Written in the Stars - Hogwarts

Hogwarts

My Lord,

It has taken several days for us to find a path through the forest. Even now, it feels like we are often running in circles. There is magic here, my lord. Magic that is not welcoming to us.

Already, we have lost more than a dozen of us to the creatures that stalk us in the shadows.

We never see them, but we can feel their presence.

When we are not being picked at, we are harassed by the centaurs who attack from the shadows with their bows.

They know this land better than any, and before we can mount a defence, they are gone once more.

Nonetheless, we have persevered and the trees are finally growing thinner.

I am now seeing signs that humans have set foot here, footprints belonging to the oaf who lives in the hut.

I expect that it will only be another day or so before we finally make our way out of this forsaken place.

I will send a final message when we are ready to receive your orders.

A

The Dark Lord scanned the missive a few more times before throwing it into the fire, his gaze shifting towards the bedraggled owl Antonin had taken with him.

Delivering the message had evidently proven to be quite the ordeal for the creature who had perched itself on the edge of his desk and tucked its head beneath a wing.

Still, it had made it, as had Dolohov.

Getting half of his forces through the forest had been an obstacle in itself, but with most of them intact and seemingly nearing the end of their journey, it was finally time to rally the rest of his followers.

In the coming days, he would take Hogwarts for himself, and when he did, the Dark Lord had no intention of being dislodged.

He would secure his Horcrux, and a stronghold that few could hope to breach.

From there, his campaign would continue until he was finally rid of his enemies.

“Bellatrix,” he called.

The woman peered her head around the door, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Is it time?”

Voldemort nodded.

“It is,” he confirmed. “Ready the others. We move on Hogwarts in the coming days.”

Bellatrix squealed with excitement as she all but ran to carry out her instructions, and the Dark Lord shifted his attention to his most valuable asset.

“Soon, Nagini,” he promised. “You will be free again.”

(Break)

Albus watched as the members of staff filed into the office, each curious and perplexed by why they had been summoned. The school year was not at an end, and a meeting with them all present was not scheduled until the students had left the castle.

He cleared his throat before addressing them, the news he had to break as concerning as anything they would have to deal with in their careers.

“I asked you all here to inform you of a rather distressing development regarding the Dark Lord,” he began.

The professors began murmuring unhappily amongst themselves and Albus held up a hand for silence.

“A number of days ago now, he dispatched a rather large group of his followers to find their way into the castle grounds. I fear that they are close.”

“How?” Filius questioned after a moment of stunned silence.

“The forest,” Albus answered. “They will enter through the forest.”

The silence continued, and the headmaster gave the gathered men and women the time to digest what he had told them.

“What are we going to do, Albus?” Minerva asked worriedly.

“Preparations have already been made,” Albus assured her. “They do not know that we know they are coming. We will have the element of surprise on our side.”

Almost daily, Albus had been meeting with Harry to discuss the most urgent matter, and the two of them had worked together on the defences of Hogwarts.

The castle was famed for such a reason, and every last option available to them would be implemented.

“When will they arrive?”

“In the next day or so,” Albus sighed.

“And what of the students,” Minerva pressed. “They must not be present.”

“That is where some of you will play your part, if you choose to remain here,” Albus explained. “The moment the hostilities begin, the students will need to be removed, other than Slytherin house.”

Severus’s attention snapped towards him at the revelation.

“Why should my students remain behind?” he demanded to know.

“Because it is uncertain if any among them have already decided to join the Dark Lord,” Albus answered simply. “To preserve their lives, they will be sealed within the common room where they cannot attack those defending the castle from within, and to prevent them joining the Death Eaters on the outside. That is my decision on the matter,” he finished firmly.

Severus did not like the idea, but Albus was adamant.

There would be vampires here amongst the fighting and they would show no mercy to anyone being hostile towards them.

“And what of those who refuse to leave?” Minerva pressed. “There will be students who will wish to defend the castle, as is their right.”

“Only if they are of age,” Albus returned.

His initial idea had been to ensure that all students would be removed, but Harry had pointed out that it would prove to be a waste of precious time to convince those of age to leave.

“Those younger than seventeen are to be sent away,” he reiterated.

Minerva nodded her understanding.

“This is really happening,” she said worriedly. “I never thought I would see the day.”

“Me either,” Filius added as he stood. “Well, I will be here, with you, Albus. Hogwarts is my home and I will protect it with my life.”

“Aye,” Alastor agreed enthusiastically as he stood and drove the tip of his staff into the floor. “I’ll be adding my own defences whilst we wait,” he concluded with a sinister grin.

“We will all be here,” Professor Sinistra declared. “Just tell us what you need us to do, and we will fight with everything we have.”

“And Peevesy,” the poltergeist interjected as he floated through the floor, his bowtie spinning madly. “Peeves will not let the nasty rotters alone.”

Albus smiled proudly as the assembled staff and even the pest that was Peeves nodded in unity, all in the name of defending the castle that had stood for almost a thousand years.

There were many instances throughout his tenure when he had felt pride, but nothing was comparable to this moment seeing them all come together as one to fight a common enemy.

“It warms my heart to see you all so willing,” he offered sincerely. “Now, there is much to discuss.”

Patting his pocket carefully to ensure the map Harry had lent him was still within his robes, Albus removed a quill and began writing down the responsibilities of each member of staff, hoping that it would be enough to finally see an end to the threat of Tom Riddle.

It would be.

Albus Dumbledore had every faith in Harry Potter that he would be successful, though there was one last thing he needed to address before the meeting broke up.

“Severus, a word,” he requested as the other members of staff left the office. “I have a particular job for you of paramount importance.”

Snape frowned in response.

“The snake,” he sighed. “I already told you…”

“I am not asking you to break the enchantments and kill it,” Albus assured Severus. “I merely need you to secure it for when the time is right.”

“Secure it?

Albus nodded.

“If you can move it safely, do so, but you must secure it as best you can. It must not escape.”

Severus appeared as though he wished to ask a dozen or so questions but refrained from doing so.

With nothing more than a nod, he too left the office, and Albus consulted the map once more.

There was no sign of the Death Eaters where the self-styled Marauder’s had mapped the forest, and the headmaster managed to take a little comfort from their absence.

Nonetheless, it was only a matter of time before they did arrive where there would be no such luxury.

Sweeping his gaze around his office fondly, Albus leaned back in his chair.

He’d had a long life being in charge of Hogwarts, and with the defining moment of it quickly approaching, he allowed himself to reminisce on it for some time before the tiredness took him into a restless sleep.

(Break)

Lucinda watched as Harry readied himself to depart for Hogwarts. The Death Eaters and Voldemort could be arriving at any minute, and he did not want to miss it.

He seemed calm, much unlike herself.

In the past days, an unshakeable fear had gripped her.

The coming days would determine the next thousand years or so of her life, both outcomes having been considered by the vampire.

If Harry was to die, she would be heartbroken, devastated beyond words or belief.

In truth, she did not know what she would do without him. Lucinda had come to love Harry so deeply that the mere thought of being here without Harry did not bear thinking about.

Draikon’s warning rang in her ears at the thought, and she was reminded of the others of her kind who had married humans.

She shook her head and chose to focus on the right outcome, the one that would see her and Harry flourish for a millennium before she needed to contemplate what life she would live beyond them being together.

They would be happy.

He would always be there to create mischief, annoy her, but make her smile, nonetheless. He would look at her with his brilliant green eyes and she would know in an instant that she was wanted, that he adored her the way he did.

Lucinda wouldn’t pretend to understand all of the emotions Harry displayed, but she was learning, and she would give anything to continue that journey.

Maybe they would be blessed with children?

Harry hadn’t said as much, but he didn’t need to.

The one thing he wanted in life more than being rid of Voldemort was a family of his own.

Lucinda’s hand wandered to her stomach as she pondered it.

What kind of children would they have?

Would they be like her, or like him?

Perhaps they would be the best of both.

Before she could become too engrossed in the fantasy, Harry stepped in front of her, pulling her back to reality.

Now was not the time for such thoughts, after all.

A shudder ran down her spine as she met his gaze.

It was dangerous, intense, and Lucinda was reminded that although Harry was all of the things she had come to love about him, he harboured another side full of pain and anger, of tenacity and ruthlessness for those he deemed to be his enemies.

He was Harry Potter, the annoying fool that often irked and irritated her, but he was also Harry Potter, the orphan who was so determined to avenge his parents and right the wrongs done to him that he would willingly die to see it done.

She hoped it didn’t come to that.

He cupped her cheek and Lucinda melted into the touch.

His hand was warm; the magic roaring beneath the surface in anticipation of being unleashed.

“Be careful,” he whispered.

Lucinda laughed humourlessly and wiped a tear that had escaped from her cheek.

“Me?”

Harry nodded and she rolled her eyes at him.

“It’s you that should be careful.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“Neither can I,” Lucinda replied stubbornly.

Harry deflated but nodded his understanding.

They had said a dozen goodbyes already, had discussed every possible outcome of the inevitable battle, and both could not make the other the promises they each wanted to hear.

“Then we have to hope that Fate will finally show me a little kindness,” Harry murmured before pressing his lips against hers, lingering only a moment.

“You will be there?” Lucinda asked.

“I will be right with you,” Harry replied. “I will meet him the moment he comes through the gate.”

Lucinda nodded and gave Harry a final kiss, the feeling of dread filling her once more as the door closed behind him, leaving her to dry her tears alone.

(Break)

“IT’S HIM!”

The fearful screams of those that recognised the Dark Lord never ceased to bring him an element of joy, and he watched as those within the streets of Hogsmeade ran for their lives.

They needn’t have bothered tonight.

Hogwarts was his target and the village was merely a passing point for the followers in Voldemort’s ranks.

Finally, Dolohov was in position and was only awaiting the beginning of the battle before he would spring his ambush.

The thought of the impending spilling of blood brought a smirk to Voldemort’s lips, and he could not help but feel a sense of elation settle in, much like Bellatrix’s, though he would not be physically bouncing in anticipation.

Hogsmeade emptied in only a matter of seconds, and it no longer mattered what message was or could be conveyed to Dumbledore.

It was too late to prepare for what was to come.

The Dark Lord had arrived at his gates, and not even the defences of the school could keep him and his followers out, not when they were already inside.

Voldemort’s grin widened as the gates of the school came into view.

The silent grounds would soon no longer be so, and he could already see in his mind the broken bodies of those that would undoubtedly stand in his way littering the grass, all the way to the castle doors.

(Break)

“He’s here,” Harry murmured from next to Lucinda, his eyes narrowing in determination as his grip tightened around his wand.

Lucinda drew her own, unable to ignore the shift in the air.

It was as though Hogwarts knew that an enemy had arrived, that it was preparing itself for the fighting to come.

Her gaze swept across the assembled aurors, members of the Order, vampires, and members of staff that were here.

They were nervous, and so they should be.

Not all of them would see the coming of the sun.

“Where’s Dumbledore?” Lucinda asked curiously.

“He’ll be here,” Harry answered. “He’s doing something for me.”

Lucinda frowned.

What could the headmaster be doing at a moment like this?

Regardless, Harry did not seem to be concerned. Even when the first barrage of spells crashed against the protections, he did not flinch.

Instead, his look of determination only became more resolved, and they merely waited for Voldemort and his Death Eaters to cross the threshold onto the grounds of the revered school.

(Break)

“Keep going,” Voldemort growled, marvelling at the display of magic as the spells of his followers rained down on the protective dome over the castle.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he had never seen such defences in practice, and he grudgingly respected the workmanship of the founders for creating such a powerful set of protections.

Still, he needed to get through them, and with each passing moment that they did not give way to the onslaught, his frustration grew.

Drawing his own wand, his nostrils flared, and he thought about the Horcrux that was within the castle before he unleashed his own stream of magic.

The raw power of it sounded like thunder echoing across the landscape, and as he persisted, the first cracks began to show.

The brilliant blue dome began to fracture before it eventually gave way after a final, monumental effort.

Silence followed.

For a moment, everything simply came to a stop as the Death Eaters looked on incredulously at the now exposed castle.

“WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” Voldemort questioned.

At his behest, the cloaked men and women began sprinting towards the gates, and the Dark Lord blasted them off the hinges at their approach.

He watched as his followers spilled into the grounds, and he followed only a moment later, frowning at the sight of the many witches and wizards waiting to oppose them.

Had they truly taken so long to break through the defences?

The aurors had already arrived and assembled along with much of the staff and Dumbledore’s pathetic Order.

Amongst them were others including the Minister and the young women who acted as her guards.

To the left was the vampire and next to her was the one person Lord Voldemort planned to seek out above all others.

Harry Potter.

The two would inevitably meet in the ensuing melee.

Pushing the thought aside as screams began to fill the air, he looked towards the forest in the distance. Antonin would emerge from the trees soon, and those that had dared stand against him would be quickly overwhelmed.

With a grin, he stepped towards Potter, only to have to defend himself against a vampire that had appeared from seemingly nowhere and attempted to engage him.

The creature was indeed fast, but the Dark Lord had long ago ensured that he would have no problems dispatching of such beings.

With its guts having been torn from its body, Voldemort offered the dying man only a glance as he spotted Potter once more and he made off in that direction, keen to put an end to the boy responsible for his downfall.

Pausing briefly, he frowned.

Why was Potter here?

Why was he willing to face the Dark Lord so brazenly where there was no advantage to be had?

He had grown cocky from the few successes he’d had, and such arrogance would be his downfall.

Potter had no reason to feel such confidence, and as he found himself on his knees in front of Lord Voldemort, he would plead for his life like every other.

There would, however, be no mercy.

Harry Potter would die here tonight.

(Break)

Hagrid watched the edge of the forest intently for any movement, doing his utmost to ignore the battle raging in the distance. He wanted to be there fighting with the other professors, but Dumbledore insisted that he mitigated the risk to himself as best he could.

There was no denying that Rubeus was a huge target, and it would take many wizards to bring him down, but nonetheless, he was willing to lay his life on the line for the castle he’d called home for several decades.

Still, he wasn’t being excluded from the fighting.

No, his task was to wait for the Death Eaters lurking in the forest to make their appearance and he would be ready to meet them with Aragog, his children, and whatever other allies would join them from the forest.

That was the one thing Hagrid was unsure of.

He’d spoken with the centaurs at length about what would be occurring, and though he would never profess to be a fried of the creatures, they had come to respect one another over the years.

Bane was difficult and often stubborn at best, but Rubeus was hopeful the leader of the herd would be able to put his pride aside for the sake of their home.

Whether he chose to or not remained to be seen, but there was nothing that would deter Hagrid from defending Hogwarts.

Armed with his crossbow, an axe he used to gather wood, and his rather innocuous umbrella, he was ready.

The fighting had been ongoing for some time before he heard the first signs of disturbance from within the trees, and Hagrid held his breath as he continued to wait.

Another minute passed, and suddenly, dozens of robed and masked people burst from the forest, screaming their battle cries as they sprinted towards where the fighting was taking place.

Unbeknownst to them, however, Hagrid had already taken aim.

His first victim made no sound as the bolt from his crossbow embedded itself into their head, and the second simply keeled over as one was buried into their spine.

It wasn’t until it seemingly began raining arrows that those leading the group paid any heed to what was transpiring behind them.

By then, several had been caught off guard by the centaur’s offence, and the inordinate number of spiders that had scuttled out of the forest.

Amongst them Hagrid could not help but feel a sense of pride as they were joined by the Hippogriffs and Thestrals who were gouging and stomping into the masses of Death Eaters.

With a passionate roar of his own, the son of Fridwulfa wielded his axe as he joined them, the usually benevolent half-giant cleaving invaders in two with a single stroke.

The screams that had been heard in the distance only moments ago filled the air around him, and between the violent yet short encounters, he witnessed Aragog bearing down on a man who was no match for the aged Acromantula, though Hagrid’s heart skipped a beat as a purple bolt collided with his friend.

He gasped in shock as Aragog simply collapsed to the ground, unmoving, but when he came to his senses, fuelled by a sudden rage he’d never experienced, his eyes locked on to the one who had felled the gargantuan spider.

The sound that escaped Hagrid was a mixture of fury and anguish, and he barrelled through man and creature alike with his axe held aloft, burying it cleanly through the chest of his target whose spell merely bounced off of Rubeus’s flesh.

With his breathing laboured, Hagrid took in the carnage around him, and tears spilled from his eyes.

He never wanted any of this.

He’d always been gentle, kind, and perhaps a little naïve, but he’d never wished harm upon any.

Yet, here he was, caked in blood and readying himself to spill more, and with the death of Aragog so fresh in his mind and his home in danger, he had no regrets in doing so.

(Break)

Dolohov’s delay had been irksome; however, the Dark Lord and his forces still held the numbers advantage over the rather paltry force Dumbledore had mustered to face him.

Even when Antonin’s advance had been impeded, the advantage remained, though there was little Voldemort could do to assist the man as he and his group were set upon by numerous creatures led by the oaf he’d had expelled during his formative years.

Every which way he turned; the Dark Lord found himself engaged in a fight of sorts with those evidently emboldened by the adrenaline of battle who had deluded themselves into believing they stood a chance against him.

Each was cut down with impunity, and the bodies around him began to pile up.

Still, he never lost sight of Potter who was doing battle with the Death Eaters, admittedly impressing Voldemort with his seamless prowess with his wand.

There was no denying the boy had grown to become a skilled wizard, but not skilled enough, and as the Dark Lord slaughtered another fool in auror robes, he finally found his path to Potter clear.

It was as though the boy sensed his approach and dispatched of his own foe before turning his full attention to the approaching threat.

Now, with their sights set on only one another, the decade and a half long rivalry could be put to rest, and Lord Voldemort would be the one to stand triumphantly over his fallen opponent as he had already several times this evening.

Without preamble, he levelled his wand towards Potter, shooting a gout of fire towards him, undeterred by the sudden storm that had rolled in.

Lightning crackled around the grounds of Hogwarts as they faced one another, and Potter dispelled the flames, meeting the Dark Lord’s gaze with a hardened one of his own.

(Break)

The ground trembled beneath Lucinda’s feet from the magic they wielded, and though she did her utmost to watch how the fight was unfolding, she had her hands full herself with the Death Eaters that still outnumbered them.

Harry and Voldemort picked up from where they left off in Hogsmeade, commanding a wide berth from the other combatants.

It was nothing short of a violent encounter, the power of both wizards seemingly draining the breathable air around them.

Lucinda had quickly lost count of how many of Voldemort’s followers she had dispatched of. As one fell, they were immediately placed with another.

Her intention had been to remain by Harry’s side for as long as possible, but the moment he and Voldemort engaged, she knew she could not be there.

It was too dangerous, and it would not do to be caught up in the crossfire of their spells.

Fighting beside Cassiopeia was Lucinda’s second choice, but the woman was like a demon as she carved her own path through her enemies.

It seemed that none wished to engage her, and Lucinda couldn’t blame them.

Cassie was an older woman, but she was as vicious as she’d ever been.

Even Bellatrix Lestrange appeared to be avoiding her, though she had been set upon by a rather determined young man garbed in Hogwarts robes trimmed with red.

Having been tutored by the infamous Alastor Moody for the best part of four years, the students that had opted to fight were holding their own rather well.

Lucinda scowled as jet of orange light was shot in her direction, and the few observations she had been able to make since the fighting had commenced were all but forgotten as she returned fire and closed the distance between herself and her latest attacker.

With a grunt, he was sent sprawling, and a severing curse quickly put an end to his efforts.

Another one down.

Taking a brief second to take in her surroundings, Lucinda noticed that Harry and Voldemort had fought their way across quite the distance of the grounds. The silhouettes in the distance were unmistakeable, and the unwavering stream of spells they cast even more so.

She wanted nothing more than to continue watching the fateful duel, but once again, she quickly found herself engaged in another fight.

This time, however, Cain came to her aid, and with Sirius and Remus in tow, the four of them put an end to another group of Death Eaters who had banded together.

“Bloody hell, how many of them are there?” Sirius huffed, his breathing becoming laboured.

“Too many,” Cain returned.

Still, they would not relent.

One way or the other, the war would come to an end tonight.

“Come on, Harry,” Sirius encouraged.

Lucinda’s gaze again shifted to where Harry and Voldemort were facing off, and her heart sunk as she realised that Harry was struggling to maintain the pace that had been set between them.

Although it was indeed subtle, he was beginning to show the first signs of fatigue.

“Come on,” she whispered to herself worriedly as Voldemort’s onslaught continued and she could see Harry’s defences becoming more telegraphed as he forced the spells away with much more effort with every spell sent his way.

Breathing a sigh of relief as he managed to regain his footing, she once more shifted her attention to her own fight, removing a Death Eater’s legs at the knees.

The man screamed as he toppled forwards bereft of his legs, though he fell silent as his skull was destroyed with the heel of Lucinda’s boot.

Another down, and yet, many more remained.

Throwing herself into the thick of the fray, she soon found herself amongst more allies, marvelling at the fluidity in which Ana wielded her sword, switching between using her blade and wand seamlessly.

Eleanor was nearby too, bleeding from a rather deep gash on her brow, but not faltering in her own efforts.

The elf and the witch had become quite the formidable duo over the years since Lucinda had met them on her first day at Durmstrang, a memory that now seemed so far away.

They were all so different now, had endured things that none their age should have, and were here and now fighting a war they could all have avoided.

Not Lucinda.

She could not have ignored the urge to come to Britain to be here for Harry, and neither could the others, evidently.

It was a rumble of thunder and the ground once again trembling beneath her feet that pulled her from her observations as she mechanically fought against the Death Eaters that came into her path.

In the intervening moments since she had chanced a glance towards Harry and Voldemort, the ferocity of their fighting had brought them closer to where the battle was most concentrated.

Both seemed to be wearing the effects of combat, but again, it was Harry that seemed to be experiencing the most hardship of the two.

Before Lucinda could even urge him on, it happened, and she felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach.

It was as though everything around her slowed to an impossible pace, simply so she could experience every passing second of horror as Harry fell towards the ground and his wand slipped from his grasp.

The triumphant smile Voldemort wore as he levelled his own towards his prone foe would be something the vampire could never forget.

Delight, excitement, and relief immediately flooded the Dark Lord’s features.

“Avada Kedavra,” he roared.

Although her legs felt like lead, Lucinda desperately tried to intervene, even attempting to throw herself in front of the spell, only to have arrived too late.

Harry had been trying to push himself to his feet as Voldemort had cast it, and now when she looked at him, he was facedown, unmoving on the ground.

“No, no, no,” Lucinda choked as she fell to her knees beside him, and cradled his still warm body, urging Harry to come back to her.

The world around them fell silent, perhaps because she no longer cared what was transpiring, or that that fighting had come to a stop altogether as none could have missed what had occurred.

To Lucinda, it did not matter.

Immediately, heart-wrenching grief was all she knew, and though she could feel the dozens upon dozens of pairs of eyes transfixed on her, she did not care.

She grasped a handful of Harry’s robes as she looked up to where Voldemort had been standing, only to find that the man had fled.

Of course he had.

It was what he always did.

What Lucinda did see, however, were several expressions mirroring her own feelings.

Cain, Ana, and Eleanor were standing with Sirius and Remus.

In front of all of them was the heartbroken Cassie, who could only look on in utter despair at the broken form of the boy she had raised.

Lucinda swallowed deeply, furious with herself that she had been unable to do anything to prevent what had happened, and in a state of disbelief that it had.

Harry was dead.

As much as she wished to, she could not deny the truth.

He was gone now, and fate had proven to be the ever-cruel mistress when it came to him.

She made no attempt to wipe away her tears as they fell freely.

What would be the point?

Instead, she clung to him, even when the fighting resumed from those unwilling to admit defeat, she held onto Harry not knowing what else to do.

It was a gasp from one of the onlookers that alerted her to what was happening only a moment later, and Lucinda stilled, an ember of hope igniting within her as she felt Harry shift beneath her.

She watched in confusion as his black her lengthened and shifted to a pale white.

Turning him over so he was now facing upwards, it was not the brilliant green eyes of her husband she was greeted with, but the lifeless yet peaceful blue of another.

“Albus!”

Lucinda could only step back in confusion as Minerva McGonagall fell upon the man, and as she looked towards the rest of the group questioningly, they too were wondering the very same thing.

If it had been Albus Dumbledore fighting Voldemort this whole time, then where was Harry?

(Break)

“That leaves only the two of us,” Albus sighed as he and Harry finished deciding how best to defend the castle.

“We will be here,” the younger man replied, pointing to the very front of the lines of those who would be on hand to greet Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

Albus frowned before shaking his head tiredly, an idea forming.

Harry would not like it, nor would any other for that matter, but it was for the best.

“No,” he murmured. “I will be there, but you will not.”

Harry looked at him in confusion, and Albus offered him a comforting smile.

“I have a plan, and I only ask that you hear me out.”

Harry could only shake his head at the memory of the damned fool and his plan.

Even now he wished he’d deterred him from it, but Dumbledore proved to be hard-headed and unwilling to negotiate when his mind had been made up.

Harry had to applaud him for his idea in using Polyjuice Potion to lure Voldemort into a false sense of security, but both men knew that Albus could no longer keep up with the Dark Lord in an open fight indefinitely.

“Meeting him in an open battle poses too many risks, to you, and everyone around you,” Dumbledore had pointed out. “Tom will not seek you out alone. He will want the world to see your demise.”

“His demise.”

“I have every faith you can defeat him, Harry, but for once, I would urge you to use what you have to your advantage.”

“What I have?”

“Follow me,” Albus had urged with a grin.

The room he found himself within now was quite the revelation, a spectacular creation that gave him complete control of the environment.

Tom had the benefit of experience on his side, but Harry had his own advantages.

The only question was, would it be enough?

Harry would find out soon enough when the Dark Lord inevitably arrived to reclaim his Horcrux, but it would not be the diadem that waited for him here.

Still, Harry could not shift the thoughts of the sacrifice Dumbledore was making.

Yes, he still had a few more weeks to live at the very least, but to lay his life on the line in such a way to give Harry a better chance of success was perhaps the most stupid yet touching thing the man could have done for him.

“I would see you live, Harry. My life is much less valuable than your own. I give it willingly in the hope that yours is not cut short.”

Those had been Dumbledore’s final words to him before he had drunk the Polyjuice potion and begun the charade of being Harry Potter for the final hour of his life.

(Break)

Severus eyed the glass case curiously, ignoring the baleful glare of the serpent within. He had always seen her as an odd creature, but why he had been asked to secure her was lost on him.

Slipping away from the fighting at the school had been simple enough for him.

None paid him any heed in the heat of the battle as he took his leave of the grounds, even if he knew he would be of much more use at Hogwarts.

Nonetheless, he was here now, and with a little difficulty, he levitated the tank into a simple sack, being careful not to disturb the protective magic surrounding it.

Severus did not wish to find out what the consequences of doing so would be, and he breathed a sigh of relief when no reaction was forthcoming.

Slowly, he left the Dark Lord’s abode before taking hold of his cargo and activating his portkey.

It was in a room in the Hog’s Head, he found himself within a moment later.

The irony that this is where it all truly began for Severus was not lost on him.

This was the very room Dumbledore had met Trelawney in the night she had spoken the words of the prophecy the Dark Lord had become transfixed on.

It had set him on the path that saw Severus shifting his loyalty to those who opposed the master he had chosen when he had been little more than a boy himself.

In the distance, he could see the flashes of spellfire, but Severus was to remain here until he was relieved of his burden.

Despite wanting nothing more than to see the demise of the Dark Lord to the very end, the war was over for him.

Win or lose, his own fate would now be in the hands of Harry Potter.

(Break)

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, only to balk as he realised he no longer held it.

Potter grinned triumphantly as he held up Voldemort’s wand in his left hand before pocketing it as though it was merely a trophy for him to keep.

“Coward!” the Dark Lord spat, desperately thinking of something he could use to his advantage.

Potter laughed.

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged.

“Hand me my wand and die with some pride intact.”

 “You mean like how my father did?” Potter returned. “I may be James Potter’s son, but because of you, I was raised by Cassiopeia Black. Maybe I could beat you at your own game, but why would I risk doing so when it is unnecessary? I am a Potter, Riddle, but I was taught the ways of Black. Weaken your enemies until they no longer have anything to hold over you, then claim what you are due. I am owed your life for what you did to my parents, but I will not take it lightly. I vowed that you would suffer for your transgressions, and I am, if nothing else, a man of my word. The last moments of your life are going to be most unpleasant, and by the time I am finished with you, you will beg for the sweet escape of death, only it will not come, will it? The snake yet lives, Tom. The suffering you experience now is only the beginning. CRUCIO!”

The curse tore through every fibre of his being, and the Dark Lord could only bite deeply into his lower lip to prevent himself from screaming, admonishing himself for falling prey to his enemies in such a foolish way.

He would not give Potter the satisfaction.

Lord Voldemort had endured unimaginable pain, and the boy would have to do better than that.

After a few moments, Potter relented with the Cruciatus Curse, but not in his attack.

A loud snapping filled the room, and the Dark Lord gasped in surprise and agony as the bones in his left leg were broken.

“That’s better,” Potter said coldly, stomping on the mangled limb, his grin widening as Voldemort groaned.

The pain was one thing, but the humiliation was unbearable, though as Potter lit the tip of his wand with a familiar blue flame, the Dark Lord knew that his suffering had barely begun.

How had this happened?

He had watched as Potter had died only moments prior, and yet, here he was now.

Was this some trick of the room?

If it was, the pain was all too real, and Voldemort could only conclude that he had been duped, that in his glee of apparent victory and eagerness to retrieve his Horcrux, he had fallen, as Potter put so eloquently, into his trap.

Once more, he cursed himself for the oversight and unleashed his first scream as Potter rammed the tip of his wand into his eye.

(Break)

At the realisation that it was Dumbledore who had been killed and not Harry, the battle had commenced with the same ferocity it had concluded upon, and Lucinda once again found herself fighting with reckless abandon against the Death Eaters who seemed to have lost a considerable amount of morale now that Voldemort was no longer amongst them.

“Filthy creature!” Bellatrix Lestrange screeched furiously as Lucinda aimed a rotting curse towards the woman who managed to deftly avoid it.

Bellatrix returned fire with a trio of cutting curses before attempting to embed a wooden stake in her heart.

The projectile skimmed the edge of her robes, and Lucinda’s nostrils flared in fury before the two found themselves locked in on one another, both doing their utmost to put an end to the woman in front of them.

Bellatrix was fast and her wand work was seamless as she transitioned from one spell to the next with little effort.

Lucinda understood why the woman had become so feared in Britain, but it would not be so easy to best a vampire who possessed the same magic.

Those without relied on only their physical prowess, but Lucinda did not have such a handicap.

She was a rare breed, much more than any commoner of her people.

Bellatrix unleashed a screech of rage as her hair caught alight from the sparks of a searing curse she managed to defend against, and she extinguished it without the need to break her stride as she continued her own onslaught.

The fight between them quickly became a stalemate and would likely be decided upon by the first to make an error of judgement, or to hesitate for even a split second.

That opportunity presented itself only a moment later as thunderous explosion rent the air and the doors of the castle were blown off their hinges.

From within the opening, a person was flung clear of the steps, landing on the path below with a dull thud.

“MY LORD!” Bellatrix screamed in shock.

Before she could react, Lucinda made her move, sinking her fangs into the side of the woman’s neck from behind, and watched, her eyes welling with tears as Harry stepped out of Hogwarts, seemingly unharmed as he descended the steps towards the retreating Voldemort.

The Dark Lord did not get far.

Weakened by the myriad of injuries he had evidently sustained he could not even push himself to his feet before Harry’s foot was driven into his face.

The entire battlefield had become still as they looked on in a mixture of shock and awe, some paling at the state of the feared Voldemort.

Where one of his eyes should have been was nothing but a weeping hole with blood and pus oozing from it.

One of his legs was rested at an impossible angle from where the bones had been demolished, and his exposed body was full of numerous burns and abrasions.

Even Lucinda winced at all that had been done to the man, but there was no denying he deserved it.

Bellatrix attempted to move to help him, only to cry out in pain as Lucinda’s jaws clamped down on the woman harder.

She too would watch what was to come.

It was the inevitable end of her master, and Lucinda could have sobbed in relief.

The sight of Harry living and breathing after having thought she’d witnessed his death was indescribable, but it was not over yet.

With a glare full of hate, Harry stood over, speaking some final words Lucinda could not hear before setting the man ablaze with a black fire.

The Dark Lord screamed as he was steadily consumed, and those of a more sensitive disposition turned away from the scene.

Others did not, and if they were to look towards Harry as Lucinda was, they would see the relief in his eyes and nothing more.

Since before he had been born, Voldemort had been the bane of Harry’s life, and finally, he could move on.

Bellatrix had been crying desperately in her attempt to break free, and it wasn’t until she fell limp that Lucinda looked away from her husband.

Unknowingly, she had drained the woman of all her blood, and she would now join Tom Riddle in whatever waited for people like them on the other side.

Lucinda would finally have Harry all to herself without the burden of Dark Lords or a war hanging over them, and with that in mind, she was the first to reach him as he continued to watch the burning remains of the man who had murdered his parents.

Harry said nothing as she approached, and simply pulled her into his embrace.

“I thought you’d died,” she whispered, the emotional and physical exhaustion of the evening beginning to settle in.

“Would you have missed me?” Harry asked with a smirk.

Lucinda narrowed her eyes at the man.

“You’d better watch it, Potter,” she warned. “Now is not the time for one of your jokes.”

“Maybe,” Harry conceded. “A thousand years is a long time. It can wait, for now.”