Prologue Pt.1– The End of the Order (2000)

The fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the faces of the last survivors of the Order of the Phoenix. The old safehouse, once a stronghold of resistance, was now little more than a ruin—like everything else they had fought for. Cracks ran along the stone walls, remnants of past attacks, and the air smelled of damp earth and burnt wood. The wind howled outside, rattling the loose shutters as if the world itself mourned what was to come.

For the past three years, Harry Potter had not been a man but a shadow. He had moved through the ruins of a broken world, hunting in the night, striking from unseen places, and disappearing before the echoes of his magic had even faded. Gone was the boy who once relied on luck and instinct—war had burned away his weaknesses, forging him into something far deadlier. He had become a predator, a ghost haunting the remnants of Voldemort's forces, his name whispered in fear by the Death Eaters who remained. He did not fight battles; he executed enemies, eliminating them one by one, cutting down the Dark Lord's army piece by piece. There was no mercy left in him, no hesitation when his wand moved. His magic had changed, too, responding to the cold, unwavering focus that now ruled him. It was no longer just a tool but an extension of his will—raw, devastating, and impossible to contain. Spells obeyed him with frightening ease, barriers crumbled beneath his touch, and wards that should have stopped any intruder meant nothing to him. He had spent months alone, striking deep into enemy territory, wading through blood and ashes to ensure Voldemort would be left with nothing.

But he had not come away unscathed. The cost of wielding such power had left its mark. His body had grown leaner, hardened by constant combat, his reflexes honed to the edge of perfection. But it was his mind that had changed the most. Emotion was a distant thing now, something he could barely grasp except in fleeting moments. He could still feel anger, the cold satisfaction of victory, the burning drive to finish what he started—but the warmth of laughter, the comfort of friendship, those things had become memories rather than realities. Ron and Hermione had been the last real pieces of his past self, the final ties to the boy he once was, and now they were gone.

Ron had died first, cut down by Voldemort himself after he managed to kill Antonin Dolohov. It had been a victory—Ron had avenged his uncles, his mother, and his father—but in the end, it had cost him his life. There had been no time to grieve, only to keep moving. Hermione had lasted a month longer. She had been brilliant, determined, and deadly in her own way, but not even she had been untouchable. She had killed Augustus Rookwood in a brutal duel, ending the life of one of Voldemort's greatest tacticians, but Bellatrix Lestrange had been waiting. There had been no mercy. No last words. Just a flash of green light, and she was gone. And with her, something in Harry had shattered.

Only Ginny kept him tethered to what was left of himself, the last flicker of humanity in a world that had demanded too much of him. They loved each other and had for years now, but the war had stolen any chance of normalcy. There had been stolen moments between battles, hurried kisses between missions, and whispered promises of a future neither of them truly believed in. Their love had been forged in fire, strong but fragile, constantly threatened by the cruel reality of war. Even now, when everything was on the brink of ending, she was the only thing keeping him from fading entirely. And now, after years of waiting, hunting, and killing, the time had finally come.

Harry stood at the head of the table, hands braced on the splintered wood, scanning the faces before him. They were all that was left. A handful of fighters, bound together by loss and purpose, knowing that come tomorrow, some—perhaps all—would not survive.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, once the unshakable pillar of the Order, now looked worn, the deep lines on his face carved by years of war. His broad shoulders were slumped, exhaustion weighing down even the strongest among them. He had fought through hell, carrying the remnants of the resistance when others had fallen. Now, there was nowhere left to run, no more desperate plays to be made. Only one final move remained.

Fred and George sat side by side, their expressions grim. The carefree, mischievous light that had once defined them was long extinguished. There were no jokes left to crack, no tricks to pull—only a heavy silence where laughter used to be. The war had taken too much. They had lost their family, their shop, their very sense of self. Bill sat next to them, his scars from Greyback's attack stark in the dim light. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, deep in thought, strategizing even as they all knew they were out of time. His wand was clutched tight in his hand as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded.

Severus Snape leaned against the far wall, his dark robes blending into the shadows. His black eyes were unreadable, but the tension in his stance betrayed his thoughts. Once a spy, now openly declared against Voldemort, he had nowhere else to turn. After he had killed Dumbledore, Harry had sought him out to kill him. It had taken a whole year but eventually, he had tracked down his old potion's master. They had fought and Harry had won but noticed that Snape never fired an offensive spell. Just before the killing blow left Harry's wand, he had asked why. Snape had then confessed that his true allegiance had been to Dumbledore. That he had been the one to tell Voldemort of the prophecy and that he had been working as Dumbledore's spy ever since. He explained what had happened to Dumbledore with the Gaunt's ring and how he had told Snape to kill him in an attempt to keep the Elder Wand from Voldemort. At this point in the revelation, Snape was on his knees, his black eyes so full of hate that Harry had actually felt pity for his old tormentor. He listened as Snape explained the history between him and Harry's mother, how he had loved her before they had even started school, how he had despised Harry's father for winning Lily's love and how he had hated Harry for being the symbol of that choice. After this revelation, Snape had vowed to continue his work as a spy, now with Voldemort's full trust. It had been about six months later when things had gone wrong. Voldemort had somehow learned of Snape's betrayal and tried to kill him, only for Harry to arrive and rescue Snape just in time. Ever since then, he had been on the front lines, fighting against the monster who had taken his love away from him. He had suffered for his choices, hunted and hounded by both sides, but now there was no doubt—he would see this through to the bitter end.

And then there was Ginny. She sat closest to Harry, her fiery hair tied back, her expression set in determination. She was the only one who still saw him—not as the legend he had become, but as the boy he once was. The boy she had fallen in love with. The boy who had lost everything but still refused to break. Her fingers twitched slightly against the tabletop, betraying a sliver of anxiety she would never voice. They had fought side by side for so long, but even she knew this time was different. There was no certainty, no hope beyond the night ahead. Just the fight, and whatever came after.

Kingsley exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before speaking. "This is it, then. We don't have the numbers for a full-scale assault on Hogwarts, and we don't have time to wait for reinforcements that will never come."

Hogwarts had fallen the previous year with Professor McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and all the others slaughtered, along with hundreds of students. It was now Voldemort's fortress, his base of operations from where he controlled the country. The Ministry was merely a puppet, and everyone knew that the real power lay in the former school.

Snape's voice was quiet but sharp. "So we strike tonight." His tone carried no hesitation, no argument. There was no alternative left.

Fred and George exchanged glances. Fred was the first to speak. "We've got nothing left to lose. Might as well give it a shot."

Bill nodded, his jaw tightening. "We need to hit him where he least expects it."

Ginny's voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of fear that only Harry could catch. "And we end it. One way or another."

Harry lifted his gaze, scanning each of them. He could see it in their eyes—the same fire, the same resignation. They all knew what was at stake. There would be no second chances. No retreat. This was the last battle.

Silence settled over them like a thick fog. The plan had already been decided—this was merely the final acknowledgement of what they all knew. There would be no coming back from this.

Harry straightened; his green eyes cold, unreadable but still burning with a fire that could not be put out. "We go in under cover of darkness. Kingsley, take Fred and George and focus on the defences. Snape, you and Bill handle the wards. Ginny, you're with me."

Kingsley gave a firm nod, already preparing himself for the mission ahead. Fred and George exchanged a glance before nodding as well. Bill exhaled sharply but didn't argue. Snape simply inclined his head, his dark gaze unreadable. No one questioned Harry's orders. There was no need. He had become their leader, not by choice but by necessity. And they would follow him into the dark one last time.

Ginny's fingers brushed against his under the table. He didn't look at her, but the touch grounded him. She knew. She always knew.

Tomorrow, everything would end. One way or another.

"This is it, Gin," said Harry as they snuck through the forest.

The others had split just moments before with Bill and Snape ahead, working on making a pocket in the wards so they could enter the grounds.

Ginny looked up at him, her brown eyes burning into him.

"I love you, Harry." Was all she could say.

"I love you too. With all my heart." He replied the closest thing to goodbye either of them could say. They both knew that tonight would most likely be their last one. Both prepared to die fighting.

They made their way silently onwards, unconsciously checking over their shoulders periodically as they had learned to do.

The darkened forest loomed before them, the ancient trees casting eerie shadows across the damp earth. Harry and Ginny moved swiftly but cautiously, the tension between them palpable. The wards protecting Hogwarts, once a symbol of safety and learning, now served as a barrier to the fortress of Voldemort's rule. Somewhere beyond the towering castle walls, their enemies waited, unaware that the Order's last stand had begun.

A sudden pulse of magic rippled through the air, and Harry felt the wards weaken. That was the signal. Snape and Bill had succeeded. Without hesitation, he grasped Ginny's hand and pulled her forward, the two of them darting through the now-fractured enchantments, slipping onto the castle grounds like shadows.

Explosions erupted in the distance, followed by the unmistakable clash of spells. Kingsley, Fred, and George had engaged the Death Eaters at the main entrance, drawing attention away from Harry and Ginny's infiltration. The night sky flashed with bursts of green and red, illuminating the battlefield in violent bursts. Smoke billowed from shattered windows, and the distant cries of the wounded and dying filled the night air. The acrid scent of burning wood and blood permeated the air, mingling with the electric charge of raw magic.

"We have to move," Ginny whispered, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

Harry nodded, gripping his wand tighter. "Stay close."

They moved quickly across the grounds, keeping to the cover of ruined statues and overgrown hedges. The castle itself loomed ahead, its once-welcoming stone walls now bearing the scars of dark magic. As they neared the main entrance, the battle ahead became clearer. Fred and George were weaving through the chaos, their wands moving in perfect synchrony as they unleashed volleys of curses and hexes. Kingsley stood at the forefront, his booming voice cutting through the night as he deflected and countered incoming attacks with precise, devastating force.

A Death Eater lunged at George from the side, but before he could strike, Harry fired a devastating curse which Snape had taught him, knocking the masked figure off his feet as he convulsed in the air before hitting the ground hard, unmoving. George glanced back and grinned. "Took you long enough!"

"Had to make a dramatic entrance," Harry shot back before ducking as a green curse whizzed past his head.

Ginny wasted no time joining the fray, sending a well-aimed blasting curse at a cluster of Death Eaters attempting to flank Kingsley. The ground exploded beneath them, sending two of them flying backwards. Fred gave her a quick nod before sending a cutting curse at another opponent, taking his arm clean off.

The battle raged on, spells lighting up the battlefield like a deadly fireworks display. Harry moved with precision, his magic responding effortlessly as he dodged, countered, and struck down enemy after enemy. Ginny was at his side, her movements just as relentless, her red hair a blur as she fought with unwavering determination. They barely had time to think—only to react, their instincts honed by years of fighting.

Just as the tide of battle threatened to overwhelm them, a loud crack echoed through the courtyard. Snape and Bill had arrived.

Snape wasted no time. With a flick of his wand, tendrils of dark energy shot out, wrapping around a group of Death Eaters and yanking them off their feet. Bill followed up with a powerful gust of magic that sent them sprawling, their wands flying from their hands.

"Thought you could use a hand," Bill called over the din of battle, flashing a grim smile.

Kingsley nodded in thanks, his wand moving in a blur as he took down another attacker. "We hold the entrance," he commanded. "No one gets through."

The battlefield was shifting. More Death Eaters poured through the ruined gates; their numbers seemingly endless. Some were familiar—faces Harry had seen in wanted posters and battle reports. Travers. Yaxley. The Carrows. And then, behind them, came a towering, cloaked figure with gleaming silver eyes—Fenrir Greyback, his mouth twisted into a snarling grin, his fingers curled like claws.

Greyback lunged, his speed unnatural, his eyes locked onto Ginny. Harry barely had time to react before he shoved her aside and sent a powerful blast of magic toward the werewolf. It struck Greyback square in the chest, sending him skidding backwards, but he recovered almost instantly, his inhuman strength keeping him on his feet. He bared his teeth, saliva dripping from his mouth.

"Gonna tear you apart, Potter," Greyback growled, his voice a guttural rasp. "Gonna rip out your throat."

"Not tonight," Harry snarled, his magic surging through him. He didn't hesitate. He didn't give Greyback the chance to close the distance. He summoned fire—blazing flames that erupted from his wand and consumed the werewolf in an instant. Greyback's howls of agony echoed through the night, his body writhing as the fire devoured him whole.

For a moment, the Death Eaters faltered, Greyback reduced to ash before their very eyes.

Kingsley took the opportunity to press forward, rallying their forces. "Push them back!" he bellowed, leading the charge with a powerful blast of magic that shattered the cobblestone beneath the Death Eaters' feet. The Order fought harder, pushing the enemy back toward the entrance, but Harry could feel it—the inevitable turn of battle. They were still outnumbered, and the Death Eaters were ruthless.

Snape moved with calculated precision, his wand a blur as he countered spell after spell. His dark eyes flicked toward Harry for the briefest moment. "We don't have much time. More are coming."

Harry knew he was right. They had to end this soon.

He turned to Ginny, his hand gripping hers for just a second. A fleeting moment of connection before they stepped back into the fray. There was no turning back now. They would fight to the last breath.

With renewed determination, Harry raised his wand and charged forward, the battle reaching its deadly crescendo.

It raged on. A storm of spells and shouts echoed across the bloodstained courtyard. Harry's wand moved instinctively, blocking, countering, striking—every movement fuelled by desperation and unwavering resolve. Ginny was at his side, her curses sharp and precise, cutting through the enemy ranks with a ferocity that rivalled his own.

Kingsley fought at the front, his booming voice rallying their dwindling forces. His wandwork was impeccable, each spell cast with the raw power of a true warrior. But even he could not fight against the tide of enemies forever. A blast of sickly green light cut through the night—a Killing Curse hurled by Yaxley.

Harry saw it a second too late.

The spell struck Kingsley square in the chest, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. The great Auror staggered, his deep brown eyes wide with shock, before he crumpled to the ground. His body lay still, the battle raging around him, uncaring of the hero who had fallen.

"No!" Fred roared, his face contorted with fury as he hurled spell after spell at Kingsley's killer, causing the Death Eater to retreat hurriedly before a nasty spell collided with him, causing the Death Eater to crumple on the floor lifeless. But their rage could not turn the tide. More Death Eaters closed in; their ranks reinforced as reinforcements poured from the ruined castle gates. The twins fought back to back, their wands spinning as they worked in perfect harmony, dodging curses and retaliating with relentless force.

"We have to keep moving!" George shouted, shoving Harry forward. There was no time to grieve—not yet. The enemy was closing in, and every moment they hesitated meant another lost life.

The battlefield was chaos, spells erupting like firecrackers in the night. Smoke and dust filled the air, choking Harry as he sent curse after curse at the approaching Death Eaters. He saw Snape and Bill moving swiftly through the ranks, cutting down enemies with ruthless efficiency.

A deafening explosion ripped through the air, the impact sending Harry and Ginny sprawling. Rubble and fire rained down as the world blurred into chaos. The ground beneath them trembled as part of the castle's outer wall collapsed, sending debris tumbling down into the courtyard.

Harry pushed himself up, coughing, his ears ringing.

And then he saw them.

Fred and George lay motionless amid the rubble, their hands still grasping their wands, their expressions frozen in fierce defiance. The explosion had been too sudden, too violent—there had been no time to escape. Their legacy of laughter and rebellion had come to an abrupt, tragic end.

A raw, guttural scream tore from Ginny's throat. She lunged forward, but Harry caught her, his arms wrapping around her tightly.

"They're gone!" he gasped, forcing the words out even as his own heart shattered. "Ginny, we have to move!"

Tears streaked down her face, but she nodded, her grief hardening into something cold and deadly. She pulled away, gripping her wand with white-knuckled fury.

Nearby, Bill fought against three Death Eaters at once, his robes torn and soaked in blood, but his strikes remained powerful and precise. He sent one Death Eater flying backwards with a powerful curse before slashing his wand toward the second, cutting them down in a flash of silver light.

And then a sharp, high-pitched cackle cut through the chaos.

Bellatrix Lestrange had arrived.

Her wild hair billowed around her as she strode forward with unnatural grace, deflecting spells with lazy flicks of her wand. Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she surveyed the battlefield. She wanted carnage, and she was about to get it.

Bellatrix's laughter rang out as she flicked her wand toward Bill, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Ah, another Weasley. How delightful," she purred, her voice like silk wrapped around steel.

Bill barely had time to turn before the jet of green light struck him in the back. He collapsed instantly, his lifeless body crumpling onto the blood-soaked ground.

"No!" Ginny's shriek was one of pure anguish. Without thinking, she raised her wand, her fury igniting the air around her as she hurled a blasting curse at Bellatrix, who dodged it with a laugh.

Harry barely had time to react before another spell came hurtling toward him. He dove aside, rolling behind a fallen statue as the air sizzled where he had just been standing. The fight was far from over.

The battlefield was chaos, bodies and debris littering the bloodstained courtyard. The once-proud walls of Hogwarts stood cracked and scorched, an eerie backdrop to the relentless battle that raged on. Spells streaked through the air like shooting stars, illuminating the darkness with flashes of green, red, and blue. The acrid scent of burning stone and blood mixed with the electric tang of magic, thick in the air.

Ginny barely noticed any of it.

Her focus was entirely on the woman standing before her, wand in hand, a twisted smile on her lips. Bellatrix Lestrange's wild hair framed her pale, manic face, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Well, well, little Weasley," Bellatrix purred, tilting her head as if inspecting a curious artefact. "Come to avenge your dear brothers, have you?"

Ginny's grip tightened on her wand, her knuckles turning white. Rage surged through her veins; her grief now sharpened into a deadly edge. "I'm going to kill you."

Bellatrix's laughter rang out, high and mirthless. "Oh, darling, so dramatic! So much fight over such a tiny thing. Just like your mother. And you know how that ended."

Ginny didn't waste time responding. Her wand flicked forward, sending a curse roaring toward Bellatrix. The older witch danced away effortlessly, deflecting the spell with a lazy wave of her wand. But Ginny was already moving, pressing forward with a volley of hexes and jinxes, each more vicious than the last.

Bellatrix parried them with precision, her expression shifting from amusement to something far more dangerous. "Oh, you're feisty! Perhaps I should have played with you instead of your brothers."

Ginny let out a scream of fury and launched a Blasting Curse that exploded the ground where Bellatrix had stood moments before. The force sent the Death Eater skidding back, her robes singed, her smile gone. The impact sent debris flying, a jagged piece of stone slicing across Bellatrix's cheek, leaving a thin red line.

Bellatrix's gaze darkened. "You'll pay for that," she hissed, and with a flick of her wand, a jet of sickly green light shot toward Ginny.

She barely dodged in time, rolling across the rubble-strewn ground as the Killing Curse obliterated the remains of a fallen statue behind her. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a barrage of Cutting Curses at Bellatrix, forcing her to retreat several steps. But the older witch was quick, her movements unnervingly fluid as she countered, her own spells growing more brutal with each passing second.

Across the courtyard, Harry and Snape were locked in their own desperate struggle. A swarm of Death Eaters bore down on them, their relentless attacks forcing the two wizards into defensive stances. Harry's wand moved with blinding speed, his shield charms barely holding against the onslaught. Snape was beside him, his dark robes billowing as he fired curse after curse, cutting down enemies, but even he was struggling.

"We can't hold them forever!" Harry shouted over the clash of spells, panting as he narrowly deflected a curse that sent shards of ice flying past his face.

Snape barely spared him a glance, dodging a Killing Curse before sending a vicious curse at an advancing opponent. "Then we best hope the girl can finish what she started."

Ginny had no intention of stopping.

She dodged Bellatrix's return fire, barely avoiding a streak of purple flame that would have torn through her chest. She retaliated with a slicing hex, cutting through Bellatrix's robes and drawing a thin line of blood across her arm.

Bellatrix let out a hiss of pain, her eyes flashing with fury. "You little brat," she spat, twirling her wand. "Let's see how long you last."

The ground beneath them shook as their duel escalated. Ginny ducked a Bludgeoning Curse and retaliated with a fiery whip of magic, forcing Bellatrix to leap aside. The older witch flicked her wand, and suddenly, the air between them shimmered—illusory copies of Bellatrix sprang into existence, surrounding Ginny from all sides.

Ginny clenched her jaw. She wouldn't fall for such tricks.

"Reducto!" she cried, sweeping her wand in an arc. The wave of destructive magic cut through the illusions, dispelling them instantly. But Bellatrix was already moving, her wand carving through the air as she sent spiked chains twisting toward Ginny's legs. They slithered like living things, reaching hungrily.

Ginny sprang backwards, barely avoiding their grasp, and fired off a series of rapid-fire hexes. One struck Bellatrix in the shoulder, sending her stumbling. For the first time, real fury crossed her features.

"You're starting to bore me, girl," Bellatrix sneered, wiping the blood from her lip. "Let's end this."

Ginny's grip tightened on her wand. "Gladly."

The night pulsed with energy, the very air thick with magic and the scent of blood. The duel between Ginny and Bellatrix had become a tempest of curses and counter-curses, fire and lightning colliding in dazzling, deadly bursts. The ground cracked beneath their feet as the sheer force of their magic tore through the ancient stones of Hogwarts. Every movement was precise, every spell cast with the intent to kill.

Harry and Snape continued their desperate fight against the remaining Death Eaters, but they were losing ground. Snape's spells were swift and precise, cutting down enemies with ruthless efficiency, but even he could not keep up with the endless onslaught. Harry's arm burned from the strain, his body aching as he cast shield after shield, deflecting and redirecting curses and sending them back with all the strength he could muster. The Death Eaters pressed forward, sensing their advantage, and for the first time, a horrible thought crossed Harry's mind.

They might not make it.

And then the air changed.

A wave of cold, suffocating magic crashed over the battlefield. The spells faltered. The very sky seemed to darken. Every wizard, both friend and foe, instinctively knew what this meant.

He had arrived.

A deep, eerie silence fell over the battlefield as Voldemort materialized in the centre of the chaos, his presence alone commanding attention. His crimson eyes burned like twin coals; his skeletal face twisted in cold amusement. He barely moved, yet his aura pressed down upon everyone like an invisible weight, choking the very breath from their lungs. It was as if death itself had descended upon them.

Snape barely had time to turn before Voldemort's wand flicked, a whispered curse escaping his lips.

A bolt of green light struck Snape square in the chest.

The former Potions Master staggered, his dark eyes widening in shock as he crumpled to the ground. No final words, no lingering fight—Voldemort had dismissed him as easily as swatting a fly. His lifeless body lay still in the ruined courtyard, forgotten in an instant.

Harry barely had time to process what had happened when a scream tore through the night.

Ginny's scream.

Bellatrix had struck.

A twisting arc of violet energy shot from her wand, slamming into Ginny's torso. The sheer force of the curse lifted her off the ground, her body convulsing as raw magic burned through her veins. The sound that escaped her lips was somewhere between a sob and a gasp, a horrible, strangled noise of pain. She crumpled to the ground, her wand slipping from her fingers.

"GINNY!"

Harry's world tunnelled to that single moment, everything else becoming nothing more than background noise. His legs burned as he sprinted toward her, ignoring the battlefield, ignoring the Death Eaters, ignoring everything but the girl lying broken on the ground. He dropped to his knees beside her, hands trembling as he lifted her into his arms. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her brown eyes hazy with pain.

"Ginny, stay with me," Harry pleaded, his voice breaking. "Just hold on. You'll be okay."

Her body trembled violently, her lips parting as though she was trying to speak. Her fingers weakly grasped at his hand, but her strength was fading too fast. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, her fiery spirit still flickering, but dimming with every passing second.

"You can't leave me," Harry choked, pressing his forehead against hers. "Please—just hold on."

Ginny's lips moved, but no sound came. She gave the faintest shake of her head as if to say there was nothing he could do. A sob tore from Harry's throat as he gripped her hand, trying to pour every ounce of strength into keeping her there.

But fate had already decided.

Her body shuddered one last time, her breath hitching.

Then, silence.

Her hand slipped from his grasp.

Harry froze.

The world around him disappeared. The war, the battle, the shouts of the dying—none of it mattered anymore. The weight of the moment crushed him, his heart splintering apart into a thousand jagged pieces. He cupped her cheek, brushing away a stray strand of red hair, his fingers trembling as he waited for something—anything—but there was nothing. Rage, unlike anything he had ever felt before surged through him, colder and darker than any spell he had ever cast.

Ginny was gone.

His eyes were burning with a bright, green fire; pure, unbridled magic was coursing through his veins, unlike anything he had ever felt before.

Not because of the smoke or the ash still drifting through the ruined courtyard, but because everything that mattered had just been taken from him. Again. The only light left in his world had flickered out with her final breath, and what remained was a hollow space where his heart used to be.

He looked up to see Voldemort standing there, a slight sneer on his lips.

Bellatrix stood beside him, her maleficent smile taunting Harry for what she had just done.

A shrill, high-pitched cackle that sliced through the air, oblivious to the devastation she had caused. She twirled her wand, eyes gleaming with twisted delight. "Oh, Potter, you do put on such a tragic show. Is she really worth all this trouble?"

Harry's hand clenched into a fist around his wand. The very air trembled around him, his magic surging, pressing outward like an unseen force. The loose rubble on the battlefield rattled and lifted, debris spinning into the air. The Death Eaters around Bellatrix shifted uneasily, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, the sheer pressure of power crackling around the boy they had mocked for years.

Bellatrix sneered. "What, no clever retort? No last words for your—"

Harry snapped.

The world seemed to pause around him like it was holding its breath—until the shadows moved.

They rose slowly at first, curling from beneath his feet like wisps of smoke bleeding from his skin. Then they thickened, spreading like oil across water, consuming the light. The air turned frigid, and the screams of battle faded, muffled by the sudden, unnatural silence. Even the crackling flames consuming broken walls were silenced by the creeping dark.

Fred, George, Kingsley, Bill—all gone. Hermione. Ron. Gone. The final thread had snapped.

Ginny.

Gone.

A tremble ran through him—but it wasn't grief. It was something deeper, older. The shadows knew.

Harry stood, and the shadows stood with him, lifting him into the air as they swirled and folded around him.

They didn't obey him—not exactly. They answered him. As if they had always been there, waiting beneath the surface. Waiting for the moment he would stop pretending to be anything less than what he truly was.

His magic twisted, not like fire but like smoke pulled by a wind that wasn't there. Something ancient unravelled inside him, slow and inexorable. The darkness that poured from his fingertips now had shape, will. A presence. And it was hungry.

The Death Eaters noticed too late.

They turned toward him, laughter and curses still dying on their lips when the darkness swallowed them. It wasn't flame. It wasn't lightning.

It was emptiness.

The shadows lunged like living creatures, black tendrils weaving through the air, striking with surgical precision. Screams were cut short, choked by smoke that slipped down throats and stilled hearts. Spells aimed at Harry vanished into the swirling gloom as if the very magic recoiled. Wards crumbled. Shields failed. Some Death Eaters tried to run but found their feet rooted in shadow. Some begged. All died.

The killing stopped being personal. It became inevitable.

One by one, the Death Eaters fell—not in battle, but into oblivion. Their bodies did not fall with a thud. They simply disappeared, as though the night had reclaimed them.

Harry's eyes burned—this time not with light, but with darkness. Green, tinged with an obsidian glow, too deep to reflect. His breathing was slow, steady. Controlled. Like Death itself had borrowed his lungs.

When it was over, Harry stood in the darkened ruins of Hogwarts, a single figure amid the settling smoke. Around him, only silence. Nothing dared to move.

Only one other remained.

Voldemort.

The Dark Lord had seen the power coming. At the last possible moment, he had conjured a massive, glowing silver shield, its surface pulsating with dark enchantments. The tendrils of shadow crashed against it, shaking the very foundations of Hogwarts. The shield held—barely—but the force behind it was staggering. Voldemort gritted his teeth, his snake-like nostrils flaring as he dug his heels into the ground, struggling to maintain his defence. His arms trembled under the weight of it, the silvery magic flickering at the edges as if it, too, feared the power attempting to break through.

He stood across the courtyard, his face pale, eyes wide—not with rage, not with triumph, but with fear. The Elder Wand trembled in his hand, its allegiance unsure, its power hesitant.

Above him, a raven circled once, then descended in silence. It landed on the shattered statue beside Harry, obsidian feathers glistening faintly in the gloom. It watched Voldemort with ancient, pitiless eyes.

Harry slowly lifted his gaze to meet Voldemort's, his voice a whisper, yet it carried like a storm.

"You're next."

For the first time, Lord Voldemort hesitated.

"This is impossible," Voldemort whispered, his voice carrying across the ruins. "No one—no wizard—should have this kind of power."

Harry said nothing. He simply took a step forward, and as he did, the shadows beneath him stirred.

Slowly, Harry rose into the air, seemingly carried by the darkness itself. The tendrils of raw, unchained magic curled around his limbs, lifting him effortlessly. The very air vibrated with his presence, and the night itself seemed to hold its breath. His gaze never wavered from Voldemort; his expression was unreadable.

Voldemort raised the Elder Wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of sickly green light tore toward Harry, but before it could reach him, his magic lashed out, a barrier of swirling black shadow forming between them. The Killing Curse struck it and dissolved instantly. The magic within Harry roared in defiance, the power of ancient, forgotten forces answering his grief and rage.

Voldemort snarled and fired again. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The second spell never reached Harry.

The force surrounding him coalesced, swallowing the green light whole. Then, with an ear-splitting crack, his wand—his faithful wand, the one that had chosen him as a child—shattered in his hand, unable to contain the sheer magnitude of the power flowing through him.

For a brief second, Harry faltered. But then he realized—he didn't need it anymore.

The magic inside him surged to life.

He lifted his hands, and the air itself responded. Raw, unfiltered energy erupted from within him, crackling with deep, twisting black tendrils. It surged forward, unstoppable, a force beyond spells, beyond incantations—magic in its purest form.

Voldemort barely had time to scream.

The shadows converged on him, consuming his flesh, consuming his very existence. His pale, snake-like features twisted in agony as his robes disintegrated, his body unravelling piece by piece. He clawed at the air, his mouth open in a silent cry, but there was no mercy left in the world for him.

His mutilated soul had nowhere left to hide.

The magic of Harry Potter reduced him down to nothing, his body reduced to ash, his essence torn apart by the same power he had sought to control for decades. The last fragments of Lord Voldemort scattered into the wind, carried away into the endless night.

And then, silence.

Only the Elder Wand remained, untouched by the destruction. It lay on the ground, the only remnant of a man who had once called himself immortal.

Harry slowly descended, the shadows releasing him as his feet touched the ground. The wind still swirled around him, charged with residual magic, his robes tattered, his chest heaving with unrestrained fury. He looked down at the wand, the power still humming in the air, but his rage had faded. The storm inside him had quieted. He held his hand out and with barely a thought, it flew to meet him.

The moment that the wood of the Elder Wand met his skin, he felt a cool breeze wash over him. It was, in some ways, the exact opposite of how his phoenix feather wand had felt when it had chosen him, but in other ways, completely the same.

It was over.

Voldemort was gone.

And Harry Potter was still standing.

"Neither can live, while the other survives."

A/N: Please let me know what you think. Updates will be slow but consistent, probably one per week.