Written in the Stars - Alternate Scene (Read Second)

Alternate Scene (WITS)

He’d wanted nothing more than to stand over the corpse of his fallen foe and gloat, parade the body of Harry Potter through the streets of wizarding Britain to show just how inferior the boy had proven to be.

The Dark Lord had finally fulfilled the damned prophecy and ridden himself of the perpetual thorn in his side that had been his nemesis.

Still, his work was not done.

Although he now walked through the halls of the castle with something of a spring in his step, he would not relax completely until he held the Horcrux in his hand.

It was a sense of nervousness that grew within him the closer he came to the seventh floor, and by the time he found himself before the odd tapestry of the dancing trolls, the Dark Lord had grown restless from his need to possess it once more.

Pacing back and forth in front of the blank stretch of wall, he relaxed considerably when the familiar door appeared in front of him, though when he opened it and entered the room, it was not the piles of discarded furniture and other knick-knacks he saw surrounding him.

It was dark in here, and before Voldemort could comprehend what was happening, the door slammed behind him.

He lit the tip of his wand cautiously, wondering if he had made a mistake with his request, but quickly dismissed that thought.

No, he had specifically asked for the very same room he had hidden the diadem within.

Before he could ponder where he was, a shrill crying filled the room, and the Dark Lord almost tripped on a bundle of robes from which the sound was emanating.

With a frown, he nudged them with his foot, jumping backwards as he was met with the grotesque visage of what appeared to be Harry Potter.

It was impossible, but still, the sight of the twisted features, the lips dripping blood as it grinned at the Dark Lord almost mockingly, and the pointed teeth were enough to give him pause.

“No!” Voldemort said sharply as he turned away, ducking as an enormous, cloaked figure swung a ghostly scythe at him.

Laughter filled his ears as he scrambled away, only to be faced with the odd infant again, though it had grown somewhat larger.

It continued to leer at the Dark Lord, mocking him with its insane giggling.

Voldemort growled as he levelled his wand towards it, only for the infant to transform into him, or what he had looked like in his youth.

“Kill me,” the younger Voldemort demanded. “Come on, Tom, you always despised how weak we were. Kill me.”

The Dark Lord hesitated, scowling as the figure vanished into the darkness and was replaced with a woman.

She was rather ugly.

Her eyes faced in opposing directions, and Voldemort could not be sure if she was even looking at him.

“My son,” she whispered disappointedly as she reached out a hand towards him.

Voldemort flinched as she struck him, her expression filled with loathing.

She too vanished, and he shuddered as the same coldness filled the room that had been plaguing him for weeks at Riddle Manor.

“Did you really think it would be so easy, Tom?” a familiar voice questioned. “The diadem is gone. The diary, the cup, the ring, the locket…all of them are gone. The snake will be next.”

The impact that collided with his chest tore the air from the Dark Lord’s lungs, and his vision swam as his momentum was stopped suddenly by a stone wall.

When he could see again a moment later, there was no longer an infant, a cloaked figure, or an ugly woman to greet him, but Harry Potter stalked the length of the room, bringing the coldness in his wake.

“No,” Voldemort wheezed. “I killed you!”

Potter had the audacity to laugh at him as he shook his head.

“No, Tom,” he denied. “You fell into my trap.”

The Dark Lord growled as he pointed his wand towards the young man, determined to put an end to him once and for all.

Unleashing a blasting curse, he used the momentary distraction that followed to spring to his feet, needing to avoid is own curse as it was returned towards him.

Ducking below it, the resulting explosion caused the room to shudder as it impacted against the wall behind him, and the Dark Lord braced himself, following Potter’s lead as he began to circle, both coiled like serpents ready to strike.

(Break)

This was it.

This was the moment that it all had led to; the hours of honing his skills, the suffering he had put himself through, and the years of nightmares that had plagued him.

Harry had indeed suffered for this opportunity, and he would not squander it.

Before the night was out, Voldemort will have suffered in at least equal measures before Harry finally put an end to the monster that had haunted him.

Twirling his wand, he fired a barrage of spells towards his foe and waited for the inevitable rebuttal.

Voldemort’s defences were excellent, he reflexes sharp, and his own knowledge in magic exceptional.

He proved this by dispatching of Harry’s efforts with ease, offering a mocking smile as he did so before bellowing incoherently, the resulting spell designed to liquify organs requiring Harry to delve into his own defensive abilities to avoid a harrowing death.

Voldemort scowled at him, and Harry returned the mocking grin.

The spell he’d deigned to use was not widely known, and the Dark Lord was surprised Harry knew how to counter it.

Nonetheless, it was not something Harry wished to be on the receiving end of more than necessary.

Blocking it was difficult and avoiding it altogether even more so.

With a nod of acknowledgement, Voldemort continued to circle him, probing Harry’s defences in an attempt to find a weakness he could expose.

Much to his chagrin, he found none.

Having spent many years on them, Harry was well-versed in the Dark Arts the man favoured, so he would need to expand his repertoire if he wished to find any success.

Voldemort did so immediately, testing Harry’s proclivity with other branches of magic before offering combinations of them.

Harry, however, did not simply remain idle, and followed Tom’s example.

Simultaneously, both quickly found themselves needing to defend themselves in between attacks; dodging, shielding, or batting spells aside when possible, pushing each other to their limits.

Evidently, Voldemort had not expected Harry to be able to maintain such an approach, and he grew frustrated with his inability to penetrate his defences.

Harry too grew tired of the tit for tat duel he found himself in, and as Voldemort once more fell into his habit of relying on the Dark Arts, Harry took a different approach.

Again, the oppressive coldness swept through the room as he wielded the elder wand, using the magic of the one that had gifted it to the Peverells a thousand years prior.

There was something satisfying about seeing the look of concern form across Voldemort’s snake-like features as the magic washed over him, and even more so when the realisation that it was unfamiliar to him hit.

“What is this?” the Dark Lord demanded to know.

He only grew more concerned as Harry tapped his wand against the ring that now adorned his finger, and the odd shadows began seemingly emerging from his hand.

They floated around the room, muttering incoherently.

For the most part, they were quite harmless physically, but they served the purpose of distracting Riddle, his eyes darting towards them sporadically as they appeared in his periphery.

“A power you know not,” Harry replied darkly.

Voldemort’s eyes widened slightly before his efforts to put an end to Harry were somehow doubled.

Spell after spell was sent his way; some neutralised by his own efforts, and others by the shadows that intercepted them on his behalf.

With a shake of his head, Harry returned fire, immediately putting his foe on the backfoot.

Voldemort could only retreat as he did his utmost to force the magic aside.

In truth, his efforts were admirable, but as Harry implemented the cloak, it was only a matter of time before Riddle fell victim, unless he somehow managed to seize another advantage.

In a swish of his cloak, Harry vanished and reappeared behind Voldemort where he continued his attack, aiming bone-splintering curse at the man’s leg.

Not having expected Harry to be able to circumvent the protections that prevented apparation, Riddle was caught off guard, and gasped in pain as the spell hit home, all but rendering the limb useless.

Growling in fury, he turned to unleash a gout of flame only for Harry to vanish again.

This time, however, Harry found himself needing to defend himself upon his reappearance.

Voldemort’s spell had not been a simple fire charm, and the flames had quickly become a roaring inferno in the form of a striking snake.

Harry had experienced fiendfyre before, and though it was difficult to extinguish, he had no intention of doing so.

With the tip of his wand crackling with lightning, he took aim and fired a bolt directly into the serpent’s maw before slashing his wand in a downward motion.

The heat of the flame singed his robes as the snake turned on the spot and lunged towards Voldemort instead.

The Dark Lord jumped backwards, avoiding being immolated, but the resulting explosion from the flames smashing into the floor sent him backwards and through the door he’d entered through.

Harry immediately cleared the smoke and debris with a wave of his wand, taking his leave of the room where he came upon the all but broken form of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Still, the man was not ready to concede defeat, and in a last bid at victory, he raised his wand.

“Avada Kedavra,” he wheezed.

Harry avoided the jet of light, his own returning spell leaving Voldemort without his wand, screaming as he clutched the destroyed bones in his hand.

“No,” Harry whispered. “You’ve not suffered enough.”

With another flick of his wand, Voldemort was banished down the length of the corridor where he toppled down the stairs onto the sixth floor below.

When Harry reached him again, the man was looking around frantically for his wand.

He would not find it.

Harry had already pocketed it before leaving the seventh floor.

“I don’t think so,” Harry muttered as Voldemort attempted to crawl away.

The Dark Lord screamed as his robes were burnt away, leaving his pale skin red and blistered.

Still, it was not enough, and as he continued to guide the man that had made his life a misery for as long as he could remember, Harry began peppering the exposed flesh with cut after cut, taking no small amount of joy from each yelp of pain.

He continued the punishment, switching between cutting spells and banishing the broken man through the halls of the school until they reached the Entrance Hall much too soon for Harry’s liking.

Clenching his jaw, he seized Voldemort by the throat, lighting the tip of the elder wand with the searing, blue flame of Gellert’s creation.

“This will hurt,” Harry murmured before ramming it into one of Riddle’s eyes.

The Dark Lord screamed in agony, and in his next move, Harry blew the doors that would lead them into the grounds open with a little more force than he’d intended.

“It’s almost over now, Tom,” he said before casting a final banishing curse that sent the man spinning through the air and out of the castle.

Harry could only conclude that he could never cause the man enough suffering to satisfy him, and prolonging the end only meant that more would die.

Perhaps one day he would look back on this moment and feel a sense of satisfaction, but now, there was little to be had.

He was relieved that he had won, that he could finally move on with his life, but to him, the moment would always be somewhat anticlimactic. If he had his way, Voldemort would suffer him for days, weeks or months until he’d taken his pound of flesh sufficiently.

Not that he wouldn’t still suffer.

So long as Snape had done his job, Voldemort’s agony would continue.

Harry smirked as he stepped out of the castle to put an end to what Tom Riddle had become, and as he made his way down the steps towards the man, he felt a sense of freedom that he had always lacked wash over him.