and shrouding the castle grounds in a curtain of mist.

Rigel materialised mid-air, the shadows around him swirling into jagged spears and shimmering shields as he unleashed a relentless barrage of spells. Harry responded immediately, conjuring blasts of searing fire that illuminated the dark sky. The raindrops hissed and evaporated into steam as they met the roaring flames, and the air was filled with the sharp scent of ozone and scorched water. Lightning coiled around Harry like a second skin, each of his movements casting brilliant flashes across the battlefield.

The storm churned above them, a chaotic canvas of rain, wind, and fury. Rigel's shadow magic moved with precision, the tendrils weaving and slashing through the air as if alive. They struck from unexpected angles, forcing Harry to twist and dodge, the cloak on his back shimmering faintly with its protective magic. But for every shadow Rigel conjured, Harry's fire was there to burn through, his flames flaring brighter and hotter with every clash.

Their spells collided in dazzling bursts of energy, arcs of light and shadow crisscrossing the stormy heavens. Rigel's jagged spears of darkness disintegrated against Harry's lightning-charged barriers, the residual energy crackling in the air. Whenever their magic met head-on, Harry's power overwhelmed Rigel's. The empowerment from the Hallows coursed through him, amplifying his already formidable abilities. Yet despite Harry's clear advantage in raw strength, he knew this fight would be anything but easy.

Rigel wasn't just powerful; he was a master strategist. Every attack was calculated, every move designed to force Harry into a disadvantage. His illusions melded seamlessly with the storm, creating phantom attacks that were indistinguishable from the real ones until they struck—or dissolved into harmless mist. Harry countered as best he could, his fire magic cutting through the tricks like a blade, but it was clear that Rigel's strategy wasn't to overpower him outright—it was to outmanoeuvre and outlast him.

Harry growled in frustration as a swarm of shadow tendrils rushed toward him. He sent a wave of lightning into the storm, illuminating the sky as the bolts arced through the darkness. The tendrils recoiled, but not before several lashed out at his flank, their sharp edges leaving faint burns on his magically reinforced robes.

With a wave of his hand, Harry summoned a powerful gust of wind, stabilising himself as a sudden burst of magic from Rigel sent them hurtling apart. The force of the blast ripped through the storm, scattering the rain into a misty haze. Harry hovered, the wind whipping around him, his green eyes scanning the skies for his brother.

Rigel surged through the rain like a shadowed spectre, his form barely visible against the darkened sky. The storm seemed to feed him, the downpour merging with his magic as the shadows around him deepened and expanded. His voice carried over the storm, mocking and calm. "You've grown strong, Harry. But strength isn't everything."

Harry didn't respond. He was too focused, his wand already raised to counter the next attack. Rigel conjured an enormous spear of shadow, hurling it with deadly precision. Harry countered with a blast of fire so intense that it turned the rain in its path into a wall of steam. The two spells collided in mid-air, the resulting explosion lighting up the night like a second sun.

Harry surged forward, lightning crackling around him as he closed the distance. Flames spiralled from his wand, coiling like serpents as they sought to engulf Rigel. His brother's shadow shields rose in response, the darkness twisting and reshaping to deflect the fiery assault. Harry pressed harder, the heat of his magic forcing Rigel to retreat, but the older wizard used the moment to weave a fresh illusion—a duplicate of himself that moved in perfect unison.

Harry paused briefly, his eyes darting between the two figures. Rigel's voice echoed from both. "Can you tell which is real, brother?"

In a blur, both Rigels attacked simultaneously, their shadowy spells streaking through the storm. Harry phased out of reality just in time, the attacks passing harmlessly through him. When he reappeared, he hurled a bolt of lightning at one of the figures, shattering it into wisps of darkness. But before he could capitalise, the real Rigel was on him, conjuring a wave of shadow spikes that forced Harry onto the defensive.

The battle continued, a brutal clash of elemental and shadow magic. Harry's raw power burned through every trap and illusion Rigel conjured, his fire and lightning blazing with unstoppable force. But Rigel's cunning and strategy kept the fight balanced, his movements sharp and precise as he exploited every moment of hesitation, every split-second delay.

Harry knew he couldn't underestimate Rigel. His brother's mastery of illusions and tactics made him as dangerous as ever. But as Harry deflected another flurry of spells, the lightning arcing around him illuminating the battlefield, he knew he couldn't lose. Not here. Not now.

Their aerial battle reached its zenith, spells and counterspells clashing with such force that the shockwaves rippled through the storm clouds. The rain fell harder, soaking the ground below, until at last, both wizards descended.

Rigel landed with a graceful step, his boots crunching against the wet grass on one side of the lake. Shadows coiled at his feet, undeterred by the storm. On the opposite shore, Harry landed in a crouch, his lightning form dissipating as he rose to his full height, drenched but unyielding. The lake lay between them, its surface disturbed by the relentless rain, the ripples casting shifting patterns in the dim light.

For a moment, the storm seemed to hold its breath. Harry's green eyes burned with determination as he faced Rigel across the lake, his mind flashing with memories of this very spot—of quiet afternoons spent with friends and family. It was a stark contrast to the deadly silence that now enveloped the battlefield.

The storm resumed its fury, thunder roaring overhead as they prepared to resume their fight, the water cascading from their bodies indistinguishable from the rain pouring from the heavens.

Across the rain-soaked expanse of the lake, Rigel's voice cut through the storm like a blade. "You've always been too soft, Harry. Too naive. That's why we always had to tread carefully around you—Daphne and I." He shook his head, water streaming from his hair, his tone bitter but resigned. "We knew if you ever learned the full truth, you'd rebel, resist. It was only a matter of time."

Rigel sighed deeply, shadows swirling at his feet like mournful wraiths. "I truly wish it hadn't come to this. That my little brother could have been more like me. More willing to do what was necessary."

The words struck Harry like a physical blow. His anger flared, his magic rising instinctively as his jaw clenched. He pointed his wand at Rigel, his voice ringing with fury. "You think I should be more like you? I wish my brother had never gone insane. I wish I knew what turned you into... this!" He gestured at the man before him, the embodiment of darkness and cruelty. "Where did it all go wrong?"

Rigel didn't answer, but Harry didn't notice the smirk that played at the edges of his lips.

The rain around them seemed heavier now, the lake's surface surging unnaturally. The water crept toward Harry, unnoticed in his anger. It wasn't until he took a step forward, his shoe sinking into the icy flood, that he realised what was happening. The lake was expanding, its waters swallowing the shore and pulling at him with invisible hands.

Suddenly, the ground gave way. Harry's arms flailed as he fell into the freezing water, the shadows coiling around his limbs like serpents. He kicked and struggled, the icy grip of the lake dragging him deeper and deeper. Panic surged through him until a memory flashed in his mind—Orion's voice, calm and guiding.

"Find the secret, the anomaly, the imperfection. Focus on it and you can dispel the illusion."

Harry forced himself to focus, fighting back the mounting fear. This had to be one of Rigel's illusions. The lake couldn't grow this fast, this unnaturally. But before he could locate the flaw, his surroundings shifted entirely.

He was no longer in the lake.

Harry blinked, the cold of the water replaced by the oppressive dampness of a dark cellar. His breath hitched as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing a scene that made his stomach twist.

Before him, Umbridge sat chained to the wall, her pink cardigan tattered and stained. Her eyes were wild with terror, her body trembling. In front of her stood two younger figures—Rigel and Daphne, no older than seventeen and fifteen. Their faces were cruel masks of concentration as they practised dark spells on her, the air thick with their sinister intent. Umbridge's screams filled the cellar, raw and piercing, as her captors experimented with curses that left her writhing in agony.

Harry's heart pounded as he watched, his mind reeling. Despite everything Umbridge had done—her tyranny at Hogwarts, her cruelty toward him—he couldn't reconcile himself to this. No one deserved this. No one.

Is this real? The question thundered in his mind. A memory, or another of Rigel's illusions?

Before he could decide, the shadows came for him. They burst forth from the corners of the cellar, sharp and vicious, striking at him with malevolent intent. Harry raised his wand, fire roaring to life around him as he fended them off. He sprinted for the stairs, the shadows pursuing him relentlessly.

His heart thundered as he reached the top, throwing the door open and slamming it behind him. The shadows scratched and howled against the barrier as Harry found himself in another place entirely.

The salty tang of the sea hit him, the sound of waves crashing against the shore unmistakable. He stood in a beach house he recognised all too well—Noirisle. His blood ran cold. This was where Rigel had tried to trap him four years ago. The memory of that betrayal still burned fresh in his mind.

A shadow moved at the edge of his vision. Rigel appeared, stepping out of the darkness with deliberate calm. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was heavy with mockery. "What are you feeling now, Harry? Seeing that?"

Harry's wand hand trembled with rage as he pointed it at Rigel. "I can't believe it. I can't believe you and Daphne are such evil monsters!" His voice cracked, fury and grief battling for dominance.

Rigel sighed, his face drawn in disappointment. "And there it is again. That's exactly the problem, little brother. You still see the world in black and white." He gestured vaguely to the house, as if it held all the answers. "Without her memories—her screams—we wouldn't have been able to oust Fudge so quickly. Without that leverage, the Order would never have taken control of Wizarding Britain so quickly."

Harry flinched at Rigel's words, his mind recoiling from the implications.

Rigel continued, his voice colder now, unwavering. "The perfect world we're fighting for requires sacrifices, Harry. Umbridge was just one of many. If you can't accept that, you'll never understand why I do what I do." His shadowy aura pulsed in rhythm with his words.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand, his knuckles turning white as he ignored Rigel's words and scanned the room. This was an illusion—he was sure of it—but Noirisle was unfamiliar territory. He struggled to find an anomaly, something out of place that he could unravel to shatter the illusion, but the beach house seemed maddeningly real. The waves crashed outside, the salty breeze wafted through the broken windows, and the faint creak of wood underfoot reminded him of its stark authenticity. If there was a flaw, it eluded him.

"Still trying to think your way out of this, little brother?" Rigel's mocking tone cut through Harry's focus. "You'll have to do better than that."

With a snarl, Harry snapped his wand up, fire erupting from its tip and rushing toward Rigel in a blazing inferno. Rigel responded with a sharp slash of his own wand, shadows rising like a tidal wave to meet the flames. The two forces clashed violently, sending sparks and tendrils of darkness splintering outward.

Harry darted forward, unleashing a slicing hex that sheared through the air. Rigel sidestepped with fluid precision, countering with a spear of shadow that narrowly missed Harry, embedding itself into the wall and leaving behind a blackened scorch mark. Their magic lit the dim room, bursts of light and shadow wreaking havoc as furniture splintered and walls cracked under the strain.

But before either could gain the upper hand, the scene shifted abruptly.

A blinding light engulfed Harry, forcing him to shield his eyes. The light wasn't heat or fire; it was dazzling and white, flooding his senses. For a moment, he was weightless, disoriented, as though floating through an endless void. Then the light began to fade, and with it came a strange sense of grounding.

When Harry opened his eyes again, his surroundings had changed completely.

He blinked, confused, as he saw the source of the fading light. It wasn't magic—it was the flash of a camera. His camera. It was perched on the cushion, and the faint hum of its mechanisms winding back into place was unmistakable.

He was in Black Castle again, but it wasn't the castle as he knew it now. It was brighter, more alive, filled with warmth and laughter. The moment hit him like a rogue bludger. This was years ago. So many years ago...

Harry's gaze fell on Tracey, sitting cross-legged on the large cushion next to Hermione, her mischievous grin lighting up her face. Her hands were on her tank top, pulling it upward just enough to tease but not reveal. "You dared me, Harry!" she said, laughing as she tugged it back down before anyone could call her bluff. Her hair fell in playful waves around her face, and her brown eyes sparkled with mischief.

This was the night they'd played Truth or Dare for the first time. Harry could feel it now, the sheer giddiness of that moment, the way Tracey's laughter had been infectious, the way everything had seemed simpler then.

But something was wrong.

He glanced down at himself and realised he was smaller, younger, and startlingly weaker. His hands, which had been so steady in battle, were small and unsure. His breath hitched as his eyes darted across the room.

They landed on Rigel.

Rigel was seated on a cushion, Daphne perched on his lap. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder as she leaned in to kiss him softly, their closeness radiating warmth and tenderness. Rigel's hand rested lightly on her waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of her nightgown. They looked so... happy. So at ease.

Harry's heart clenched. This wasn't right. None of this was right.

Rigel and Daphne broke their tender moment as though on cue, their movements unnervingly synchronised. Both stood, wands drawn in an instant, their expressions transforming from warmth to cold calculation. Harry's instincts screamed at him, and he scrambled to his feet, pulling his own wand in a sharp, defensive motion.

"You've meddled long enough," Rigel said, his voice calm but laced with deadly intent. Daphne remained silent, her blue eyes fixed on Harry like a hawk locking onto its prey.

The first spell came from Rigel, a slashing Diffindo that ripped through the air toward Harry. He barely managed to throw up a shaky Protego, the shield crackling under the force of the spell as it deflected to the side. Daphne followed with a sharp Reducto, and Harry rolled out of the way, the ground where he had stood exploding into splinters and dust.

"Incendio!" Harry shouted, aiming at Daphne, but the flames fizzled out weakly as her shield charm blocked them effortlessly. His heart sank as he realised something chilling: he couldn't wield the overwhelming power he'd commanded before. Here, he was no Master of Death, no wielder of the Hallows—he was just the boy he had been back then.

If he died here, would it be real? Could this illusion kill him? He had no intention of finding out.

"Confringo!" Rigel barked, his spell sailing toward Harry in a blazing arc. Harry ducked, the blast throwing him back against the wall. The impact left him breathless, but he pushed himself up, adrenaline driving him forward.

"Reducto!" Harry retaliated, sending the spell hurtling toward Daphne. She deflected it with a practiced flick of her wand, her movements precise, almost elegant. Rigel seized the opportunity, his wand cutting through the air with deadly efficiency.

"Expulso!"

The explosion rocked the room, sending Harry scrambling behind an overturned table for cover. His heart pounded in his chest as he fired off a desperate Diffindo, aimed to split the table Rigel used as cover in half. The spell connected, splitting the wood with a sharp crack, but Rigel was already moving, his spell work relentless.

"Protego!" Harry shouted, barely managing to block Daphne's Confringo. The force of her spell sent him stumbling back, his shield faltering under the pressure.

His mind raced. Every spell, every movement felt sluggish compared to the battles he'd fought in recent years. His fire spells fizzled, his shields cracked, and he could feel the strain in his younger, weaker body. Yet the stakes felt no less real, no less deadly.

Daphne moved with terrifying precision, her Reducto narrowly missing Harry as he dove for cover. He retaliated with a Stupefy, but she swatted it away effortlessly, her wand flashing toward him with another curse.

"You can't win, Harry," Rigel taunted, his voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. "Not here. Not like this."

Harry gritted his teeth, sending another Diffindo toward Daphne. The room was a whirlwind of curses and counters, the air thick with the sounds of magic colliding and debris falling around them. Every step was a desperate gamble, every spell a fleeting chance to survive.

He had to find a way out. And fast.

Harry's focus narrowed as he deflected a barrage of spells from Rigel and Daphne, the relentless onslaught forcing him to stay on the defensive. But then he heard it—a familiar voice.

"Stupefy!"

Neville's spell streaked toward him from the side. Harry twisted, narrowly dodging the jet of red light, only to see Hermione step forward, her face grim, her wand aimed at him.

"Reducto!" Hermione cast, the spell whizzing past Harry's shoulder and slamming into the wall behind him, sending shards of stone scattering across the room.

"What is going on?" Harry choked out, his heart sinking as he saw Tracey emerge from the shadows, her wand glowing ominously. Her expression was unreadable, but her intent was clear as she hurled a cutting hex directly at him. "You've got to be kidding me!"

He ducked, his mind spinning. This couldn't be real. Tracey, his Tracey, would never harm him—not with intent to kill. Nor would Neville or Hermione. The logic slammed into him like a bolt of clarity. This was all part of Rigel's twisted illusion.

Spells rained down, tearing apart the room that had once been his sanctuary in Black Castle. He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding a jet of green light from Rigel's wand. His heart raced as he tried to find an opening, but the odds were insurmountable. Five against one, and his opponents were fighting with lethal precision.

This wasn't them. This couldn't be them.

He raised his wand high, his voice steady despite the chaos. He focused on the fact that his friends would never attack him. "Finite Incantatem!"

The world around him trembled, cracks forming in the fabric of the illusion. It shattered like glass, each fragment dissolving into mist before vanishing entirely. Harry blinked, the oppressive weight of the illusion gone, replaced by the pounding rain and howling winds of Black Castle's grounds.

Rigel stood where he had in the illusion, his wand lowered, a look of genuine surprise flashing across his features. For a moment, he didn't speak, studying Harry with calculating eyes before his lips curled into a thin smile.

"Well done," Rigel said, his tone carrying a grudging respect. "I don't know whether someone betrayed me or if you found Daphne's old notebook. No matter." He shrugged, the shadows around him shifting uneasily. "It just means I'll have to be more careful with the next illusion I craft."

Harry's chest heaved as he steadied himself, his emerald eyes blazing with fury. "You're insane, Rigel," he spat. "You're no longer the brother I once loved. To stoop so low—to corrupt memories so beautiful—they were ours! And you twisted them into this!" His voice cracked with the weight of his anger and heartbreak.

Something in Rigel snapped.

"Insane?" Rigel roared, his voice amplified tenfold, the sound echoing across the grounds. It grew deeper, distorted, as though the storm itself had taken his side. "I am not insane!" Shadows swirled violently around him, his form distorting and swelling. His body grew to monstrous proportions, towering over Harry as his face twisted with fury and his eyes burned with unearthly light. "I am the god of the wizarding world!"

The storm seemed to recoil from the force of Rigel's words, lightning crackling wildly in the skies above. Then, with a deafening explosion, Rigel's form disintegrated, sending waves of shadowy residue flying in every direction. The force of the blast knocked Harry to the ground, his ears ringing as he tried to orient himself. The shadows consumed everything, warping the scene like ink spilling over parchment.

When the world reformed, Harry felt the searing heat of the sun on his skin. He pushed himself to his feet, blinking against the brightness, and found himself standing in the sweltering sands of Egypt.

Before him loomed the entrance to one of the great pyramids, its ancient stones glowing faintly under the unrelenting sun. Harry's brow furrowed, the sudden shift jarring him, but he tightened his grip on his wand. Whatever was coming next, he would be ready.

The pyramid's entrance loomed before Harry, its dark maw promising danger within. He stepped into the shadows, his wand raised, the cool interior a stark contrast to the blistering heat outside. As his shoes echoed softly against the ancient stone, a low, rhythmic chanting reached his ears. The words were unintelligible, but the cadence carried an eerie sense of reverence.

Harry followed the sound deeper into the pyramid, the air growing heavier with each step. The narrow corridors opened suddenly into an expansive chamber, illuminated by flickering torches. It was like stepping into another world. The room was grand, its ceiling vaulted high above, and the sandstone walls were adorned with intricate hieroglyphs that seemed to shimmer faintly with magic.

At the centre of the chamber was a throne carved from obsidian and adorned with gold inlays, gleaming in the firelight. Upon it lounged a sleek black cat, its fur so dark it seemed to absorb the light. Its body was draped in ornate golden jewellery—bracelets, a regal collar, and even a headdress reminiscent of an Egyptian Pharaoh's. Around the throne knelt dozens of Egyptians, their heads bowed as they chanted in worshipful unison.

Harry stepped forward, his presence disrupting the scene. The worshippers froze, their heads lifting to regard him with a mix of awe and fear. The cat on the throne lazily opened its piercing blue eyes, their glint unmistakably intelligent.

Before Harry could act, Rigel's voice resonated through the pyramid, a deep, commanding tone that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. "Welcome, little brother," the voice boomed.

Harry's grip on his wand tightened, his jaw setting.

"You have one final choice," Rigel continued. "Kneel. Relinquish the Hallows to me, and I will end your life painlessly. I promise, once I become the true Master of Death, I'll even bring you back to life. Together, you, Daphne and I will rule a perfected world."

The proposition sent a chill down Harry's spine, but he didn't falter. His voice was steady as he answered, "I will never kneel before you. Especially not now, with your delusions of grandeur on full display. You're nothing more than a tyrant."

A low chuckle echoed through the chamber, the cat on the throne shifting slightly. For a moment, Harry expected the voice to emanate from the animal, but Rigel's voice continued to reverberate from everywhere and nowhere.

"A tyrant?" Rigel asked mockingly. "Is that what you think I am? Tell me, Harry, does the world not prosper under my rule? Have I not brought peace to the wizarding world? Discrimination, crime—things we once fought tooth and nail against—are all but gone."

Harry faltered. Rigel's words held weight. It was true—since the Order's shadow rule had spread across governments, including the ICW, the wizarding world had become more stable than ever before. Still, Harry knew better. Peace gained through manipulation and control was no peace at all.

"You've gone too far, Rigel," Harry said firmly, his eyes narrowing. "You can't be trusted anymore."

"Pity," Rigel replied, the amusement in his voice fading. "If you won't kneel, then I'll have to take the Hallows by force."

The black cat on the throne suddenly stirred, standing and stretching in an almost languid manner. But as its muscles rippled, its body began to swell. The golden adornments snapped and fell to the floor as the creature's size increased exponentially, its massive form obliterating the throne in a deafening crash. The worshippers screamed and scattered as the room quaked, debris raining down from the trembling ceiling.

Harry backpedalled, his wand raised as the monstrous cat roared, its sound reverberating like thunder. The pyramid itself began to crumble under the creature's weight, the ancient stones cracking and falling as chaos consumed the chamber.

Without hesitation, Harry turned into lightning. A brilliant streak of electric energy, he shot upward, weaving through the collapsing corridors and narrow passageways. He burst out of the pyramid just as its walls gave way, the structure imploding in a cloud of sand and stone.

He re-formed mid-air, panting as he took in the scene below. But his reprieve was short-lived. The massive black cat emerged from the ruins, its enormous paws sinking into the sand. It continued to grow, its form expanding until it towered above the landscape, rivaling the pyramids themselves. The other pyramids, bathed in the glaring sunlight, seemed almost diminutive in comparison to the monstrous creature.

The monstrous black cat loomed over the desert, its claws glowing with shadowy energy that pulsed like a heartbeat. Each step it took sent tremors rippling through the ground, its size dwarfing even the pyramids that had stood unyielding for millennia. Harry hovered mid-air, the blazing sun behind him casting his silhouette against the sand.

The cat roared, a sound that split the air and seemed to reverberate through Harry's very bones. With a swipe of its enormous paw, it unleashed arcs of shadow magic that tore through the desert. Harry darted to the side, his lightning form flickering as he narrowly avoided the dark energy. The shadow claws struck the base of a nearby pyramid, slicing through stone as though it were parchment. The structure crumbled in slow motion, its once-majestic form collapsing into a cloud of golden dust.

"Confringo!" Harry bellowed, aiming his wand at the behemoth. A massive explosion erupted against the cat's side, flames licking at its shadowy fur. The creature snarled, momentarily staggered, but the darkness enveloping it smothered the fire as though it were nothing.

The battle raged across the desert. Harry summoned a cyclone of sand to obscure the creature's vision, using the momentary distraction to strike with a torrent of lightning bolts. Each crackling strike lit up the desert, slamming into the beast and sending shockwaves across the dunes. The creature retaliated with another swipe of its glowing claws, the energy carving a trench through the sand as wide as a river.

As Harry flew upward to avoid the attack, the cat pounced with shocking speed, its enormous body blotting out the sun. Harry conjured a shield of pure fire, but the force of the cat's impact shattered it like glass. The sheer power of the collision sent him tumbling backward, his lightning form sparking erratically as he fought to regain control.

The battlefield was reduced to ruin. Another pyramid fell, its ancient stones scattered like pebbles as the cat's tail lashed through it. The nearby Sphinx, an enduring monument of human ingenuity, was obliterated by a stray arc of shadow magic, its proud face reduced to rubble. The desert was a chaotic wasteland of collapsing monuments and rising plumes of sand.

Harry gritted his teeth, dodging and weaving as the cat's shadowy claws swiped again and again, each strike laced with magic that tore through the air with deadly precision. He countered with bursts of fire and wind, his spells hammering into the creature but failing to pierce its dark hide. The beast seemed unstoppable, its roars shaking the very foundations of the earth.

Then came the final blow.

The cat reared up on its hind legs, its massive claws glowing brighter with concentrated shadow energy. With a roar that shook the heavens, it brought its paw down in a crushing arc. Harry barely had time to react as the claws slashed into him, the shadow magic searing through his body like molten iron. The impact sent him hurtling toward the ground like a meteor, a streak of lightning trailing behind him.

The world blurred into darkness as Harry crashed into the earth, the sand shifting beneath him as the desert seemed to dissolve.


Harry gasped awake, the cold sting of rain biting into his skin. He was back at the grounds of Black Castle, the storm still raging. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the mud and grass around him. Pain seared through his side, and he groaned, forcing himself onto his elbows.

He glanced down and saw the wound—a vicious gash across his torso, oozing dark tendrils of shadow magic that writhed like living things. Blood poured freely, mingling with the rainwater pooling around him.

Through the haze of pain, Harry saw a sleek black cat standing a short distance away, its piercing blue eyes fixed on him. This was no shadow construct or illusion—this was Rigel in his Animagus form, his sleek body radiating menace even in the storm.

Gritting his teeth, Harry pressed his wand to the wound, forcing himself to focus despite the agony. Fire erupted at the tip of his wand, cauterising the gash with brutal efficiency. The heat burned away the shadow magic infecting the wound, the dark tendrils evaporating into smoke as they met the flame.

Harry pushed himself upright, panting heavily, his wand still gripped tightly in his hand. The storm's relentless downpour chilled his burned skin, steam rising faintly where the rain hit the freshly sealed wound.

Rigel's tail flicked sharply, sending beams of shadow energy streaking through the rain toward Harry. The beams crackled with dark magic, splitting the air with a sinister hum as they tore through the storm. Harry rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the first, then twisted to evade another, the mud beneath him splattering with each frantic movement.

"You'll have to do better than that!" Harry shouted, his voice cutting through the thunder.

With a burst of determination, Harry leapt upward, his body shifting mid-air in a flash of brilliant white light. Feathers sprouted, his form compressing and elongating until he emerged as a majestic white hawk, his wings spreading wide against the stormy sky. He let out a fierce cry, fire igniting along his talons and beak, glowing like molten steel as he dove toward Rigel.

The black cat hissed, its blue eyes narrowing. With uncanny agility, Rigel sprang aside, Harry's flaming talons slashing through empty air where he'd stood moments before. Rigel retaliated immediately, his shadowy claws striking upward, but Harry twisted mid-dive, narrowly avoiding the swipe as he ascended again.

They clashed in a deadly dance, predator against predator. Harry dove and slashed, his talons leaving scorched streaks in the ground as Rigel darted out of reach. Rigel countered with his tail, whipping beams of shadow energy toward Harry in rapid succession. The hawk wove between the beams with sharp, precise movements, his white feathers standing out starkly against the storm's darkness.

Harry banked sharply, coming around for another pass. This time, Rigel leapt to meet him, his claws shimmering with dark energy as they collided mid-air. Talons met shadowy claws in a flurry of strikes, the force of their clash sending shockwaves rippling through the rain. Harry's beak, glowing with fiery enchantments, snapped toward Rigel, but the cat twisted away, landing nimbly on the wet ground below.

"You're fast," Rigel growled, his voice distorted, yet still clear through the downpour. "But not fast enough."

Harry screeched in defiance, his fiery talons trailing sparks as he swooped low again. Rigel leapt to intercept, his claws slashing upward in a blur. Harry twisted at the last moment, his flaming talons raking across Rigel's side as he soared past. The cat yowled in pain, his fur singed where the talons had struck, but he recovered quickly, landing with predatory grace.

Harry didn't give him time to regroup. He wheeled around and dove again, his wings slicing through the rain as his fiery claws reached for Rigel. The black cat hissed, dodging and weaving with his feline agility, but Harry's persistence paid off. With a final, calculated dive, Harry seized Rigel in his enhanced talons, the fire burning into the cat's shadowy form.

Rigel let out a piercing yowl of pain, thrashing wildly as Harry beat his wings and lifted him off the ground. The black cat's struggles were fierce, but Harry's grip was unrelenting, his fiery talons digging deep. The rain hissed and steamed where it struck them, the two forms locked in a deadly aerial grapple.

But Rigel was far from defeated.

With a guttural snarl, his form began to shift. Shadows burst from his body, expanding outward like a living smoke. The dark tendrils enveloped Harry completely, the fire on his talons extinguished as the shadow swallowed him whole. The hawk's cry was muffled, the storm outside muted as Harry found himself lost in an oppressive void of Rigel's making.


The blinding light of the camera flash engulfed Harry, and when his vision returned, he felt an ache of recognition. He knew this place instantly. The warm, comfortable room with its faint lavender scent, the soft bedspread adorned with colourful designs—it was Tracey's room.

He had spent part of his first summer holiday here, one of the happiest times of his life. The disposable camera lay in his hands, the same one he had bought on a whim while shopping for birthday presents for Daphne, Hermione and Tracey. This was one of his happiest memories, it was even the one he used for his first successful patronus cast.

For a moment, he could almost relax, bask in the joy of the memory. But the anger quickly returned. Rigel's illusions had already corrupted one of his most sacred memories—he wouldn't let this one fall to the same fate. Not this memory. Not this joy.

But Harry was prepared now. His grip on the illusion was firm. If anything seemed out of place, if his friends acted differently than their true selves, he could exploit it, shatter this false reality. He also knew something crucial: in this version of himself, nearly twelve years old, his magic was diminished, raw and underdeveloped. But so was Rigel's. The lock on Rigel's power had only just been removed back then, meaning he couldn't mount the kind of overwhelming attack he had outside the illusions.

The bed creaked slightly, and Harry realised what was coming. He twisted to the side just as a pillow whizzed past his head, missing him by inches. Tracey let out a triumphant laugh, the beginnings of mischief alight in her eyes.

"Gotcha!" she teased, winding up for another toss.

Harry's instincts took over. He snapped into a combat stance, his wand pointed toward the black cat lounging lazily on Tracey's bed.

"Rigel," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and accusatory.

The cat's blue eyes glinted, and it stretched theatrically before retreating behind Daphne, who was perched on the edge of the bed. Daphne stood abruptly, her blond hair falling over her shoulder as she placed herself squarely between Harry and the cat.

"Harry, what are you doing?" she demanded, her tone sharp, her blue eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Are you seriously pointing your wand at Jingles? Have you gone completely mad?"

Harry froze. Daphne's tone wasn't out of character. Neither were her words. This was how she would have reacted in this moment, years ago.

Tracey jumped to her feet next, her brown eyes wide with shock. "What is wrong with you?" she exclaimed, gesturing toward the retreating cat. "He's our friend, Harry!"

Even Hermione, standing by the window with a book in her hand, looked stricken. "Harry, put your wand down," she said, her voice tinged with disappointment. "This is ridiculous."

Rigel—Jingles—peeked out from behind Daphne's legs, feigning fear, his tail curling around himself protectively. He let out a soft, plaintive meow, as if to drive home the absurdity of Harry's actions.

"Finite Incantatem," Harry whispered, waving his wand in a tight arc. But nothing happened.

It hit him then. The illusion was holding firm because nothing about it was out of place. Daphne was defending her soulmate. Tracey and Hermione were reacting to what they saw as Harry acting erratically. Even Rigel, the black cat, was playing his part perfectly. The only one acting strangely was Harry himself, the intruder in his own memory.

Their words hurt. Even though Harry knew this wasn't real, being berated by the people he cared about—his future wife, his best friend, his sister-in-law—stung more than he expected. Rigel had crafted this illusion with terrifying precision, and for the first time, Harry felt doubt creep in.

Could he break free of this one?

Harry's grip tightened on his wand as his mind raced. If he attacked Rigel outright, Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey would surely intervene. He could probably fight his way through them, but they would inevitably call for Tracey's parents. In his twelve-year-old body, there was no chance he could overcome two fully grown, capable wizards. He had to play this carefully.

With a slow breath, Harry complied, lowering his wand. He clenched his teeth, his green eyes glaring at Rigel—the sleek black cat crouched behind Daphne's legs. Rigel seized the opportunity, darting forward and sinking his sharp teeth into Harry's foot.

Harry winced at the pain, but it was precisely what the illusion demanded—a normal cat's retaliation.

The girls, of course, found it hilarious. Daphne smirked, arms crossed as she said, "Serves you right for pointing your wand at him."

Tracey giggled, her brown eyes sparkling with amusement. "Honestly, Harry, what were you thinking?"

Even Hermione cracked a reluctant smile, shaking her head. "Jingles did nothing wrong," she added in her usual matter-of-fact tone.

The laughter stung more than the bite. It wasn't real—he knew that—but it felt real enough to drive the hurt deeper. Harry realised there was only one way out of this illusion, and it wouldn't be easy. He had to force Rigel's hand, provoke him into revealing something that broke the illusion's logic. And that meant pushing through the girls to get to him. Quickly.

Steeling himself, Harry moved forward. As he had predicted, the girls stepped in his way, blocking his path. Daphne placed a hand firmly on his chest. "Harry, stop," she said, her voice sharp with warning. "You're being ridiculous."

"Move," Harry said, his voice steady but low, his emerald eyes locked on Rigel.

Tracey grabbed his arm. "What's wrong with you?"

Hermione mirrored Tracey, trying to hold him back, but none of them reached for their wands. They weren't thinking about magic—none of them had significant magical combat experience yet. They were simply trying to stop him physically, relying on the bonds of friendship to reason with him.

Harry gritted his teeth, frustration mounting as he pushed through the tangle of arms trying to hold him back. He stumbled free just enough to aim his wand at Rigel, the black cat still pretending to cower behind Daphne's legs. His voice was sharp with determination as he shouted, "Reducto!"

The curse hurtled toward Rigel, a streak of deadly light splitting the air. Rigel hissed, his blue eyes narrowing as he leapt gracefully to the side, the spell striking the wall behind him and leaving a small crater. Harry's heart sank as he realised the illusion was holding strong. He had hoped that forcing Rigel to react would reveal the flaw, the telltale sign that this was all fake. But the cat's dodge was perfectly in line with how Rigel might have acted at the time.

Harry's grip tightened on his wand as frustration boiled over. He had been so certain. But as the seconds dragged on, his doubts began to creep in.

And then the door burst open.

Mr. Davis stormed in, his broad frame filling the doorway, his face a mask of fury. The air seemed to chill under his commanding presence as his sharp eyes scanned the room. "What is going on here?" he demanded, his voice booming with authority.

Harry froze. His heart raced as he turned to face the elder Davis. This wasn't part of his plan. Mr. Davis stepping in at this point would spell disaster for him in this illusion. His chances of escaping were slim now.

As his mind scrambled for a solution, he suddenly felt it—the power of the Hallows stirring within him. It was like a surge of raw energy flooding his senses, an unstoppable tide that filled every fibre of his being. His frustration, his desperation, all coalesced into a single, decisive action.

He didn't need words. His wand moved instinctively, and with a burst of pure, unfiltered will, the illusion shattered.

The room dissolved around him, the warm colours of Tracey's bedroom and the angry visage of Mr. Davis breaking apart like fragile glass. The pieces dissolved into mist, leaving behind the cold, soaking rain of Black Castle's grounds. Harry staggered, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he regained his bearings.

He looked down at his wand, the power he had just tapped into still faintly humming within him. For a moment, he allowed himself to hope. If he could learn how to command that strength at will, to break through Rigel's illusions with such raw force, the battle might turn in his favour.

But his hope was fleeting. Harry knew Rigel too well. His brother was a master strategist, and he wouldn't give Harry enough opportunities to experiment, to learn.

Harry staggered, mud squelching beneath his feet as he regained his balance. The storm roared around him, lightning flashing in the distance. Rigel's sleek black fur was soaked, his blue eyes glinting with an unreadable mix of irritation and grudging respect. His breathing was slightly laboured.

Harry stood in the pouring rain, his mind racing as he assessed the situation. The battle so far had been a stalemate—neither he nor Rigel had managed to gain any real ground. The illusions Harry had dispelled drained Rigel of some magical power, but Harry wasn't unscathed either. The shadow-infused wound on his torso still burned faintly despite his efforts to cauterise it, and exhaustion nipped at the edges of his focus.

He clenched his wand tightly, the Resurrection Stone cool against his palm in his pocket, and the Invisibility Cloak billowing behind him like a cape. The Hallows were his greatest strength here. If he could draw out more of their power, he might tip the scales. He had already united them, but there had to be something more—something deeper to unlock.

Across the field, Rigel shifted, the sleek black form of his Animagus shimmering as he began to change back into his human self. The transformation was fluid and unnervingly natural, but Harry's eyes caught something strange mid-shift—a subtle leak of shadow energy from Rigel's form.

The shadows moved with deceptive grace, spreading outward like tendrils before coiling around Harry. His reaction came a fraction too late. The shadows solidified into countless spears, sharp and deadly, positioned at every angle around him. Rigel smirked, his voice a low growl that carried through the storm.

"Checkmate, little brother."

The spears shot forward simultaneously, a web of dark death hurtling toward Harry. His breath caught, and for a moment, he thought it was over. But then, a strange sensation flooded him. The Invisibility Cloak, still draped over his shoulders, seemed to hum with energy. It resonated with him, an ethereal vibration that coursed through his very being.

The spears reached him—but passed through harmlessly.

Harry stumbled, blinking in confusion as the shadowy projectiles dissipated into mist. He looked down at his hands, then at the cloak fluttering in the wind. Had he... phased out of reality? For a moment, it felt as though he had become something less tangible, a shadow of himself existing just beyond the physical plane.

Was this the true power of the Invisibility Cloak? he wondered, his heart pounding. More than just concealment... it made me untouchable. Invisible even to reality itself.

Rigel's stunned expression mirrored Harry's own bewilderment. The older wizard's mouth twisted into a scowl as he quickly recovered, his shadowy aura flaring around him once more. "So, the Hallows have more secrets to reveal," Rigel muttered, his voice laced with grudging admiration. "Let's see how far you can push them."

Harry didn't wait for Rigel to act. With a sharp flick of his wand, he sent a torrent of fire roaring toward his opponent, the flames blazing brighter than the storm clouds above. Rigel countered instantly, a wave of shadows rising to smother the flames. The two forces clashed violently, sending sparks of fire and dark mist into the air.

Harry pressed his advantage, calling upon the elements to amplify his attacks. Wind howled around him as he conjured a slicing gale, forcing Rigel to retreat a step. He followed with a lightning strike, the bolt splitting the ground where Rigel had been standing moments before.

But Rigel was relentless, retaliating with tendrils of shadow that lashed out like living whips. Harry deflected them with a wall of water, the liquid hissing into steam where the shadows touched it. He advanced, flames licking at his wand's tip as he hurled another barrage of fireballs.

The battlefield became a blur of elements and darkness, the two wizards trading blows with ferocious intensity. Harry's movements were sharper now, more deliberate. He dodged another shadow spear, the cloak's resonance flaring once more as he phased out of reality for a split second.

But this time, his control faltered. The transition felt clumsy, and for a heartbeat, he reappeared mid-dodge, his balance unsteady. He corrected quickly, but the lapse sent a spike of frustration through him.

This ability is powerful, he thought, narrowly avoiding another wave of Rigel's shadows, but I need to master it—and fast.

Rigel's smirk deepened as he raised his wand, the shadows around him swirling like a living storm. With a sharp gesture, he unleashed his magic. The air twisted and distorted, the storm and the pouring rain melting away like watercolour paint running off a canvas. In its place, a new scene took shape, coalescing with unnerving clarity.

Harry found himself standing in the duelling room of Black Castle. The air was thick with the familiar scent of stone and a faint metallic tang of magic. Torches flickered along the walls, casting dancing shadows across the polished floor. He knew this place—and this memory—immediately.

Rigel stood a few paces away, his black robes singed and smouldering from an earlier spell. Harry remembered the moment vividly: it was shortly after he'd discovered his affinity for fire. A flicker of flame had caught Rigel's sleeve, and the older wizard had torn his robes off, revealing his bare chest. The reactions of their audience came rushing back to Harry—Daphne's quiet smirk, Tracey's amused grin, and Astoria's unrestrained squeal of delight.

The memory was perfect, down to the faint flush of Rigel's cheeks as he endured the attention with feigned nonchalance. But now, the spectators were absent. It was just Harry and Rigel in the ring.

Rigel stepped forward, his wand raised, his expression hard and cold. "Let's see how much you've grown since this little lesson, shall we?" he said, his tone mocking.

Harry didn't bother with a reply. He raised his wand, the tip glowing faintly as he summoned fire to swirl around his hand. Rigel wasted no time, casting a sharp Diffindo that tore through the air toward Harry.

Harry flicked his wand, a small burst of flame intercepting the slicing charm mid-air. The two spells collided, dispersing in a brief flash of light. Harry countered with a Piercing Curse, the bright blue spell streaking across the room. Rigel sidestepped, the curse narrowly missing his shoulder and striking the far wall, leaving a smoking hole.

"Is that all you've got?" Rigel taunted, his wand moving in a fluid arc. "Reducto!"

The curse hurtled toward Harry with deadly precision. He threw up a Protego just in time, the shield shimmering as the blast sent him skidding backward across the polished floor. The force of the impact vibrated up his arms, but he steadied himself and retaliated with a jet of flame, the fiery tendrils lashing toward Rigel like whips.

Rigel dove aside, rolling to his feet with feline agility. His wand snapped upward, unleashing a barrage of quick curses—Reducto, Diffindo, Expulso—forcing Harry into a defensive rhythm. The room echoed with the sharp sounds of colliding magic, spells slamming into walls and floor, leaving scorch marks and gouges in their wake.

Harry ducked under another curse, his body moving on instinct. With a quick twist of his wand, he conjured a concentrated burst of fire that surged toward Rigel. The older wizard spun away, the heat singeing the air around him as he retaliated with a Piercing Curse that Harry barely deflected.

The duel intensified. Spells crisscrossed the room, the deadly intent behind each cast unmistakable. Harry's flames flared brighter as he pushed himself harder, his wand movements sharp and deliberate. Rigel countered with precision and speed, his own spells tearing through the air with lethal force.

Harry's breath came in sharp gasps, the weight of the duel pressing down on him. This was no practice match, no brotherly rivalry. Every spell was aimed to kill, and there was no room for hesitation.

Rigel's wand slashed through the air with precision. "Diffindo!" he barked.

The slicing curse connected before Harry could react, searing pain lancing through his left arm. He staggered backward, clutching at the wound as blood began to soak his sleeve. The pain made his vision blur for a moment, and he struggled to keep his wand steady.

Before he could retaliate, the world around him shifted once again.

The duelling room dissolved in an instant, replaced by the vibrant gardens of Black Castle. Harry blinked as the sunlight hit his face, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold tension of their duel. The gardens were in full bloom, the air fragrant with the scent of roses and lavender. The familiar path wound through the flowering hedges, and the fountain trickled softly in the background.

He recognised the memory immediately. This was where he had almost tied Rigel in a duel—a rare moment of parity between them. It had been a time of growth, when Harry's grasp on his magical abilities had truly begun to shine. But this wasn't a nostalgic walk down memory lane. This was war.

Rigel's voice echoed through the illusion, sharp and mocking. "You think you can find the flaw this time?" he called out, his figure stepping into view near the fountain. "I won't leave you enough time for that. Shifting the illusion barely costs me any magic."

Harry grimaced, steadying himself. He raised his wand and flared the fire at its tip, summoning it into a swirling orb. "Then I'll just beat you here," he snapped.

Rigel's laughter rang out as he raised his own wand. Without another word, the duel resumed.

Harry opened with a blazing whip of fire, the tendrils cracking through the air as they lashed toward Rigel. But Rigel was already moving, apparating in a sharp crack to the other side of the garden. He retaliated with a Piercing Curse that zipped toward Harry like a bolt of blue light.

Harry vanished just before the curse struck, reappearing on the opposite side of the fountain. He unleashed a volley of smaller fireballs, each one streaking through the air toward Rigel. Rigel deflected them with quick, precise wand movements, the spells dissipating harmlessly into sparks.

They began to apparate wildly, each spell cast punctuated by sharp bursts of displaced air as they tried to outpace each other. Harry conjured a wave of fire that rippled across the ground, forcing Rigel to leap aside and fire a Reducto back in retaliation. The spell struck the hedge behind Harry, scattering petals and leaves in a violent explosion.

The duel was a blur of movement and spells. Harry pushed his flame magic to its limits, shaping it into shields, streams, and explosions that kept Rigel on the defensive. Rigel countered with deadly precision, his curses and hexes slicing through the air with unerring accuracy.

But then, Harry saw his opening.

As Rigel apparated again to avoid a streak of flame, Harry anticipated the move. He twisted sharply, flicking his wand just as Rigel reappeared. "Confringo!" he shouted.

A massive plume of fire roared toward Rigel, and this time, the spell connected. The explosion sent Rigel stumbling backward, his robes singed and his expression twisting into one of frustration. For the first time in their duel, Rigel looked momentarily vulnerable.

Harry didn't allow himself to relax. His eyes remained locked on Rigel, his mind racing with how to press this advantage.

The vibrant gardens dissolved abruptly, the scent of flowers and the sound of the fountain replaced by the cold, biting wind of the Astronomy Tower. Harry shivered involuntarily as he found himself standing in the familiar setting, the night sky stretching endlessly above him. Stars glittered coldly, and the full moon cast an eerie glow over the stone platform.

Before him, Daphne and Rigel stood in their Order robes, their wands raised, magic crackling around them as they restrained Albus Dumbledore. The old wizard's piercing blue eyes were filled with fury, his every movement straining against the invisible binds that held him. The scene was all too vivid—this was one of Harry's most conflicted memories, the night he had done the unthinkable.

"Harry!" Daphne's voice cut through the night like a blade. Her face was pale, sweat beading on her brow as she struggled to keep her wand steady. "Do it! Now!"

Rigel's expression was equally strained, his teeth gritted in concentration as he poured his power into the spell. Dumbledore's resistance was immense, his magical aura palpable even amidst the layers of restraints. The air around him shimmered with the sheer force of his presence, and it was clear that both Rigel and Daphne were barely holding him back.

Harry's heart twisted as he watched the scene unfold. He remembered the weight of his wand in his hand that night, the decision that had haunted him ever since. His doubts crept in like a shadow over his resolve. What if I hadn't done it? he thought, his gaze locked on Dumbledore. Would he have been able to stop them? Would he have been the one to stop Rigel and Daphne from becoming... this?

For a brief moment, Harry imagined the alternative. A world where Dumbledore had lived, where the Order hadn't grown so twisted under Rigel's command. A world where Harry hadn't crossed that line.

But then, a cold truth settled over him like a veil. He knew this moment. He knew what had already happened by this point. This was after Daphne and Rigel had tortured Umbridge, after they had begun their descent into the darkness that defined them now. They had already chosen their path. They had already become monsters. He just hadn't realised it then.

The restraints cracked audibly, shimmering like fragile glass as Dumbledore surged against them. With a burst of raw magic, the old wizard broke free, the force of his power sending both Daphne and Rigel hurtling backward across the platform.

Harry's wand trembled in his hand as he stood frozen, caught between the memory and the truth of what had already come to pass.

Dumbledore straightened, his robes billowing in the cold night wind. His wand was raised, his face grim but resolute. "Harry, stop this madness. I will not allow you to harm anyone further," he said, his voice steady, though tinged with regret.

Harry barely had time to register the words before Dumbledore struck. A jet of blue light shot from the elder wizard's wand. Harry threw himself to the side, the spell missing him by inches and leaving a scorch mark on the stone behind him.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted instinctively, his wand aimed at Dumbledore's hand. But Dumbledore deflected it effortlessly with a small flick of his wrist, the red spell veering off into the night.

Harry gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He knew he couldn't outmatch Dumbledore's skill or raw power, not in this memory and not now. He raised his wand, crying, "Finite Incantatem!" hoping to dispel the illusion. The spell fizzled uselessly.

Of course it didn't work. Dumbledore attacking him wasn't an anomaly; it fit perfectly within the memory. He had attacked first. Dumbledore was only defending himself.

Another spell surged toward him, and Harry barely had time to shield himself. "Protego!" The shield charm held, but the force of Dumbledore's attack sent Harry stumbling backward, his arm aching from the impact.

"Harry, please!" Dumbledore said, his tone more desperate now as he advanced. "This isn't who you are!"

Harry felt a pang of guilt at the words, but he couldn't stop now. He retaliated with a Reducto, aiming low to shatter the ground beneath Dumbledore's feet. The older wizard leapt aside with remarkable agility for his age, firing a precise Stupefy that grazed Harry's shoulder, sending a jolt of numbing pain down his arm.

The duel was entirely one-sided. Dumbledore moved like a force of nature, his spells swift and deliberate. Harry was left scrambling, using fire to block and distract wherever he could. He sent bursts of flame toward Dumbledore, the heat licking at the elder wizard's robes, but each attack was countered with calm precision.

Dumbledore didn't aim to kill, but his spells were powerful enough to wound. A slicing hex caught Harry's leg, leaving a shallow but burning gash that slowed his movements. A moment later, a stunning spell glanced off his hastily conjured shield, the backlash sending him reeling.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest. He knew he couldn't let Dumbledore incapacitate him. If he was knocked out, Rigel would have the perfect opportunity to finish him off. Desperation drove him to push harder, firing off curses and flames in quick succession, each spell more frantic than the last.

Dumbledore raised his wand, conjuring a whip of light that lashed toward Harry. Harry twisted away, but the force of the whip struck the stone parapet beside him, crumbling it to dust. The sudden loss of footing caused Harry to stumble backward, his arms flailing for balance.

"Harry, no—!" Dumbledore shouted, his voice filled with alarm.

But it was too late. Harry felt the ground vanish beneath him. For a brief, terrifying moment, he was weightless, the cold wind rushing past him as he fell from the tower.

The world around him twisted and blurred. The cold night sky dissolved into inky blackness, the wind replaced by an oppressive silence.

With a bone-jarring thud, Harry landed hard on a cold, smooth surface. He gasped, his limbs aching from the impact. As he pushed himself to his knees, he realised he was in a circular room shrouded in darkness, its walls barely visible in the faint, flickering light from torches mounted around its perimeter.

Harry groaned as a hand reached out, steadying him. He looked up in surprise to see Neville, his round face familiar but tense, his grip firm as he helped Harry to his feet.

"Neville?" Harry asked, blinking in confusion. The dim, flickering torchlight and the cold, damp air filled him with a sinking realisation. He knew where he was—Herpo the Foul's laboratory. The memory wasn't too old, but its significance was etched into Harry's mind forever.

This was the basilisk trap room, the place where Tracey had lost her leg.

His breathing quickened as the familiar setting solidified around him. The stone chamber, covered in grime and ancient runes, was eerily quiet save for the faint, unsettling hiss that echoed from the depths of the labyrinthine tunnels. The enchanted pair of sunglasses sat snugly on Harry's nose, just as they had during the original encounter. He remembered hearing them before he saw them.

And then he heard it again—the unmistakable slither of scales on stone. The basilisks were coming.

"Watch out, Basilisks incoming," Harry said sharply, raising his wand. His voice sounded steadier than he felt. He could feel the weight of inevitability pressing on him.

They emerged, one by one, from the shadows—massive serpents with glinting fangs and glimmering scales, their movements precise and predatory. Harry's spells came fast, fire roaring to life and striking at the snakes with deadly accuracy. But it was no use. Just like back then, there were too many.

And just like back then, Tracey screamed.

Harry whipped around in time to see the basilisk strike her leg. Tracey crumpled, her face contorted with pain as she clutched her limb, blood staining the stone floor beneath her. The image hit him like a dagger to the chest. He had been here before. He knew what came next.

There was no other choice. The venom would spread too quickly. He had to act.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered as he knelt beside Tracey, his wand trembling as he prepared to do what had to be done. But as he reached out, something pulled at his senses—a flicker of wrongness in the air.

His instincts screamed, and he spun around, his wand rising in a defensive arc.

Neville's wand was aimed directly at him.

The spell shot toward Harry, but he dodged with ease, the bolt of magic striking the wall behind him. For a split second, Harry's mind reeled at the sight—Neville attacking him? But then clarity hit him like a thunderclap.

This was a careless mistake by Rigel.

Harry's voice was steady and commanding as he shouted, "Finite Incantatem!"

The illusion shattered like brittle glass, the memory dissolving into mist and leaving Harry standing once more on the rain-soaked grounds of Black Castle. The storm roared back to life, cold rain pelting his face as he regained his bearings. But then he froze.

A sharp, searing pain pierced his stomach.

Harry looked down, his breath catching in his throat. A spear of shadow magic jutted through his abdomen, dark tendrils writhing around the wound. His blood dripped steadily, mingling with the mud and rain below. His mind screamed in disbelief. How could he have been so foolish? So naive?

This wasn't a mistake by Rigel. It had been a trap all along, a carefully laid snare that Harry had walked straight into.

"Damn you, Rigel," Harry muttered, his voice a strained growl as he staggered backward. The pain was excruciating, but he couldn't give in. He wouldn't.

Gritting his teeth, Harry raised his wand to the wound. Flames surged to life, and he directed them into the shadowy spear. The fire hissed and roared as it consumed the dark magic, the tendrils incinerating into smoke. He bit back a scream as the fire also cauterised the wound, sealing it as best as he could. But the injury was too large to fully close. Instead, he left a controlled flicker of flame within the wound itself, a temporary replacement to stave off further blood loss.

Steam rose from his body as the rain struck the burning flesh. His vision blurred for a moment, but he forced himself upright. He wasn't done yet.

Rigel stood a short distance away, his wand raised, shadowy magic coiling around him like a serpent waiting to strike. "You're resilient," Rigel said, his voice calm, almost amused. "I'll give you that."

Harry had no time to respond. Rigel's wand snapped downward, unleashing a barrage of shadowy arrows that screamed through the storm toward him.

Harry dodged instinctively, his body moving in sharp, precise bursts. He rolled through the mud, the fire flickering in his wound as he avoided each deadly projectile. The arrows struck the ground around him, sinking into the earth with sharp bursts of dark energy, but none found their mark.

Rigel's attacks came relentless and swift. Tendrils of shadow lashed out from every angle, each one aiming to pin Harry down or land a crippling blow. He deflected some with bursts of fire, but most he had to dodge. The mud beneath his feet turned slick, threatening to trip him as he darted from side to side, narrowly avoiding the onslaught.

Rigel's smirk deepened, his movements confident, his control over the battlefield undeniable. "What's the matter, Harry? Running out of tricks?"

Harry gritted his teeth, sweat mixing with the rain on his face. He pushed himself harder, focusing on the Invisibility Cloak draped over his back. It hummed faintly, its resonance growing familiar now. With a burst of will, he phased out of reality again, the shadowy tendrils passing harmlessly through him.

The sensation was still strange, as if he was momentarily unmoored from existence itself, but he was getting better. Each time he phased out, it felt smoother, more natural, as if the cloak's power was becoming an extension of his own.

But it wasn't enough. Rigel's attacks came faster, the storm raging around them intensifying with his every move. Harry needed to find a way to turn the tide, to gain the upper hand before Rigel could send them into another illusion.

Then the thought struck him.

The Elder Wand amplified his magic, and the cloak allowed him to phase out of reality. What, then, could the Resurrection Stone do, now that he was the Master of Death? He didn't know, but if it could give him even a fraction of an edge, it was worth trying.

Dodging another barrage of shadowy arrows, Harry reached into his pocket and grabbed the stone. His fingers closed around its cool surface as he focused, his thoughts racing. He didn't know exactly how to use it, but his instincts led him to think of the one person who could completely unnerve Rigel.

Daphne.

The air shifted.

The dark storm clouds above parted, and the torrential rain stopped abruptly. The sun broke through, bathing the grounds of Black Castle in golden light. A warm breeze replaced the icy gale, and the entire scene felt transformed, like a memory given life.

And then she came.

Daphne descended from the sky, her form ethereal at first, shimmering like a mirage. With each step she took closer to the ground, she became more corporeal, more real. Her blonde hair shone in the sunlight, and her piercing blue eyes sparkled with warmth. She wore a soft smile, her every movement graceful and deliberate.

Rigel stood frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at her. "Daphne..." he whispered, the word barely audible.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He had intended for her to distract Rigel, but this—this was something far beyond what he had imagined. Had he truly revived her? If so, his plan had backfired spectacularly.

Daphne landed gently in front of Rigel, the two of them only a step apart. She didn't say a word, but her gaze held his as though nothing else in the world mattered. And then, without hesitation, they kissed.

It was deep, passionate, and unrestrained, the kind of kiss shared by two people who had been apart for far too long. Harry watched, torn. A part of him was happy to see them like this, united in a moment of pure love. But he couldn't forget why he was here. He couldn't forget what needed to be done.

Taking advantage of Rigel's distraction, Harry raised his wand, summoning his magic. A spear of lightning crackled to life in his hand, its energy coursing up his arm as he steadied himself. With a shout, he hurled it with all his strength at Rigel and Daphne.

The spear flew true, its blinding light illuminating the grounds as it streaked toward them.

It passed through Daphne as if she wasn't there.

The spear struck Rigel squarely, the force of it driving straight through his stomach. Rigel staggered, blood pouring from the wound and trailing down the corner of his mouth. But he didn't break the kiss. His hands remained on Daphne, his body swaying slightly as his lifeblood spilled onto the ground.

Finally, Daphne broke the kiss. Her expression was calm, almost tender, as she reached up and wiped the blood from Rigel's face with her thumb. "You've got something there, my love," she said softly.

Rigel gave a weak chuckle, his voice strained but filled with gratitude. "Thank you," he murmured, staring into her eyes. Blood continued to drip from his mouth, pooling at his feet, but he looked at peace, even as he stood on the brink of collapse.

Harry's grip on his wand tightened as he stared at Rigel. He knew his brother had an almost inhuman tolerance for pain, but this... this was beyond reason. The hole in Rigel's stomach bled profusely, blood mixing with the rain-soaked mud at his feet, yet Rigel remained upright, his eyes locked on Daphne's.

But then Harry noticed something strange. A shimmering white light surrounded Daphne, faint and ethereal, like a halo. It pulsed gently, as if alive, but Rigel didn't seem to notice it at all. He acted as though there was nothing unusual, his focus entirely on her.

What is that? Harry thought, his eyes narrowing. The light didn't belong. It wasn't part of this fight—or was it?

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught another glimmer of the same light. This one emanated from a high window in Black Castle, its faint glow barely discernible against the castle walls. His heart raced with confusion, but before he could ponder the significance, Rigel staggered.

The older wizard collapsed to his knees, his strength finally giving out. Blood seeped from the wound in his stomach, soaking the ground around him as his breathing grew laboured. Daphne moved with deliberate grace, kneeling beside him. Her touch was gentle as she placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

Then, for the first time since her appearance, she turned her gaze toward Harry. Her blue eyes, once sharp and full of life, now held a strange mixture of calm and accusation.

"Are you happy now?" she asked softly, her voice carrying over the storm as if the rain and thunder had faded into the background. Her tone wasn't angry—if anything, it was resigned. "We always knew it would come to this, Harry. That one day, you would betray us."

The words hit Harry like a punch to the gut. His breath caught as her statement lingered in the air. He opened his mouth to protest, to say that it wasn't true, but the weight of her accusation silenced him.

Some part of him knew it didn't matter. The reality was clear: Rigel and Daphne had betrayed him. They had turned into monsters, warped by their own ambition and darkness. He had been blind to it for so long, clinging to the hope that they were still the people he had once loved.

Daphne continued, her voice unwavering. "We tried to teach you. Again and again, we tried to show you that the world isn't Black and White. That sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good. But clearly, we failed."

Harry's throat tightened. The sting of her words wasn't just from the accusation—it was the knowledge that, in some twisted way, they believed what they were saying. To them, this was all justified, necessary.

But then Harry noticed something. As Daphne spoke, thin tendrils of shadow energy began to seep from Rigel's body, writhing like snakes as they pooled around him. They were faint at first, barely visible, but they grew stronger with each passing moment, the dark magic pulsing in rhythm with Rigel's shallow breaths.

Harry's hand tightened around his wand, his body tensing.

This wasn't over. Daphne wasn't kneeling there to mourn or accuse him—she was distracting him, buying Rigel time. The shadows around him were coalescing into something dangerous, something Harry needed to stop before it was too late.

The air around Harry shimmered, and before he could react, figures began to materialise from the shadows. His heart sank as he recognised them—different versions of Rigel, each stepping forward with deadly intent. There was the sleek black cat, its blue eyes gleaming with malice; the cocky teenager, wand twirling in his hand; the young adult in his prime, his presence radiating power; and finally, the middle-aged man who had just been locked in battle with Harry.

The Rigels moved as one, their wands—or claws—raised, spells and shadows flying toward Harry from every direction.

Harry leapt backward, narrowly avoiding a wave of curses. He phased out of reality just as a shadow spear passed through the space he had occupied a moment ago, the hum of its magic vibrating faintly against his senses. The world around him grew muted as he entered the intangible state, the Rigels moving like faint smudges of shadow in his phased perspective.

When he reappeared, he looked back toward Daphne and the fallen Rigel, only to find that Rigel's body was gone. A chill ran down his spine. The Rigel I speared—it was an illusion all along, he realised grimly.

Another barrage of spells forced him to focus. Flames erupted from his wand as he deflected a volley of Reducto curses, each Rigel launching coordinated attacks. His mind raced as he blocked and dodged, analysing their movements. These illusions were weaker than the real Rigel—their spells lacked the precision and force of his usual attacks. It made sense. Rigel could only wield so much power at once, and dividing it among so many forms would naturally weaken them.

But even if they were weaker, they were still relentless.

Harry phased out again as another flurry of shadow magic tore through the air. The shimmering forms of the Rigels became distorted blurs as he moved through his intangible state, searching for a way to turn the tide. When he phased back in, he was met immediately by a blast of shadow energy that struck him squarely in the chest. He stumbled backward, the pain lancing through him as the wound sizzled faintly.

He's predicting me, Harry thought, wincing as he deflected another curse. Rigel had always been a strategist, and now he was using Harry's phasing ability against him. Every time Harry reappeared, a spell was already waiting. The illusions moved in perfect coordination, filling every gap in their assault with overlapping attacks.

The black cat leapt toward him, claws outstretched, its shadowy energy trailing like smoke. Harry sidestepped and slashed at it with a fiery whip, dispersing it into a wisp of smoke. But before he could catch his breath, the teenage Rigel fired a Piercing Curse from his wand. Harry raised a shield just in time, the curse ricocheting into a nearby tree and splitting it down the middle.

Spinning, Harry hurled a wave of fire at the young adult Rigel, forcing him to dodge. But the middle-aged Rigel appeared behind him, his wand aimed at Harry's back. "Reducto!" The Spell hit Harry's hastily erected shield, shattering it and sending him sprawling into the mud.

Harry rolled to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His cloak fluttered behind him, its hum faintly encouraging. He phased out again, narrowly avoiding a swarm of Diffindo spells, only to reappear into another ambush. The teenager's Confringo curse exploded at his feet, throwing him into the air. He twisted mid-fall, landing hard but upright.

The battle raged on, a blur of fire, shadow, and curses. Harry wove through the storm of attacks, his flames lighting the dark grounds in bursts of orange and red. He dispatched illusion after illusion, their forms collapsing into smoke or flickering out like dying embers, but more always replaced them.

And each time he phased, Rigel grew better at anticipating his moves. Another shadow spear clipped his leg as he reappeared, the pain nearly buckling him. A slicing hex grazed his shoulder, and blood began soaking into his shirt.

But Harry pressed on, fire blazing around him in defiance. He had to find the real Rigel. He had to end this.

Harry spun on his heel, raising a fiery barrier to block an onslaught of curses. The flames roared to life, crackling as they consumed the Reducto and Diffindo spells streaking toward him. He dropped the barrier and lunged forward, sending a wave of fire surging toward the teenage Rigel. The illusion leapt back, his movements nimble and precise as he retaliated with a Piercing Curse.

The battle was a chaotic storm of magic and movement. Harry pushed himself harder, his wand slashing through the air as he conjured fire whips and blasts to keep the illusions at bay. The teenage Rigel flanked him on the right, firing a volley of hexes, while the young adult Rigel pressed on his left with a relentless stream of curses.

Harry phased out just as their attacks converged, the spells colliding in a thunderous explosion that left scorch marks on the ground. He reappeared behind them, his wand glowing bright as he shouted, "Incendio Maxima!"

A torrent of fire erupted from his wand, engulfing the teenage Rigel. The illusion screamed as the flames consumed him, his form flickering and distorting before collapsing into smoke. Harry didn't pause to celebrate. He turned immediately, deflecting a hex from the young adult Rigel, whose face twisted into a snarl.

"Not bad, little brother," the young adult Rigel taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "But you'll have to do better than that."

"Why don't you stand still and let me show you?" Harry snapped, his wand moving in a sharp arc as he unleashed another blast of fire.

The young adult Rigel dodged, apparating to Harry's left and firing a Reducto that grazed Harry's side. Pain flared as Harry stumbled, but he recovered quickly, spinning to meet the next attack. He parried a Diffindo with a shield charm and retaliated with a Confringo that sent the illusion sprawling.

Harry didn't let up. He advanced, his fire magic flaring as he hurled flaming projectiles at the illusion. The young adult Rigel managed to deflect the first few, but Harry's relentless assault forced him on the defensive. With a final slash of his wand, Harry conjured a sweeping wave of fire that engulfed the illusion, reducing it to a flicker of shadow before it dissipated.

Harry breathed heavily, his muscles burning from exertion. Blood dripped from cuts on his arms and legs, and his body ached from countless close calls. His eyes locked on the middle-aged Rigel, the last remaining illusion—or so Harry believed.

"This can't be you," Harry said, his voice steady but edged with exhaustion. "You're not the real Rigel."

The middle-aged Rigel tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Aren't I?" he asked, his voice calm and mocking. "You're so sure of yourself, Harry. But if I'm not real, why are you so out of breath?"

Harry didn't respond. He raised his wand again, flames licking at its tip. The fight wasn't over yet.

The middle-aged Rigel moved with deadly precision, his spells faster and more concentrated now that the separated strength of the other illusions had been reabsorbed. Each curse he fired crackled with power, forcing Harry to phase out repeatedly to avoid being overwhelmed. But Rigel anticipated his movements with uncanny accuracy, landing glancing blows each time Harry phased back into reality.

As the battle raged, Harry's eyes flicked to Daphne. She stood a short distance away, watching the fight unfold. The shimmering white light still surrounded her, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

And then it hit him.

The light—it wasn't just some magical aura. It was her soul.

He was the Master of Death, and he could see souls directly. His heart pounded as his gaze shifted, scanning the castle. There, at a high window, another faint white light glimmered. Orion. He was watching the fight.

Then another light, fainter, down by the castle's base, where the Wardstone was located. Kreacher. The house-elf's soul glimmered softly, his body still incapacitated from earlier, as Orion had told him.

And then, high atop the tallest tower of Black Castle, Harry saw it: a bright, powerful light, stronger than any of the others.

It had to be Rigel.

The real Rigel.

Harry's jaw tightened as he phased out of reality again, narrowly avoiding a searing shadow spear from the middle-aged illusion, who had no light – no soul.

Harry's wand moved in a blur as flames erupted to meet yet another barrage of curses from the middle-aged Rigel. The illusion fought with ruthless precision, its spells sharp and deadly. Harry phased out of reality, narrowly dodging a shadow spear that passed through his intangible form. He reappeared a few feet away, flames already lashing out toward his opponent.

The illusion countered effortlessly, deflecting Harry's fire with a swipe of his wand and retaliating with a shadowy beam that streaked toward Harry's chest. Harry twisted aside, the spell grazing his shoulder and sending a jolt of pain through his body.

"You can't keep this up forever, Harry," the illusion said, its voice calm, almost conversational. "You're outmatched. Always have been."

Harry didn't answer. Instead, he pressed forward, phasing in and out rapidly in an attempt to confuse his opponent. He moved in erratic bursts, appearing on one side of the illusion only to vanish again as soon as a spell came his way. Fire lit up the stormy grounds as Harry hurled attack after attack, his flames searing through the rain and forcing the illusion onto the defensive.

But the illusion didn't falter. It matched Harry's movements with uncanny ease, its spells finding him the moment he reappeared. A shadow-infused Diffindo tore through his shield, leaving a shallow gash across his side. A Confringo exploded near his feet, sending him skidding through the mud.

I don't have the strength for this, Harry thought, his chest heaving as he blocked another curse. His fire magic flared, but the relentless battle was taking its toll. The illusion was too strong, too precise, and Harry was running out of time. If he didn't end this soon, he wouldn't have the strength left to fight Rigel himself.

For a brief moment, Harry considered abandoning the fight here and now, using what he'd learned to go after Rigel directly. He knew where his brother was—atop the highest tower of Black Castle. But the thought quickly soured. The wards protecting the tower were formidable, and combined with the sheer magical power Rigel would have available if he didn't expend it maintaining this illusion, the odds of finishing him off would be slim.

No, Harry realised grimly. He had to finish this here. He needed to find the flaw. The secret to dispelling the illusion.

The duel continued, Harry's cloak humming faintly as he phased in and out of reality, searching for any hint of inconsistency. But the illusion was flawless. Every movement, every spell, every detail was executed with the precision of the real Rigel. The illusion even anticipated Harry's tactics, landing glancing blows each time he phased back into reality.

Harry gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting. Where is it? he thought desperately. Every illusion has a flaw—something that breaks the spell. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find it. There was no faltering in the illusion's attacks, no hesitation in its movements. It was as perfect as the man it represented.

And then it hit him. The answer was so simple, so elegantly obvious that he almost laughed despite himself.

There was no flaw.

Rigel had never anticipated anyone surviving long enough to realise the truth. The illusion was perfect because Rigel had poured everything into it—every ounce of his magical power. It wasn't meant to have a flaw because no one was supposed to fight it this long, let alone live.

Harry's lips curled into a determined smile. He stopped dodging, stopped looking for inconsistencies. Instead, he raised his wand, his voice steady and commanding as he said, "Finite Incantatem."

The effect was immediate.

The illusion screamed, its voice filled with raw, unfiltered agony. "No! You can't!" it shrieked, its form distorting and writhing as the spell unravelled. The once-perfect representation of Rigel flickered like a dying flame, its features twisting and collapsing into smoke.

With a final, desperate cry, the illusion vanished, leaving nothing but silence and the faint scent of burnt air.

Harry stood there, his wand still raised, his chest heaving as the realisation settled over him. Rigel's magical energy, which had permeated the battlefield like a suffocating presence, was gone.

It was over.

By dispelling the illusion, Harry had destroyed the last remnants of Rigel's strength. He had won.

Harry's gaze lifted to the highest tower of Black Castle. The bright white light he had seen earlier was now dimmed, its brilliance fading to a faint glow. He could feel it in the air—the wards that had once protected the tower were gone, dissipated with the destruction of Rigel's illusion. The path was clear.

"It's time," Harry murmured, his voice steady despite wounds he had sustained in battle.

With a sharp crackle of energy, he transformed into lightning. His body surged upward in a blinding flash, weaving through the wind as he raced toward the tower. He crashed through a window in a burst of light, shattering the glass and landing heavily on the stone floor.

What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

Rigel sat slumped in a wheelchair, his frame frail and hunched. His hair, once jet-black, was now snow-white and sparse, his face lined with deep wrinkles. He looked ancient—easily over a hundred years old. His hands trembled slightly as they rested on the arms of the chair, and his chest rose and fell in laboured breaths.

The room was silent save for Rigel's rasping coughs. Around him, MystiFrames were scattered, their crystal frames now dull and inactive.

Harry lowered his wand slightly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Rigel... what happened to you?" he asked cautiously, his voice tinged with both curiosity and suspicion. "Why are you like this?"

Rigel raised his head weakly, his blue eyes dim but still carrying the faint glint of the man Harry had once idolised. "Ever since Daphne died," he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper, "I've been dying too."

Harry stiffened, and before he could respond, Daphne shimmered into existence beside Rigel. Her form was radiant and calm, the white light surrounding her brighter here than it had been on the battlefield below. She placed a gentle hand on Rigel's shoulder, her expression soft as she looked at Harry.

"It would be best if I explained," Daphne said, her voice steady but laced with regret. "I made a grave miscalculation, Harry. I didn't realise just how much of a toll it would take on him."

Harry nodded slowly, piecing together the fragments of understanding. "You're soulmates," he said, his tone thoughtful. "I'm surprised he's even alive after you died."

Daphne shook her head. "It's more than that." Her voice softened as she continued, her gaze drifting to Rigel. "Back when we fought Voldemort in our first year... Rigel died. He succumbed to his injuries. But I wouldn't let him go. It was my will—my magic—that kept him from moving on."

Harry's eyes widened as the memory of that night flooded back. Rigel, as a cat, had been grievously injured during the battle. Daphne had been trapped in her own mind, consumed by Voldemort's nightmare. Harry had moved Rigel's limp form to Daphne's bed, thinking it would comfort them both. Over time, they had miraculously recovered, or so he had believed.

"I had no idea," Harry said softly, his voice tinged with guilt and disbelief. "I thought I was helping."

"You were," Daphne said gently. "You just didn't realise how much." She looked back at Rigel, her expression tender. "But without my magic there was nothing to sustain him anymore."

Rigel's trembling hand rose slightly as he weakly waved off the concern. "I promised her," he murmured, his voice cracking with effort. "I promised I'd stay alive. And I've clung to that promise... long after I should have been gone." He paused, a faint, bitter smile crossing his lips. "This room... it's been my world for years, Harry. I haven't left it for many years. The only life I've had—the only way I've seen the world—is through my illusions." His voice wavered, a mix of resignation and defiance. "They became my reality when my own body failed me. And even then... I couldn't let go."

The weight of Rigel's words hung in the air. Harry stared at his brother—the man who had become his enemy—and felt an ache of conflicting emotions rise in his chest.

Harry stood frozen, his wand still in his hand but lowered slightly, his mind a storm of conflict. Just minutes ago, he had been so determined, so ready to put an end to Rigel once and for all. But now, seeing him like this—frail, broken, dying—the idea of a peaceful resolution bubbled unbidden to the surface of his thoughts.

He pushed it down. He knew better. Rigel was too far gone.

The silence stretched between them until Rigel broke it, his voice weak but sharp. "What are you waiting for, Harry?" His tone was mocking, but the rasp in his voice betrayed his exhaustion. "Are you waiting for me to apologise? To atone for everything I've done?"

Harry said nothing, his throat tightening painfully. His chest ached as he thought about how much he wanted exactly that—for Rigel to apologise, to acknowledge the pain and suffering he'd caused. He wanted his brother back, the man he had admired and loved. But Rigel just laughed, a hoarse, wheezing sound that quickly dissolved into a fit of coughing.

"Still the same naive boy as before," Rigel said, shaking his head. "After everything, you're still hoping for a happy ending. Let me make it simple for you, little brother." His eyes gleamed with a faint, bitter amusement. "If I could travel back in time, there is only one thing I would change. Either I'd have worked harder to bring you to our side... or I'd have gotten rid of you much earlier."

Harry's stomach turned. There it was. The monster his brother had become.

"I won't atone," Rigel continued, his voice growing colder. "I have nothing to atone for. What I did served the greater good. Everything I sacrificed, everything I destroyed—it all had a purpose."

Harry's hands clenched tightly around his wand as Rigel went on.

"I sacrificed countless lives for the world we built. My biggest sacrifice? A third of Greece's magical population." Rigel chuckled darkly. "That was quite the gambit, wasn't it? Herpo the Foul... you've figured it out, haven't you?"

The realisation hit Harry like a brick wall. Rigel was the one who unleashed Herpo the Foul. It had been Rigel all along, orchestrating the chaos, then emerging as the hero who defeated him. That was how Rigel had secured the title of Supreme Mugwump. It all made sense now.

"And not just Greece," Rigel continued, his voice growing sharper. "I created illusions, countless illusions, to infiltrate governments around the world. Entire nations in the ICW were under my control, their leaders nothing more than puppets. And with that control, what did I do?" He smiled faintly, almost proud. "I passed reforms. I eliminated most crime by controlling it. I eradicated blood-status discrimination. I gave everyone the tools to become someone. I made the wizarding world... better."

Harry couldn't deny it. The world had improved under Rigel's shadow rule. Crime rates were at historic lows, blood purism was all but dead, and magical society had seen a renaissance of progress.

But the cost...

The words burned on Harry's tongue before he could stop them. "And Hermione?" he demanded, his voice shaking. "Was she just another sacrifice?"

Rigel's smile faded slightly, but his tone remained composed. "Hermione Granger was a great Minister for Magic," he said. "But she chose her side, Harry. I knew for years that she was aiding you. when the Shadowfang Pack stopped reporting and Delacourix was defeated... well, the situation became dire. I needed to know what she was planning."

Rigel paused, his eyes narrowing as he reflected on what had happened. "In the end, though... she had the last laugh, didn't she?"

Harry's anger flared, and he stepped forward, his hands trembling. "The last laugh?" he spat. "You treated her like dirt! You tortured her! You killed Ernie in front of her, all just to get information?"

Rigel's expression hardened. "I've tortured many people to get what I wanted, Harry. That's the cost of building a better world. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good." His lips curved into a faint smirk, his voice dripping with cold pragmatism. "And besides, I let her live, didn't I? Isn't that enough to show my good graces?"

Harry's eyes narrowed, but Rigel pressed on, his voice turning colder still. "Though if I'm being honest, there was a practical reason. Transferring the position of Minister for Magic is so much easier when the current minister is still alive. That's why I let her live."

Harry stared at Rigel, his hands clenched into fists, his fury barely contained. His brother's casual dismissal of Hermione's suffering, of Ernie's death, twisted something deep inside him.

"I did what needed to be done," Rigel said simply. "And you, little brother, will never understand that."

Harry's grip on his wand tightened as his emotions boiled over. "And what about me, Rigel?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Why turn on me, of all people? I was your brother! Your family! After everything we've been through together, why me?"

Rigel opened his mouth to respond, but his voice faltered as Daphne stepped forward, her shimmering form radiating a gentle, sorrowful light. "I didn't agree with it at first either," she said softly, her tone almost apologetic. "I fought him on it, Harry. You have to understand that. But you have to see it from our perspective."

Harry's glare didn't soften, but he let her continue. Daphne's expression was pained as she knelt beside Rigel, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Rigel was dying, and it was happening faster than we expected. We tried everything—every potion, every spell, every piece of magic we could find—but nothing worked. Becoming the Master of Death was our only option."

Harry's jaw tightened, his anger unabated. "You could have asked for my help," he said sharply. "Instead of turning on me, instead of trying to kill me, you could have let me become the Master of Death. I could have brought you back, Daphne. You didn't have to go through all this."

Daphne sighed heavily, her luminous form dimming slightly. Before she could respond, Rigel interjected, his voice weaker but tinged with stubbornness. "That's what she wanted," Rigel admitted, coughing softly. "But I knew I couldn't trust you, Harry. Not for something like this. It was only a matter of time before you stood against us. You always saw things so differently—so black and white. The moment you realised how powerful we'd become, you would have turned on us. And with you as the Master of Death... I didn't stand a chance."

Harry's fists clenched, his body trembling with a mix of fury and sorrow. "It's so sad, Rigel," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "To see you like this. We made a pact once—a promise that no matter what, politics wouldn't come between us. Sure, we fought about laws and legislation, but I would never have turned my hand against you. Against Daphne. Against my family."

Rigel's eyes flickered with a faint glimmer of regret, but his expression quickly hardened. He exhaled deeply, his frail body sinking further into the wheelchair. "There's no point in arguing anymore," he said quietly, his voice resigned. "What's done is done."

Harry's grip on his wand tightened as Rigel leaned back in his chair, his body visibly trembling from the effort of speaking. "So, get on with it," Rigel said, his tone suddenly softer. "Reunite me with my beloved Daphne. Send me to her. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Harry raised his wand, his arm trembling slightly as he pointed it at Rigel. His vision blurred as emotion welled up inside him. This was his brother. His mentor. His idol. The person who had shaped him more than anyone else.

How he wished there was a world where Rigel hadn't descended into madness. Where Rigel hadn't become the monster sitting before him now.

Rigel's gaze shifted back to Harry, his blue eyes dim but sharp with purpose. "You have one final choice to make, little brother," he said, his voice rasping with weakness. "Expose me. Expose everything I've done. Undo it all. Every positive change I brought to the wizarding world will crumble, and all those sacrifices... they'll have been for nothing."

Harry's grip on his wand faltered as he stared at his brother, the weight of the decision pressing on him like an anvil.

Rigel coughed, his frail body shaking with the effort. "Or," he continued, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "let me die a hero. Revered, admired, loved. The world will remember me as the man who saved it, not the man who broke it to rebuild it."

Harry said nothing, his jaw tightening as he fought against the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside him.

"You don't have to worry about clearing your name," Rigel added, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "My treacherous son Orion will see to that. He'll do it easily, I'm sure."

Rigel's gaze softened as he looked up at Daphne, who stood beside him, her glowing form shimmering faintly. Tears streaked down his pale face as he whispered, "I'm ready to come home, my love."

Daphne knelt before him, her own face streaked with tears. She placed a hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear. "I'll be waiting for you," she murmured softly.

Then she leaned in, kissing him one final time, a tender and lingering farewell. As she pulled back, her form began to fade, the ethereal light around her dissipating until nothing remained but the faint warmth of her presence.

Harry's heart clenched painfully as he watched the scene. His wand shook in his hand as he stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Goodbye, brother."

The tears blurred his vision as he raised his wand higher, the words catching in his throat. Finally, he forced them out, his voice trembling. "Avada Kedavra."

The green light flashed, striking Rigel directly in the chest. His body went limp in the wheelchair, his head lolling to one side as the white light surrounding him flickered and faded into nothing. Rigel Black, the man who had once been Harry's brother, mentor, and idol, was gone.

Harry lowered his wand, tears streaming freely down his face. He didn't know how long he stood there, the silence of the room pressing down on him, before a voice broke through the stillness.

"At least they're together now."

Harry spun around, his wand at the ready, only to find Orion standing in the doorway. Rigel's son stepped forward slowly, his expression calm but tinged with sadness.

"They deserved that much," Orion added, his gaze fixed on his father's lifeless body. He walked to the wheelchair, his movements deliberate and reverent, and reached out to close Rigel's eyes. For a moment, he stood there, silent, before turning back to Harry.

"Would it be alright," Orion began cautiously, "if we keep his legacy intact? He was right about one thing: what he has done did improve the world."

Harry hesitated, the weight of the question bearing down on him. Finally, he nodded. "What do you plan to do?"

Orion straightened, his expression resolute. "I'll pay off the family doctor to declare that Father died from a rare disease. Then I'll claim the title of Lord Black. After that..." He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I'll work to restore your good name. The family has enough connections to plant evidence, to prove that some accusations were false, without exposing that they were Father's lies all along."

Harry nodded again, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to take a deep breath. It wasn't perfect—it wasn't the justice he had once envisioned—but it was something.


The salty tang of the Northern Irish coast filled Harry's lungs as he stood on the back deck of the Black family's sprawling vacation home. The wind was brisk but not biting, and the distant cries of seagulls blended with the crashing of waves against the cliffs. It had been a week since the final confrontation, and for the first time in years, Harry felt a deep, genuine sense of peace.

Behind him, the sliding door opened, and Tracey stepped out, holding a steaming cup of tea in one hand. Her brown eyes sparkled with warmth as she approached him, the wind catching her black hair.

"Lost in thought again?" she teased gently, handing him the cup.

Harry smiled, taking the tea and sipping it gratefully. "Just thinking about how lucky I am," he said, his voice soft. "After everything... I still have you. I still have the kids."

Tracey leaned against him, her arm brushing his. "You fought for this, Harry. For us. Don't ever forget that."

The days passed in a blur of joy and simplicity. They played on the beach, shared meals by the fire, and Harry relished every moment of normalcy with Tracey and the kids. Every morning, the Daily Prophet arrived, its front page dominated by one story: Supreme Mugwump Rigel Black Passes Away—A Great Man Lost to the World. The articles painted Rigel as a hero, praising his reforms and leadership. Harry felt a pang of bitterness but reminded himself of the promise he'd made to Orion. The truth was known to them alone, and the world could keep its illusion of Rigel as a saviour.

Then, one morning, the headline changed.

Harry Potter Declared Innocent by the ICW—Wizarding World's Enemy No Longer.

Tracey had been the first to read it, her eyes widening with delight as she brought the paper to Harry. "It's over," she said, her voice trembling. "Harry, it's finally over."

Harry scanned the article, the words blurring as his emotions overwhelmed him. The charges had been dropped. The ICW had declared him innocent. Evidence had surfaced proving key accusations false, though the article didn't delve into specifics. Harry suspected Orion's hand in the matter.

"They believe me," Harry murmured, sinking into a chair as Tracey wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"Of course, they do," she said firmly. "The truth always comes out in the end."


A month later, the Potter family resettled into Potter Manor. The grand old estate was as welcoming as ever, its warm stone walls and lush grounds a stark contrast to the tension that had dominated their lives for so long. Harry walked through the familiar halls, running his hand along the wood-panelled walls, feeling as though he was reconnecting with a part of himself he had long lost.

Tracey supervised the children as they unpacked their belongings. Harry watched them from the doorway of the living room, a soft smile on his face. The sound of Hazel's laughter and Evan's playful complaints filled the air, and for the first time in years, it felt like home again.

Life had returned to normal.