Chapter 8:

''Kill the spare."

Both Harry and Aurora whipped around toward the voice that pierced the night air.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The green jet of light screamed through the darkness — but it never reached her. At the last moment, a jagged slab of stone burst from the earth, summoned by Aurora's instinctive magic, shielding her. The curse slammed into the stone, shattering part of it, but leaving her alive.

She rose to her feet, wincing, a burning pain flaring in her chest. Her breaths were shallow, forced, but she stood regardless.

"Run!" she shouted hoarsely to Harry.

But Harry didn't move. He stood frozen, clutching his forehead, his face twisted in agony.

"It's him… Voldemort," he murmured, barely above a whisper. His eyes were red-rimmed, wide with horror.

The robed man — Voldemort — raised his wand again. Curses flew toward them, one after another. Aurora's shield flickered with each impact, barely holding. Her magic pushed back, but she could feel it — the strain, the tearing at the edges of her strength.

She reached for escape, trying to Apparate — nothing. The air was thick with wards.

"I can't Apparate!" she screamed. "Harry, go! NOW!"

"I'm not leaving you!" Harry yelled back, raising his wand and firing a hex — it missed, sailing past the dark figure.

Her shield faltered. With a sickening crack, it shattered. The next curse slammed into her. Her scream was swallowed by the blinding light — and then, darkness.

….

When Aurora awoke, she felt nothing but pain. Every nerve in her body screamed, yet she forced her eyes open.

Dark silhouettes moved around her. Hooded figures. Death Eaters. A dozen or more. Their attention was locked on the duel happening at the center of the clearing.

Harry — her brother — was holding his own against the inhuman figure before him. Pale, serpentine, with glowing red eyes. Voldemort.

Something deep inside her shifted — stirred. A coil of magic darker than night twisted in her core, pressing against the edges of her control.

"Let him die."

A voice, cold and familiar, hissed within her skull.

"He is the reason you were abandoned. Forgotten. Replaced. Let him die, Aurora."

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"NO!" she shouted into the void of her mind. "He's my brother!"

"And you were the curse. You were the shame. You could be free. Let. Him. Die."

Her jaw clenched. Rage bloomed in her chest — not against Harry, but against the voice. "Never."

Her fingers twitched. Her wand, wherever it had fallen, came hurtling back to her hand. She caught it mid-air, cast a shaky healing charm over her chest. Warmth pulsed faintly through her ribs — not enough, but enough to stand.

A few Death Eaters noticed her. Shouts rang out. Spells came flying.

She ducked behind a crumbled statue, its head already blown clean off. Curses splintered the stone around her. Gritting her teeth, she fired back, one after the other — Stunners, Blasting Hexes, anything she could summon. But there were too many.

Beyond the fray, Harry and Voldemort's wands were locked, golden light flaring between them. But the thread — the connection — was fading.

He was losing.

She couldn't let that happen.

Behind Harry, a shimmering hoop of magic opened — and Aurora through other hoop pushed him in it. He vanished in a whirl of golden light.

But as she was about to jump in it.

A curse struck her square in the back. She gasped as the world tilted, and she collapsed, the hoop closing with a faint shimmer beside her.

A blinding flash tore through the sky above the maze, and with a crack like lightning, a golden hoop opened mid-air just outside the hedge walls.

Then—thud!
Harry fell through it.

He hit the ground hard, tumbling in the dirt and gravel, his fingers clawing at the earth as though it were the only thing anchoring him to life. His glasses were askew, his clothes torn, and his chest heaving with ragged gasps.

"Aurora!" he cried, again and again. "Aurora—Aurora!"

For a moment, James Potter just stood there—frozen. His brain refused to process what his eyes were seeing. But the second the truth clicked, he ran. He shoved aside anyone in his path—students, staff, spectators—it didn't matter. His son was screaming, broken, and alone.

"Harry!" James dropped to his knees beside him, his hands trembling as he reached out. "Harry, look at me! What happened? Harry!" He lightly slapped his son's cheeks, trying to ground him, wake him up from whatever hell he had just returned from. "Talk to me, son—what happened?"

He grabbed Harry's shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. Blood. Dirt. Magic still crackled faintly on his skin.

Then Lily was there, shoving James aside with more strength than should have been possible.

"Harry, sweetheart—" she said, her voice calm but her face was pale, eyes wide with panic. "Where's Aurora?" she asked, steadying his face between her hands, peering into his eyes as if she could pull the truth out of them. "Tell me where she is, love. What happened?"

"Mum—" Harry gasped, tears welling up, "Voldemort!"

James felt his stomach twist violently. Dumbledore, crouched now beside them, turned sharply to look at him. James had never seen that kind of fear in Albus's eyes.

"He… he took us," Harry stammered. "To a graveyard. The cup—it was a Portkey."

The crowd pressed in to hear, but Dumbledore raised a hand.

"Back! All of you—give him air!" he commanded sharply, and the gathered witches and wizards obeyed, stepping away in a stunned hush.

Harry's breaths were still shallow, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

"Then what?" Dumbledore asked gently, though urgency hung in every syllable.

"Aurora—" Harry's voice cracked, "—she started bleeding, a deep cut, across her chest. So much blood…"

James staggered. The curse. The one they had tried to contain all those years ago. It was flaring again.

"Then—Barty Crouch—he started casting curses at us! I tried to block them but Aurora—she shielded us both!" Harry's face contorted in pain, not physical, but something far worse. "One hit her. She fell—she wasn't moving. I thought—Merlin, I thought she died."

Lily's hands flew to her mouth. A strangled sob escaped her.

"Then Crouch—he used my blood. Performed some kind of ritual. Voldemort came back. He's alive, he's back," Harry whispered, his voice small, cracked. "He fought me. Our wands connected. Something strange happened—but the connection started breaking—"

He looked straight at James then, eyes wild. "She saved me. She came back, through a hoop like the one I fell from. She pushed me into it—made sure I escaped. But she didn't follow. She stayed behind!"

Harry clutched James's sleeve desperately, "Dad—you have to save her. Please—don't let her die!"

James's heart thundered in his chest. His baby girl. The daughter he had barely begun to know. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not again. He nodded, fast and frantic, already rising.

"SIRIUS!" he roared, turning toward the crowd. "GATHER THE AURORS! GET THEM READY—NOW!"

Sirius, who had turned deathly pale, didn't waste a second. He vanished into the crowd, already shouting orders, calling for backup.

James bent down again, grabbing Harry's shoulders. "Do you know where, Harry? Where exactly was the graveyard?"

"I don't know," Harry said, blinking furiously, "But Voldemort said… 'My father's bones lie here'. It was old, run-down. That's all I know. A graveyard."

Dumbledore had been still all this while, as if thinking furiously.

Then he whispered, almost to himself, "I know where that is…"

James turned toward him, eyes wild. "Where?"

"Little Hangleton," Dumbledore said, rising with the speed of a much younger man. "Tom Riddle Sr. was buried there. That's where they took him."

"Then what are we waiting for?!" James barked.

The war had returned in full force.

But this time—it was personal.

Minutes later, the Hogwarts grounds outside the maze had transformed from celebration to preparation for war.

A sharp crack echoed as more figures Apparated onto the grounds. Black robes, grim expressions, wands drawn—Aurors. A dozen or so, gathered in a loose half-circle near the maze, tension thick in the air.

Sirius jogged toward James, wiping sweat from his brow. "This is all we've got," he said grimly, voice low. "Twelve, counting us. More are on the way, but they won't make it in time."

James clenched his jaw. Twelve wasn't nearly enough—not for Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Even with Dumbledore. And every moment they waited was a moment Aurora was alone. Injured. Possibly worse.

Then footsteps approached.

James turned, and saw three students emerge from the crowd—limping, bruised, but determined. Viktor Krum, looking half-dead from his injuries, supported himself on a cane of conjured ice. Beside him was Cedric Diggory, his face flushed but steady, and a silver-haired girl from Beauxbatons, her wand already clenched in her fist.

"We'll come with you, Auror Potter," Diggory said, voice clear and unwavering.

James blinked. "No. It's too dangerous—"

"We know it is," the girl interrupted quietly. Her French accent was soft, but her tone was iron. "But we cannot leave Aurora behind. Not after what she's done."

James stared at them. These were children. Champions, yes, but still so young. And yet… the resolve in their eyes was unmistakable. Aurora had made friends—loyal ones. Ones who were willing to risk their lives for her.

He gave a short nod. "Stay close. Follow orders. No heroics."

They nodded in return, solemn.

Then—

"I'll go too," came a voice from behind. Low. Controlled. Cold.

Everyone turned.

Elias Lestrange stepped forward from the shadows. Pale as death, lips drawn tight, but his eyes—those icy blue eyes—burned like fire. His wand was already in his hand.

James's heart sank. Something about the boy was unsettling—like frost on a blade—but he could see it. The terror in his posture. The rage trembling just beneath the surface. He cared.

But Dumbledore stepped forward, intercepting him. His voice was gentle, yet unshakably firm.

"You are not going anywhere, Elias."

Lestrange's eyes widened. "No—she needs me. I can help—"

"If Voldemort sees you," Dumbledore said, his voice low with urgency, "he will rip you apart before any of us can stop him."

The words struck like a whip. The boy's mouth opened, then closed. His fingers curled tightly around his wand.

"Please," Dumbledore continued, more softly now, "Listen to me. We don't have time to argue."

Lestrange faltered, visibly torn. He looked past Dumbledore, toward the horizon—as though he could see the graveyard, could feel Aurora's magic calling to him through the night.

And then, with a reluctant breath, he nodded once.

Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder briefly—an unspoken gesture of trust and thanks.

James turned to the rest. His eyes swept over the grim faces—Aurors, students, allies—and landed last on Dumbledore.

"Let's go."

A beat of silence. Then, in a flash of light and the thunder of disapparition—

They were gone.

Aurora awoke with a gasp, her body aching, blood crusted along her ribs where the curse had struck. Her hands were bound, cruelly tight with enchanted chains that pulsed darkly against her skin. She thrashed, magic sparking violently around her as she strained with every ounce of strength.

But the chains held.

"You cannot break them," came a cold, hissing voice.

He was there. Standing in front of her like a figure carved from nightmare—Voldemort. Pale as bone, serpentine features twisted into something grotesquely human, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker.

Hatred surged in her chest.

She summoned her magic again, trying to wrench free. Nothing. Then she tried to call her wand, her mind stretching, reaching—but it didn't come. She looked up, breathing hard, glaring with pure loathing.

"Untie me!" she growled, her voice low but commanding.

Behind him, a boulder shuddered and flung itself through the air, aimed straight for his back.

With a lazy flick of his wand, Voldemort shattered it into dust.

"You are strong, Blackwood," he murmured, his voice almost admiring as he stepped closer, brushing his long, skeletal fingers against her bloodied forehead. "More than they said."

"I'm stronger than you think," she spat, and without warning, her body levitated into the air, breaking free from the dirt beneath her. Her eyes blazed as fire erupted all around them—flaming tendrils lashing out like dragons, lighting the graveyard with an eerie, apocalyptic glow.

The Death Eaters scattered.

Voldemort shielded himself, the flames twisting and vanishing into harmless wisps of wind. The fire hissed into nothing.

"I don't wish to fight you," Voldemort said calmly, his red eyes never blinking. "I wish for you to join me."

Aurora hovered above him, fury crackling around her. "And why," she said through clenched teeth, "would I ever do that?"

"Because," he said softly, "we both know this world belongs to me now. I am inevitable. I am power incarnate. The old world will burn, and I will rise from its ashes."

She didn't reply. Her eyes darted through the graveyard, searching for her wand—there, in the hands of a sneering Death Eater, cradled like a trophy.

"You could rule beside me," Voldemort hissed. "Not beneath me. Beside me. There is no light for people like us. You know it. What has the 'good side' ever given you?"

A voice hissed in her mind, like a whisper from a shadow.
"Join him."
"What have you gotten from the light?"
"Hatred. Rejection. Fear."

She staggered in the air, her chains pulling again, but her expression hardened.

"I'll never," she whispered at first—then louder, "I'll never join you!"

With a scream, her power exploded outward. The chains snapped and shattered. Her body plummeted to the earth—and her wand flew into her waiting hand.

She landed in a crouch, magic whirling around her like a storm. Her chest seared with pain—the cursed scar glowing red-hot—but she forced herself to stand.

Voldemort's gaze narrowed. "Then you leave me no choice."

The sky trembled. A deep disturbance rippled through the wards—something, or someone, was breaking them.

Aurora's eyes widened with hope. Her strength was fading, but she had one last trick left.

"Incendio Maxima," she whispered—and from her wand erupted Fiendfyre.

The monstrous flames roared to life, taking the shape of wolves and serpents and dragons, stampeding toward Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Screams broke out. Even Voldemort recoiled, shielding himself, the inferno snarling around him.

"STOP THEM!" he roared at his followers.

Voldemort turned the Fiendfyre back on her, twisting it like a whip, striking toward her heart. She vanished the flames at the last second and hurled a bolt of crackling magic straight at him.

He deflected it—but just as he raised his wand to counter—

A golden shield burst between them.

James Potter stood there, cloak billowing, wand outstretched, power radiating from him like the sun.

"Aurora!" he shouted, without turning. "Stay down!"

He fired spell after spell at Voldemort, pushing the Dark Lord back with sheer force of will.

Aurora staggered, her vision blurring. She clutched her chest—something inside was rupturing. She tried to stand, tried to keep fighting, but her legs gave out.

Then strong arms caught her.

"I've got you," Viktor Krum said, his voice thick with worry. He lifted her effortlessly.

"Cedric! Fleur!" he barked. "Guard us!"

Spells crackled overhead as the battle erupted across the graveyard. James and Dumbledore fought Voldemort, back-to-back, the ground beneath them splintering from the sheer force of magic.

Aurora's head lolled to Krum's shoulder. Her world was going black.

But before it did, she heard her father's voice.

"Aurora! Stay with us, honey!"

Then—

Nothing.

Elias had never known fear like this—not for himself, but for her.

What if she—
He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails bit into his palms, his eyes shut as if willing the nightmare away.

The castle was in chaos.

Students huddled in murmuring clusters, their faces pale, eyes wide with dread. Professors barked orders, trying to usher them back to their dormitories, but the attempt only fueled the panic. The corridors echoed with confusion, footsteps, and anxious voices. Fear hung in the air like fog.

Harry Potter had already been taken to the hospital wing—his mother's arms around him, her face ashen, on the verge of collapse. Her expression had said it all.

If Voldemort had truly returned, it was only a matter of time before they came—his parents. And when they did…

A horrible sound echoed in his mind—his mother's laughter. That unhinged, gleeful cackle. A sound that once meant comfort now twisted in his memory like a knife.

Then—a sharp crack.

Elias spun around.

Krum, Diggory, and Fleur were sprinting toward the castle, but it was Krum who carried someone in his arms.

Aurora.

Elias ran—his legs moved before his mind could catch up. His heart dropped as he saw her.

Pale. Unconscious. Her blue uniform torn, smeared with blood and dirt. A deep gash on her chest. She looked broken.

"Aurora!" he called, breathless as he reached them. "Aurora!"

She didn't move.

"She'll be fine," Fleur said quickly, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her.

Elias didn't wait—he shoved open the doors of the hospital wing with a loud bang. They flew open, slamming against the walls.

Krum gently laid Aurora onto the nearest bed.

Madam Pomfrey and Lily Potter were at Harry's side but turned instantly at the commotion. Lily gasped when she saw Aurora.

"She's bleeding from the chest!" Diggory cried out, his face pale with shock.

"She's—she's injured. A lot," Fleur added, breathless.

"Please," Elias whispered, his voice cracking. "Please help her."

Madam Pomfrey, overwhelmed but steady, stepped forward, her wand already moving. "Out—all of you!" she barked.

"I'm not leaving," Elias said firmly, eyes fixed on Aurora.

"You have to," Lily said, voice trembling as tears streamed down her face. "She'll be fine. Just—please."

The desperation in Lily's voice, the broken edge to her usually composed demeanor, made them pause.

Krum and Diggory slowly backed out, silent and grim. Fleur lingered for a moment, then placed a gentle hand on Elias's shoulder.

"She's strong," she whispered. "She'll come through. Come on."

Elias hesitated. Just one more second—one more glance at Aurora's still form. Then, finally, he allowed Fleur to guide him out, his heart heavy with dread, a silent prayer echoing in his mind.

It wasn't until well past midnight that the doors to the hospital wing creaked open once more.

Lily turned at the sound, her eyes red-rimmed and heavy with worry. Her heart leapt at the sight of James—alive, but barely. He staggered in, his robes torn and scorched, caked with dirt and dried blood. His glasses were cracked, and a long cut ran down his temple, half-hidden beneath sweat-matted hair.

Without a word, he reached her. And then—he broke.

He fell into her arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck. His entire body trembled as he clung to her, the weight of everything crashing down in that single, shuddering embrace.

Lily held him tightly, running a soothing hand down his back. "You're alright," she whispered, though her voice cracked with emotion. "You're here."

His voice was low, barely audible. "How are the kids?"

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his. "Harry's fine. Shocked, but no injuries."

James nodded once, swallowing hard.

"Aurora…" Lily's voice broke.

He stilled. Slowly, he pulled away from her embrace, his gaze drifting to the bed in the far corner of the wing—shielded by privacy charms and drawn curtains now pulled back.

His breath caught in his throat.

Aurora lay still, wrapped in layers of white bandages, her once-vibrant uniform now a tattered, blood-stained cloth at the foot of the bed. Her face was pale, streaked with dried blood and grime, her hair clinging to her clammy forehead in damp strands. She looked so small. So fragile. Too fragile for someone who burned so bright.

"She's injured badly," Lily murmured. "She lost so much blood… Her ribs were broken. Her left arm's shattered. Madam Pomfrey did what she could, but…" She hesitated. "The curse… I think it's begun to unravel. It's reacting. Lashing out from the trauma."

James moved to her bedside, his knees nearly giving out beneath him. He sat down slowly, reaching out with trembling fingers to brush her hair back from her face, gentle and reverent.

"She looks like she's fighting a war in her sleep," he whispered. "Like she hasn't stopped battling, even now."

"She's never had peace, James. Not since the day she was born."

Silence settled for a long moment between them.

Then, James looked up at her. His eyes—those fierce hazel eyes—were glassy with dread. "He's really back, Lily. Voldemort. It wasn't a false alarm this time."

Lily's breath hitched. Every nightmare from the first war flooded back—every scream, every funeral, every child orphaned. Every friend lost. And now, after all they had sacrificed, after everything they had done to protect their children…

They had nearly lost both of them tonight.

She clenched her hands tightly, as if trying to ground herself in the present, to keep from slipping into that same old terror.

Then, Aurora stirred.

It was a small, pained motion—her hand trembling as it rose to her forehead. Her fingers clawed at her temple as though something inside hurt far worse than her physical wounds.

"Aurora?" James leaned in, his voice soft, full of longing. "Honey, it's Dad. I'm here."

Her eyelids fluttered. Then slowly, heavily, they opened just enough to see him. Her eyes were unfocused at first—but the moment they landed on him and Lily, they brimmed with tears.

"Please," she rasped, her voice hoarse, "stay with me. Don't… don't abandon me again."

Lily's heart cracked clean down the middle. James inhaled sharply as though someone had punched the air out of him.

"Oh, love," Lily whispered, brushing the sweat-drenched hair from her daughter's face. "We never abandoned you. Never. We're right here. We've always been with you."

"We're not going anywhere," James added, reaching for her hand.

Aurora grasped it with a desperate strength, as if she feared the moment she let go, they would vanish.

"I'm in so much pain…" she whispered, voice quaking, eyes full of something raw—fear, guilt, exhaustion. "Inside… it burns."

James tightened his grip. "We know, sweetheart. We know."

"But you're strong," Lily said, leaning in close, her lips brushing her daughter's forehead. "You've always been so strong. Just rest, okay? Let your body heal."

Aurora didn't respond right away. Her hand remained locked in her father's, and her lips trembled as more silent tears spilled down her cheeks.

"I dreamed," she murmured, barely audible. "He touched my heart. It… it turned to ash."

James closed his eyes, agony written on every line of his face.

"It's just a dream," Lily said gently. "He can't have your heart. It belongs to you."

Aurora's breathing slowed again, her eyelids beginning to drift shut as exhaustion pulled her under. But even as sleep claimed her, she never let go of her father's hand.

And neither did he.