If his mind had been calm and collected, Harry would have looked at the magic he was issuing forth and taken a moment to behold the results of both his magical transformation this year and the power of the Elder Wand.
But as the sun sank ever lower in the sky, dusk was upon them and the whole area was alight with spellfire.
A never-ending spray of piercing hexes targeted the Dark Lord, blasting curses fell all around him, transfigured flocks of birds dotted the night sky and dove at their foe. As the earth was blasted apart, rubble, rock, and ruined remains of the landscape were turned into knights, panthers, lions, bears, dogs and any sort of creature that could maim or incapacitate an opponent with a single successful strike.
As the wand in his hand continued to whirl and twirl, sending forth carnage and destruction, Harry cooled down. The towering inferno of rage that had been spiked at Horace's death made way for an ice-cold anger, one that was ruthless, cunning, and hell-bent on avenging all of those that the monster before him had taken.
"Yes, Harry, good, good," Voldemort said as he jabbed his wand forward, overpowering every spell coming at him simultaneously before swiping left, and then right, pulverizing the transfigurations, pushing back all debris and wiping out any hidden efforts Harry had sent forth.
His malicious eyes were alight with a crazed glee, his deformed mouth opened, and an unnatural snake-like tongue slithered out. "I knew I wasn't wrong about you," he said, continuing to swat Harry's effort away, though it seemed to Harry that the Dark Lord wasn't doing so with ease. His efforts seemed akin to Viktor racing around the pitch, diving and executing difficult manoeuvres in preparation for the match that was imminently starting.
As Harry smelt the earthen air, he huffed a breath out his nostrils, pausing his barrage for a moment. Although his first extended series hadn't even damaged his clothing, Harry felt it was a good start. He hadn't used any of his best talents, and he doubted Riddle would view him as a serious threat.
With the temporary cessation of his assault, Voldemort's pale lips formed into a vindictive smile, "Power," he said, his baleful slitted eyes staring at him. "Power is all that matters."
Harry shook his head. Were they really going to hash out the same talk from his first year?
"Power?" he said, exhaling as his rigid muscles began to relax. "You think I care about power?"
While waiting for a response, Harry began to channel magic, pushing his magic, will, intent, and creativity into a pile of rocks Riddle had previously smashed.
"We are so alike," he said before his head lifted up before he let out a series of harsh, bitter laughs. "Orphaned at a young age," he flicked his wand, pulverizing the area where Harry had been preparing a large scale transfiguration. "Parselmouths taught by Salazar Slytherin, and the only two to survive said tutelage…"
As Harry began to try and more repeat his action, but with more subtlety this time, Voldemort sneered at him and blasted the still forming golems apart. "Don't you think we are alike?"
If this wasn't a life and death situation with his emotions simmering near a boil, Harry might have laughed out how outrageous this conversation was. "Yes, soooooo alike," Harry said, practically spitting saliva entirely composed of supreme sarcasm. "My mother loved her wizard husband and died protecting her son."
Just before his next salvo, he surveyed his surroundings, not wanting the damaged ground to be the cause of a fall. "While your mother was an inbred and ugly squib that had to enslave a muggle to find love," Harry said, a grin on his face so large his white teeth must be glimmering in the last vestiges of the sunset.
A snarl of rage accompanied a massive build-up of magic in response as the Dark Lord's eyes filled with fury and he began casting with a frenzy that signalled the end of their warmup.
Bending his knees and shifting into the footwork Flitwick taught him, Harry began to disassemble the array of spells meant to end his life as painfully as possible.
He sidestepped a Killing Curse, pushed his wand into the next, neutralizing it at the tip of his wand. Sensing the next three were all extremely explosive to varying degrees, he shot out counters, ending them before they could explode, peppering him with shrapnel, or worse, obscuring his vision.
Spell after spell came, and Harry's training with Flitwick bore fruit. He almost felt as if his eyes were closed, as his magical sensing was in overdrive, picking out spells, his brain processing the requirements as his magic responded to his subconscious commands without him having to see the attacks coming.
How long it continued, Harry didn't know. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, his heart pounded in his ears, and a smile eventually formed on his face. If this was the extent of the Dark Lord's prowess, he wouldn't be losing.
As if Voldemort could read his thoughts, the barrage let off and Voldemort stood there, twenty feet apart, his wand no longer levelled at Harry.
Not letting Riddle get the next words in, he quickly added the kill-shot to his previous statement. "As if your mother wasn't pathetic enough, she chose to give up on life after birthing a worthless son, one she named after the muggle whose heart she couldn't hope to win."
He almost felt bad disparaging Merope Gaunt but the intended consequences of his barbed words wouldn't allow it.
Though, this time, Harry was going to bring out his best. Fortifying himself, he pushed everything he had, just as he'd practised and a white-hot flame spewed out from his wand.
Perfect.
As fast as he could, he expanded the flames, feeding it all the magic he could, and performed the spellwork he'd been practising day in and day out, hour after countless hour. It had gotten to the point where he'd gone to sleep and dreamed of the magically transfigured creatures.
One large minotaur, sixteen feet tall, was formed first, standing in front of Harry, tanking all the spells meant to harm his progenitor. Next came two stags and then three dragons followed, the effort almost dropping Harry to his knees.
It was the best he could do and the number and order were all a part of the plan.
The Minotaur lumbered forward, Voldemort having no answer for the magic-eating fire. The stags chased after it, darting, dashing in its wake. Then, just as it caught up, they ran off to the sides, lowering their six-pointed antlers.
While his creations advanced, Voldemort wasn't idle. Seeing his magical power held at bay, he drew upon the earth, forming a great mound before it turned into a knight of his own, a two-handed sword opposing the minotaur's gigantic axe, the two beings roughly equal in height.
Fire clashed with hardened earth, and a great clang sounded, deafening Harry for a moment.
The minotaur continued to push his axe down, locking the sword in place, just as the stags had rounded around.
But the Dark Lord was not feared for his ineptitude. While his creation held off the bullheaded attacker, his wand shot forth and a geyser of water burst out from the earth, pushing one deer well off course, cooling and tempering its fire, while the other was swallowed by a giant snake made of mud and dirt.
Yet, Harry's unprecedented attack hadn't been for nought.
The three dragons swooped down, attacking from different vectors, on varied angles, each one in Voldemort's blindspots. And even through the flaming figure of his monstrous minotaur, he could see the surprise in Riddle's countenance as the deftly diving dragons were finally noticed by him.
They were close and Harry felt his anticipation heighten to its zenith. Nobody that could have informed on him to Voldemort should have been aware of his special fire and the triumph of his secrecy, of his hours and hours of relentless, brutal training, was at hand.
But even catching the man off-guard, Voldemort wasn't without options. And while the entire moment seemed to have dragged and lasted forever, the speed at which Voldemort hastily threw up defences was terrifying.
The first fiery incarnation, the one trying to take his head off, shrieked and was caught by a stone pillar that sprang up from the earth. And while his wand had drawn up the earth, his body had dived to the right, causing the second to miss; it crashed and dispersed into deadly flame upon the ground.
But even the vaunted abilities of the Dark Lord were outmatched as the third dragon swerved and crashed into him, with only his arm able to shield him.
Another fiery collision occurred and Harry had to cover his ears as a great, terrifying scream filled the air, one full of pain, anguish, and, above all, a defiance empowered by an indomitable will. And as the piercing cry ripped from Voldemort's throat, his magic must have responded as a wave of pure unadulterated power burst forth, the epicentre being where Riddle had been standing.
As the visible circle of magic shot out, Harry's fire creatures winked out of existence, the magic holding them together becoming undone. Holding his arms in front of his face, Harry felt bits of grass, gravel, and dirt accompany the oppressive magic as it barrelled into him, most of it smacking against his dragonhide armour.
As his nostrils filled with the stench of burnt flesh, clothes, and landscape, Harry couldn't see after removing his arms. A cloud of dust hung in the air, forcing Harry to reach out with his magical senses, trying to see what was going on.
Had he defeated Riddle?
Had the wave of magic been the undoing of his ritualistic changes, or the magic holding his body together?
An eerie silence took hold, foreboding and yet brimming with youthful optimism, hope.
The seconds ticked on by and his ears strained to listen for any sign of movement, any gasps for breath, or for loose gravel being disturbed or anything that could signal that his foe still clung to life.
His magic couldn't make heads or tails of the situation. An ocean had flooded the terrain and any hope of his own wading through the saturation was a null endeavour.
The steady breaths was all his ears could pick up, his own, and his initial excitement and stress were giving way as Harry stared towards where he hoped he'd vanquished his foe. And, snapping his wand hand out, he called upon his magic to provide a strong gentle breeze to clear the air.
As the space between them began to clear, he could feel his eyes squint, his heart quicken in anticipation.
But as the dust cleared, a silhouette appeared through the haze. Harry's fist clenched around his wand as his stomach clenched, and his muscles prepared for a renewed engagement.
Though, as he began to focus and prepare a new assault, Harry noticed he'd wounded the Dark Lord. His clothing was burnt, frayed, and ripped across his torso, while his one arm was missing entirely. The leg on the same side was uncovered and blackened, the flesh burnt and mangled.
Yet, having taken all that abuse, the Dark Lord stood there, as if he wasn't in agony, his phoenix feather and yew wand stalwart at his side. A grim smile was upon his face as the depth of his manic malice was alight in his eyes.
"Not just a school boy," he said, snarling, the words coming out of his reddened, bloodied lips.
Voldemort flicked his wand at himself, his robe mended in seconds, looking anew once more, black as his heart. "In my hubris, I hadn't expected anything beyond the tutelage entirely evident in your style," he said, almost musing aloud to himself. "Flitwick's defensive style, McGonagall's transfiguration and, perhaps, tutelage from the Transfiguration Master himself."
Unconsciously, Harry found himself nodding, Riddle was picking apart his style. Having been taught by them, and more than likely having faced them in the last war, Harry doubted he didn't know their tricks. He licked his dry lips, though he did not retort at this time. He'd already baited him and he wouldn't cower, or show any fear that the Dark Lord was shrugging off attacks that would have killed or incapacitated most others.
Riddle brought his wand forth to his robe, his jaw clenching together. A liquid silver flowed out of his wand, attaching to the charred stump, fashioning itself into a new, metallic arm, ripple by ripple.
While one voice in his head urged him to attack, to press while he had an advantage, Harry stood frozen, silent, in unresponsive awe of his foe. And as Riddle repaired the damage done to his lower body, he turned his eyes upon Harry.
"I underestimated you, thinking you a pupil of the great Albus Dumbledore," he said, his voice mocking as he spat the man's name before his lips twisted into a cruel smirk. "Yet are we not more alike?"
The man that had taken more than anyone had a right to, his childhood, his parents, his grandparents, and just now his mentor. Yet, instead of engaging him, Harry listened, his curiosity betraying his broiled hatred.
"It will hurt and haunt me to have to end you, a worthy heir of Slytherin," he said, standing there, with only the metal hand hinting at the injuries he'd just sustained. "Especially when you can join me, as Salazar would have wanted."
After everything the two had been through, their entire shared history, Voldemort was reaching out, a minute after he'd nearly been killed by Harry? His mind couldn't compute, his mouth opened, unbidden, and a sole word tumbled from his lips. "What?"
Riddle's wand came up and Harry sensed no ill intent in the buildup to his spell. He mirrored the action but didn't cast anything.
The same trick the teenaged Tom Riddle had been done in the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago occurred again. His full name was written out in great letters of flame before rearranging themselves into his infamous anagrammed title.
But it didn't stop there. The letters changed and in the sky he read a new name, one he was unfamiliar with. SARAZEN ARTY HILLS was in the sky. And as Harry wondered who that was, they shifted.
I AM SALAZAR SLYTHERIN.
The name of his tutor shone in the night sky and Harry couldn't help but feel a little lost. Was Voldemort implying he'd copied Slytherin? He checked over the letters and it was an anagram.
"You read the final message as I did," Voldemort said, silkily smooth. "Salazar Slytherin taught us, he challenged us, counselled us, and pushed us down the path that inevitably leads to this." His hand started up at the top of his body and he waved it down his body.
His chin was turning side to side before he could birth a denial from his lips. "You're wrong," Harry said, vehemence comprising his words. He wasn't going to continue down the path of power that would cost him more than he was willing to pay.
"Salazar told us to be our own, to fashion for ourselves a legacy, a lasting name that would take the precious gifts from his tutelage, and push it far beyond what he was able to achieve," Voldemort said, twirling his wand, removing the letters from the sky. "He challenged us, telling us we could never go beyond his forty-nine rituals, we could never surpass the heights of his power, his fame, his infamy."
After all this time, did he still believe the final ritual was for creating an improved Horcrux?
Riddle believed he was the true heir...therefore, he must have completed the ritual, divesting himself from a part of his soul and because Salazar would have assumed the unworthy heirs had killed themselves, nothing more would have been given to Riddle, nothing would have shown him he had erred.
Though he'd suspected it, the realization still hit him like a sack of bricks.
"There was a challenge in his words to become greater than he, to surpass his legacy, to become a legend and move beyond the final act he was able to accomplish in life."
The words entered his ears but Harry's mind could barely keep up with the grotesque reflection through which a young Tom Riddle would have viewed the final test.
"Do you not see, Harry Potter? Death, it is death that we are to overcome." Voldemort said, continuing on, heedless of Harry's inner turmoil. "For Slytherin's legacy to last beyond him, he had to train someone to take up his mantle, he had to prepare a descendant and ensure he was worthy."
There it was, the familiar feeling of pity and anger that took over when he was around this utterly despicable monster. "You believe you are worthy?" Harry said, spitting the words out as he fumed. "You think splitting your soul seven times is what he wanted?"
Voldemort let out a high pitched laugh, careless or entirely unworried about Harry catching him with a spell while his head was thrown back.
"Did the muggle-loving fool infect you? Did his peace-loving, non-confrontational ways delude you?" Riddle asked, sneering with disdain before he launched a salvo of spells, each with the intent to end his life.
Although the spells were deadly, instead of stinging hexes, and the speed of them was a tad faster than Flitwick trained him at, they were easily dismantled one after another.
"No, no," Riddle said, scratching his temple with his wand. "Azkaban, Malfoy and my followers…no, you are...worthy."
While the beast of a man was ruminating, Harry began to focus on creating pockets of fire, small little fires upon the ground. As it took great concentration and a buildup of power, it could help save him time later, as expanding them into creations of fire was exponentially easy, requiring a mere flick of his wand.
Though he was trying to stack the battlefield to assist in the inevitable confrontation, he kept his eyes forward and saw a crazed focus come into the Dark Lord's. "I challenge you, my heir. Do whatever is necessary to protect yourself. Delve into the pits of despair if it will protect you...for...what is the difference between a man who has done no one any harm and one that has lived a barbaric life overflowing with villainy?"
Hearing him quote those words again but warped, perverted, and corrupted from the actual use they had been written with churned the fury within him.
"I have completed rituals almost beyond count. Where Salazar did seven sets of seven, I will complete seven sets of seven sets of seven rituals," he said, his cruel face filled with arrogance. "I have lied, cheated, killed, murdered, butchered, and done unspeakable deeds in my quest for power...few would dare to challenge me."
Riddle continued to pervert Salazar's words. These were not things to aspire too, they were recriminations of his earlier actions.
"I have become more powerful than he, I have left no line uncrossed," Riddle said, boasting of his mad descent into depravity. "I have removed the threat of death and will live on, immortal for all time. I am the true heir, I have surpassed all expectations and outdid all of his challenges."
Harry breathed in, then breathed out, he stood still seething as he listened. This was the popular understanding that had been propagated for decades, centuries even. Slytherin was not a kind man, he had many faults but to try and pass this off as his legacy? This disgusted Harry to his very core.
"I am better than he, I am more, I am worthy, I am the true heir."
With a shake of his head, Harry vocalized the summation of his thoughts. "You are a false heir, one who was even more depraved than the son he put down," Harry said, feeling pity for the monster this once bright boy had been. He'd been infected by the false lead, he'd become rabid and was only fit to be exterminated.
His mind was made up, his fury fully fermented; it was time to do as Salazar would have him do.
It was time to put down the rabid beast.
He led with a massive minotaur, twenty-five feet tall, and as it walked forward, its lumbered footsteps shook the ground. And while it would draw the attention of the mad man, he mixed in creatures born from stone and dirt, knights swift of foot, with kite shields to protect their advance, and ferocious dogs and large cats were sent amongst their ranks too, before Harry began to churn out dragons borne of his special fire.
While he continued preparing legions of attackers, he doubted Voldemort had been idle. As Harry's magical senses detected no attack, he let his eyes turn from their task and he gazed upon him.
There, across from him, around fifty feet away, the Dark Lord brandished his wand, his metallic arm lit up, reflecting in the light, and it was high above his head, moving up and down, drawing dirt out of a deepening chasm that hadn't been a part of the landscape previously.
Out of the earth, Voldemort had fashioned a towering titan, armed with a gigantic claymore, its shoulders stood as tall as the full height of Harry's minotaur.
As Harry took a second to react, strategize to the new development, he put his trust in Dumbledore's opinion, that Voldemort wasn't as accomplished in Transfiguration as he liked to think. He was better than most but near even with McGonagall's technical level.
In a duel of earth transfigurations versus fire constructs, the earth always held an advantage, though with Harry's construct being made of special fire, and his being a more technically sound creation, he hoped his would stand up, prevail even.
With the immediate path to Voldemort obstructed by his minotaur, and now the titan, there was little direct magic he could apply. His groups of transfigurations were heading off, battling the fell beasts the Dark Lord was pulling out of the earth; werewolves, snakes, giants, and trolls were being assembled to fight back.
Heedless to the battle raging on, Harry continued to create new attackers, even fashioning some stone archers, one of the last things he had been taught, transfigurations that could fire endless projectiles. He doubted he'd be lucky enough to see Riddle hit with a stone arrow through his deformed heart but all it took was a single lucky shot to end this.
As the battle of constructs raged on, Harry saw that his forces out-classed Voldemort's. His stone knights smashed apart the mixtures of dirt and rocks that made up the trolls and giants. The few dragons he had made were unable to get to Voldemort, as large pterodactyls made of stone flew around attacking, intercepting any attempt to burn his flesh again.
He continued to replenish any forces that were lost and strengthened the centre, allowing the knights to chip away at the legs and feet of the titan.
Mentally, he directed his forces and he tried not to let the little boy in him win out and watch this medieval battle take place with gigantic weapon-wielding beings slugging it out. But there were times when he couldn't help but pay attention.
Each strike of their great weapons scoured the air with deadly flames, creating localized shockwaves as their footwork caused the ground to shake beneath their feet. Neither construct had an edge as claymore struck against the two-handed battle axe again and again.
While the countryside was being turned into Passchendaele, great gouges had been rent into the earth, trees had become stumps, the grass had long been blackened, and rubble had been strewn everywhere. If they had been in a city block, a whole subdivision would have been destroyed.
It was in the midst of all this carnage that a great cry rang out and flashes of light were seen off in the distance, well behind the major places of battle.
Out from under his cloak, there stood Fleur, resplendent in her battle outfit, the black scales of her armour contrasting with her silvery-blonde hair. She was casting fast and furious as she sprinted to her left, firing from just off her hip.
Although it was too far for Harry to see, he knew she was trying to kill the snake, the final Horcrux. He'd thought she'd use the plan they'd come up with but evidently, she'd had to deviate.
This change wouldn't be good, the real trouble being that Voldemort was now aware of her and disappearing under the cloak wouldn't save her.
From the path she was running in, Fleur was trying to make it back towards Harry, drawing the snake with her. Although the snake was large, it was fast, slithering through the uneven landscape with ease.
She cast spells to impede and slow down the large snake, and Nagini kept pressing, her attacks becoming more vicious and desperate.
A sudden shift happened in the battle of transfiguration. Voldemort's titan was back-peddling as it began to retreat, taking swipes at the smaller creations, its claymore pulverizing any it made contact with. While his minotaur advanced, its purposeful strides were held back by the erratic swings of its retreating foe.
While the centre pushed back, the entirety of Voldemort's left flank began to push to the right side, trying to overwhelm Harry's forces and get to Fleur.
To make the entire situation worse, Tom Riddle was leading the charge with great blasts of magic, causing his line to falter and be overrun.
Not letting a single moment delay him, Harry took off, sprinting towards Fleur, all the while trying to reinforce that side. Even if his minotaur overpowered the titan, it wouldn't be able to engage Riddle before they were attacking Fleur.
It was time to use some heavy-handed magic. He knew Voldemort could blast through his lines but he wouldn't dare send anything too large and nasty at his own Horcrux familiar. Thus, Harry stopped transfiguring more creatures and troops with multiple layers of magic embedded into them. Instead, he started sending large blasting curses and exploding hexes at Voldemort's advancing lines, arcing them up and over his own troops.
Not that Harry needed more incentive to win, but if he did, the prospect of watching this carnage in a pensieve would be amazing. He watched with glee as his exploding hexes detonated in the midst of a group of onrushing werewolves and trolls, mud and rock flying in all directions, limbs flying off and decapitating other creations.
The bull-headed monster let forth a cry of rage as its two-handed battle-axe cut through the air, narrowly missing the titan, smashing into the ground. And, being made of such hot flames, the ground melted around it. As the beast lumbered forward, molten slag fell off its feet with each gigantic step it took, advancing on the armoured titan before it, never ceasing its charge.
And while Harry would love to be able to keep watching, he couldn't focus on that. Fleur needed time, time to put an end to the last abomination that kept Riddle's soul tied to this plane of existence.
His head was on a swivel as he advanced, each step seemed to be almost an eternity. He launched a blasting curse from his wand as he jumped off his left foot. Then, as he brought it forward into his body, his knee bent and he looked to Fleur, watching her narrowly dodge the gaping jaws of the large snake before his leg began to drive to the earth once more.
Every step was accompanied by multiple actions and his mind was in overdrive trying to keep up. He was re-positioning his forces to delay Voldemort, keeping track of Fleur and giving an all-out assault all at once.
He just needed to buy time and give her an opportunity, all Fleur needed was one clean swipe. Let the dastardly snake over-extend and then she could lop its head off with the basilisk venom infused sword.
Just as he was mentally urging her on, he saw exactly what he was hoping for.
The snake lunged, its body coiling and then going fully airborne in an attempt to take advantage of a false opening, one they'd practised against conjured snakes for hours on end in the Chamber.
With her hair flashing in the fading light, Fleur stepped to the side and pulled the sword out of its scabbard, seemingly from nowhere. In a single fluid motion, she swung with all her might.
And in that instant, Harry stopped, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. If this was it, if it played out as it should, it would be time to throw everything he had at Voldemort, not just continuing to fight and delay him.
The sword glistened, the arc was perfect, and the abomination couldn't change its trajectory.
Harry watched, reverent of his fiancée at that moment, as the goblin-forged blade was sure to chop the snake's head off. Preemptively, internally he was cheering already, his offhand clenched and being rising up over his shoulder, reaching for the sky.
But then, the unthinkable, the unimaginable, happened.
The ever-sharp edge of the sword made contact and a great CLANG was heard, the snake's skin turned away the blade as if Fleur had swung a sword at a fully matured dragon.
Harry's brain seemed to disengage, this wasn't supposed to happen. The Sword of Gryffindor had cleaved through every other Horcrux without issue.
This result wasn't possible.
~"Merde."~
As both he and Fleur stared at the sword, Harry was glad to see the momentum of the strike sent the airborne creature sailing away.
As he got close to her, she must have realized how futile and debilitating to Harry her presence was now.
"How cunning," Voldemort said, coming to a stop, ten feet from Harry just as Fleur came to stand beside him, her hand taking hold of his.
"You keep surprising me, Harry Potter," Voldemort said as if this was some great accomplishment. A wicked smile adorned his lips and he paused to pet the large snake at his side. "Nagini tells me your pet Veela speaks parseltongue."
Realizing that Fleur had sworn in parseltongue, Harry responded she did as he inclined his head while he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
He glanced over and saw that Fleur stood, staring back and Riddle looked her up and down. Just the fact that she would stand in front of the Dark Lord without paralyzing fear was more than most adults could say.
At hearing the words, Voldemort tilted his head to the side before a vicious look bloomed on his hairless face. "A gift-sharing ritual or a veela magic-sharing ritual?" he asked aloud as if solving a puzzle.
Harry felt Voldemort's magic reach out, it wasn't anything insidious, it had the distinct feeling of curiosity, of probing. Not wanting to do so unchallenged, Harry unleashed his own magic, forcing it around them, staving off Riddle's.
"Or perhaps both," he said, as he pulled back his magic, a maddened gleam in his eyes. "And here I thought we were so similar…"
Taking a half step forward Harry retorted. "We're nothing alike."
"No?" Voldemort asked, his tone lilted with amusement as he twirled his wand. "Orphaned, parseltongue, casting aside friends, oppressed by Dumbledore, tutored by Slughorn, and a worthy heir of Salazar Slytherin?"
He let out a mirthless chuckle as Harry worked through the list in his head. "Though you are somewhat right...I never bowed to Slughorn's demands for marriage," he said, before letting out more mocking laughter.
Gritting his teeth, Harry bit back any reply he wanted to give. Nothing he said would do him any good right now.
Riddle's slitted eyes shifted back to Fleur, looking her up and down once more. "I'd commend you for planning to add more parselmouths to the world but they aren't needed," Voldemort said, holding his wand out, across his body, towards his familiar. "We are immortal and, together, we can rule the world."
Harry had to suppress the urge to sigh and roll his eyes, Fleur's hand was in his, reminding him of her presence and that it may not be the time to continue his earlier mocking of the Dark Lord. "We're nothing alike," he said, keeping his words tempered. "You're a sadist bent on world domination and I'm just cleaning up your mess before retiring to live with my wives."
High pitched cruel laughter filled the air around them. "You think you can just rest on your laurels? Just study magic and accept a mediocre job, with newspapers writing hit pieces, politicians entrapping you, controlling you, and the whole Magical World in fear of ever upsetting you?"
Riddle shook his head before his eyes flashed with triumph. "You've already seen it, felt it, tasted it," the diabolical man said, his words having a slight hiss to them. "Friends you considered family turning on you, longtime allies threatening you, lovers casting you aside, manipulating you, betraying you."
Turning his head, he looked at Fleur and saw nothing but devotion and love in her eyes. He'd been through a fair few manipulations this year but he was more than happy with where he was, and who was around him. "Projecting your teenage woes on me doesn't make them true."
If his comment bothered Riddle it didn't show. "You'd trust a Greengrass, a family mercenary enough to change countries on a whim? One that flees if they aren't guaranteed victory?" he asked before laughing once more. "The whole world knows you can't trust a Pavlov...but a Delacour…"
The way he said Fleur's surname bothered Harry, it sounded soft and pondering, perhaps even with a twinge of respect, but Harry had a gut feeling it was said with malicious intent and was something to be wary of.
And just as his concern level was being peaked, Voldemort began doing something he'd only ever seen happen to Cuddles.
With his hand on his familiar, the Dark Lord channelled magic into his already unnaturally large snake, and with each second that passed, it grew. And grew. And grew. And grew some more.
While a part of his brain was urging Harry to do something, he couldn't help but stare in apprehension and a bit of fear, though it wasn't a fear born out of foreboding what was to come and had no bearing on his resolute resolve.
"Run, Fleur," he said, turning to her and giving her hand a soft tug when she didn't immediately respond. "Go, flee, I can't fight and cover for you."
Even as the words were escaping his lips, Harry took stock of the battle of transfiguration and he was just in time to see his minotaur swing his powerful axe with all its might. The perfectly horizontal swing cut through the air, the fiery blade leaving a small trail of flames as it moved, cleaving off the head of Voldemort's titan.
The magic holding the massive armoured creation together came apart, creating an avalanche of rocks and heavily packed dirt, burying its few surviving allies. But, aside from the minotaur, Harry's forces only numberered no more than a dozen, with only half of those being fully functional.
Though any advantage he may now take from this victory was negated by the towering serpent. It was at least forty feet in length but may have been the size of Salazar Slytherin's basilisk.
Harry immediately had his creations engage the colossal snake, knowing Fleur was out of her depth versus it or the Dark Lord.
Malice shone in the serpent's eyes and it let out an angry hiss as it rose to the challenge, literally. Nagini brought herself up to her full height and then dove forward, mouth open, aimed at the middle of the minotaur's chest.
Wielding such a massive weapon with no shield was a hindrance here. And before it could make the bite of its axe known, the snake struck with the full weight of its monumental momentum. The serpent crashed into the minotaur's fiery chest, barrelling through it.
As soon as he realized what was about to happen, Harry's elbow shot up, covering his face and eyes, as the twenty-five-foot minotaur exploded in a localized firestorm. After opening his eyes, and blinking away the spots of blindness in his vision, he saw Fleur was still beside him, her jaw lowered.
"Go Fleur, go," Harry said, knowing he would be in a tough spot to fend off Riddle with her still nearby, let alone against his empowered familiar too.
"I'm not leaving, 'Arry!" she said, her wand brought forth and her knees crouched.
As Harry's mouth opened to futilely attempt to change her mind, Voldemort's disgusting voice entered his ears.
"How...touching," he said, as he stepped forward, all the while watching as Nagini destroyed the few transfigurations of fire and stone that had lived through the destruction of the only creature that could have possibly stood against this new threat.
"Tut, tut, tut, we can't have her leave," he said, an evil smirk on his lips. "No, no no, that just won't do."
Turning to his familiar he hissed. ~"Separate them, go after the boy."~
Although Harry had once faced a serpent around this size, he'd forgotten how quickly they can slither and strike. And while there was close to fifty feet between them, the colossal snake struck, aiming for the middle of them, forcing them to dive apart.
Harry rolled out of it and sent a series of piercing hexes at the large snake's exposed body as it shook off the impact of its head hitting the ground with force.
Hex after hex struck true but they were all futile, bouncing off the seemingly impervious skin. And knowing he had no time to think, just react, he began sprinting away, creating great earthen chains, animating them to attempt to capture or delay the beast.
But with every step, he knew Voldemort would take advantage of Fleur's vulnerability. It wasn't that she was weak, in fact, she had grown at an incredible rate in the last few months. There was just an ocean of distance between strong wizards and witches and the calibre that Voldemort and Harry had ascended to.
And while that was worrying, the best way to help her was to rid the world of another Horcrux, even if it was a gigantic one.
His mind worked in a frenzy, trying to come up with a way to slow down the snake and kill it. And although his heart refused to accept it, he knew if Voldemort went all out, Fleur was dead. The only chance she had to live was for him to toy with her, torture her.
Should he hope for that, or a quick, merciful death?
With those thoughts distracting him, the snake advanced, having broken apart the chains.
The only thing his distracted mind had come up with, was to do what Fawkes had done, blind the bloody thing.
With a plan, his wand was never still, flicking transfigured creatures into the air, birds of all sorts, whatever came to his mind. Each and every one of them had the same purpose, gouge out the snake's eyes.
Hearing the screech of the snake, he continued his path, getting away from the beast, back towards Fleur.
At the pace he was pumping out magic, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep it up. But with his adrenaline running on max, and the thrill of battle running through his veins, he'd find a way to save them both, or die in the attempt, with nothing left to give.
He was sprinting back towards Fleur, his ears straining to hear the words Voldemort was saying, over the pounding of his feet, his elevated pulse. Charred earth crunched beneath him, his nostrils smelled a heavy, dirty, ash that hung in the air, like snow, but his sole focus was surviving, living.
"I can practically taste the bond between you," Voldemort said, sending another barrage of spells at the overmatched part veela. "Your death will break him, your loss will push him into my arms, no matter how much he will hate that I took you from him."
Harry watched as Fleur used all of her training. She side-stepped the first spell, more than likely having sensed it was a dark cutting spell, she neutralized the exploding curse with her bare hand and shielded two others that were going to hit her.
She danced around, and though Fleur's actions were fraught, Fleur was fluid, flowing, frantic.
As he brought up his wand to give her some transfigured assistance, his sixth sense screamed in his ear and he stopped, skidding across the ground.
Nagini was before him, one eye bloodied, the other intact, glaring at him.
It was at that moment that he realized the futility of the plan. Even if the other eye had been gouged out, she would still be able to sense him, just as the basilisk had. And so he changed tactics and prepared to stand his ground and rid the world of her existence.
Before she had a chance to go after him, Harry transfigured rubble that was on the ground, creating large pointed wooden stakes, conjuring a few of them. He'd surrounded himself and changed the tips, giving them hardened metal points, enchanted to explode if they impacted anything.
The giant serpent hissed at him, snapping around, but not daring to test the strength of its skin against the spikes. And while Harry would love nothing more than to banish one through the roof of its mouth, he doubted she would be willing to keep her mouth open and head still.
Nagini was a Horcrux, one that must have been recently empowered by a ritual, as he'd not heard of this ability before. And, if Voldemort had had this ability at his disposal in the past, there is no way it wouldn't have been used to terrorize the population, driving stakes of fear into their hearts.
While they both awaited the other to make a move, Harry doubted anything less than the Sword of Gryffindor could kill it but it was with Fleur.
The short standoff continued, the snake was seemingly unwilling to risk itself, especially when it's objective to separate them was being fulfilled.
As Harry stood there, ready to defend himself, he realized there was only a single option for him.
Fire.
His special fire seemed to have properties of basilisk venom in it. And while he could try and bludgeon it until it was crushed and crippled, it wouldn't save Fleur in time.
He shut his eyes for a half-second, inhaled and began forming the most potent fire he could possibly manage. As it burst from his wand, he didn't give it shape, nor animate it. He controlled it, pushing it forth, surrounding the snake before he continued fueling it, pumping it full of his magical power, will, intent and creativity.
Nagini began to try and escape it but Harry created a large ring around her and began to close it. She snapped and hissed, darting one way and then the other before the ring of fire closed in on her.
But just as he was headed toward victory, he heard a shrill scream cut through the air, all the way to the depths of his heart.
Even as his walls of flames closed in, being at least six feet deep and twenty feet high, his eyes shot over to the sound and he saw the reason for her continued yells of agony.
Voldemort was six feet in front of Fleur, his pale hand stretched forth, the yew wand extended, and he had her under a curse. The Cruciatus Curse.
The megalomaniac's eyes met his and he paused his sadistic spell. "If you want your precious fiancée to be capable of thought, you'd best let Nagini go."
Swivelling his head between the three of them, Harry knew he was in a precarious position. If he let the snake go, he may never get a shot at ridding the world of the Dark Lord's final Horcrux. Even if he got Fleur, the wards were still up and she wasn't even fit to stand, let alone run, as she was still moaning and in the fetal position on the ground, the curse having been lifted.
There were cuts, bruises, dirt, ash and Merlin knew what else was wrong with her. Her hair had a streak of red in it. But she was alive and if this went well, she could be at the end of the exchange.
Harry exhaled and wiped at his eyes, removing the grit that he'd been forced to blink out of his eyes, though his control of the fire didn't slip. Although his flames were warm, it wasn't the heat that had been causing him to perspire, dropping sweat and whatever dirtied his skin down his face. His breathing was laboured and this respite from putting out magic as quickly as he could, allowed his body to recover.
"If I let the snake go, how do I know you'll let her get away?" Harry asked, eyes continually darting between Fleur and Nagini.
"You let Nagini go, or it won't matter," Voldemort said, giving Fleur another dose of the Unforgivable torture curse.
His fiancée screamed, her voice was hoarse, as she was in indescribable pain.
Harry's grip on the Elder Wand tightened and he fed his power into the darkening flames, fueling it with his hatred, anger, and fury. The circle tightened and the Dark Lord's precious snake screamed stridently.
Riddle's eyes flashed with rage and although he sneered, his chin dipped ever so slightly.
While he'd like to release the snake, he couldn't trust Voldemort would allow her to be portkeyed away.
"How about we both back up ten paces?" Harry said, calling out over the sound of his burning flames. "We each walk, slowly, to each other's positions." It wasn't a perfect plan but it was about the best he'd come up with.
Voldemort took a step back when his movements were halted by Fleur calling out. "Non, 'Arry, kill 'er I-"
Whatever else she was going to say was cut off as Riddle stepped forward and bludgeoned her face with his boot.
Harry was too far away to see what damage might have done to her but the lack of scream might have meant she was knocked out, though a silencing spell might have been placed on her too.
"Back off your flames as we move or I'll have to put her in a deadly trap too."
Nodding, Harry began to move, matching Riddle step for step.
He could feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat as he counted each backward step, un, deux, and then trois.
He could sense the death and decay of all the plants, grass and trees around. Their battle thus far had spared the imminent collapse of The Burrow, but debris and spellfire had surely impacted it.
Harry took another series of steps as he tried to steady his laboured breathing, un, deux trois, un, deux trois.
Yet, through all of this, he knew, this would be the end. Riddle would be coming after him full bore. And even if he didn't, there was no way he could keep this up for too much longer. His ritual enhanced body was tiring; the amount of magic he'd used was staggering to consider and he felt shaky, jittery like his energy levels were beginning to deplete.
But he wouldn't falter, not now.
Un, deux, trois, another three steps and they were passing each other, twenty paces away, both of their wands levelled at each other, waiting, looking for a hint of deceit.
Yet none came, even as they stepped apart further, un, deux, trois, neither party willing to risk that which was precious to them, un, deux, trois.
As Harry continued to edge closer to Fleur, he couldn't sense any magic that was waiting or intending to harm her and so he eased off on the fire caging in Nagini.
Taking a steadying breath, he counted off the last three steps, un, deux, trois, and then went straight to Fleur, no longer caring if he paced with Riddle, letting his magic dissipate.
With a few silent spells, he could see she was okay, or, she wasn't in immediate danger of dying. Whether she had broken under torture or had anything lasting issues would require an actual healer. As accomplished as Harry was, this was an area where the only spells he knew were how to abate pain and freeze things in place so he could continue fighting.
The question was, what was he going to do with her now?
He was still on the field, literally the Weasley's field, or what was left of it, and he couldn't portkey her away. As far as his senses could tell, all forms of travel out of the wards, beyond physically walking outside of them, were disabled.
Brushing the hair out of her bloodied, battered, and bruised face, he let out a sigh.
"Harry Potter," the acidic voice of Riddle said, the pitch and lack of resonance grating on his nerves. "This is your final opportunity, join me," he extended his hand, "or die like all others have before me."
Although it was not the time, Harry couldn't help but snort and roll his eyes. He'd had enough of the grandiose claims and it was time to end this.
Focusing for a moment, he hollowed out the ground below Fleur, levitating and lowering her unconscious form down. Then, using the material he'd just dug out, he hardened it and turned it into a rock surface, only after putting a bubblehead charm on Fleur. All he needed now was a little time to pour magic into it and make it nigh impregnable unless Voldemort was given a good minute to work at it unhindered.
"You've taken my parents from me, you've taken Horace, and countless others," Harry said, looking down at his feet and though his voice was quiet, the stillness around them allowed his voice to carry. "And worst of all, you still don't understand that you failed Salazar's test."
By the end of his words, with the Elder Wand behind his back, his outpouring of magic, the strengthening of defences, was practically done. In just a few more moments, Fleur would be protected, encased in magically protected rock.
"What did you say?" Voldemort asked, demanding to know, his voice filled with anger.
"You failed," Harry repeated himself, his voice louder now, carrying across the barren landscape. "You aren't worthy and you never were."
Feeling the surge of angry magic, Harry felt the spell before it even was formed, A wave of pure hatred and loathing shot out at him, green in colour, and a spell as foul as they come. But, with the distance between them, it was easy to sidestep the killing curse.
"You're not his heir," Harry said, his chin drawn up. He felt his resolve build, his confidence strengthen. There was only one of them that had learned from Salazar Slytherin the way he hoped an heir would. "There is only one heir…me."
More spells flew at him erratically, though as the Snake began to head off, meaning to come around him, flank him, when a new noise was heard, the displacement of air, the beating of wings. And as the new sound was heard by all, the start of renewed hostilities paused.
Although Harry was already confident and wholly determined to end this here and now, the sudden return of Cuddles buoyed his spirits further. With his dragon on his side, he could task Cuddles with ending the final Horcrux as he took on his nemesis.
Announcing her presence, Cuddles gave a shuddering roar and blew a torrent of flames at the overgrown serpent.
As Harry looked back across at Riddle, he saw for the first time an uneasiness. And though this was a good sign, he doubted it wouldn't be accompanied by an all-out assault.
With a mental command, Cuddles let out another ear-splitting roar, challenging Nagini. She let out a gust of flames and then tore after the slithering serpent.
Harry could tell Riddle was reinforcing the magic in his familiar, probably trying to beef her up. But he trusted Cuddles and prepared himself.
He felt the spells coming before he saw them. Voldemort was casting with a crazed frenzy, whipping spell after spell, each as deadly as the next.
Harry concentrated as much as he could, feeling the magic as it came, looking out for surprises. He dodged what he could, neutralized the magic that threatened to detonate around him and shielded what he had to.
As the seconds ticked on, Harry could tell Voldemort wasn't tiring in the least, he was only now unleashing his full arsenal and testing his tactics.
"You think I am not worthy?" Voldemort said, hissing the words with unfettered malice. "Me, Lord Voldemort, the greatest practitioner of rituals the world has ever known? The most powerful wizard to have ever lived?"
As Harry ducked a spell that would have bludgeoned his head into a fine pulp, he shielded against the incoming rubble by transfiguring an earthen wall into existence, banishing the parts that broke off back at Voldemort blindly.
"It is not power that makes a man, nor ambition, nor wits," Harry said, paraphrasing a part of the final memoir of Salazar Slytherin.
Riddle yelled in rage. "Power is all that matters," he screamed, unleashing another barrage of spells that nearly ended Harry's life.
With his entire being focused on staying alive, Harry dodged again, this time getting peppered by an exploding curse that landed a half dozen feet in front of him, rocks, and chunks of earth impacting his body.
Although his scaled armour blunted it, Harry could feel the toll this was taking. Voldemort had more power, he seemed to recover faster, and worst of all, he had more skill and finesse to go along with his decades of combat experience.
"Character," Harry said, finally managing to bite out the word between his ragged breaths, the taste of dirt on his tongue. "Character makes a man, and empathy allows him to not be a monster."
Needing a break, Harry turned the ample amounts of rubble into hastily made animations. He went for quality over quantity here, giving them orders to spread out and then swarm at Riddle, to hopefully allow him a quick breather.
As he put up a wall and hardened it against magic, or a handful of spells from the Dark Lord, he looked back to the battle of the fighting familiars.
The body and tail of the serpent were wrapped around Cuddles' lower body, and the head was trying to bite at her neck but Cuddle's front legs were holding her off, and her snout was about to snap shut on the snake.
As the jaws clenched, the snake let out a shriek, it's body spasming. It shot back but because it was still wrapped around a massive dragon, all it did was pull both of them off balance, sending them tumbling into and then through The Burrow.
If there had been any hope for salvaging the home, it was now squashed. Literally.
Just before Harry tore his eyes back from the battle royale of two enormous magical creatures duking it out, he saw the spark of flame at the back of Cuddle's throat and knew she was going to try and roast herself some snake.
And as great as that would have been to see, the destruction of his rock wall took priority. Putting up a hastily erected shield, Harry's magic absorbed the blow and he crouched before springing to the side, while simultaneously dissolving another deadly spell.
As great as he was doing at going toe-to-toe with the Dark Lord, it was increasingly clear that this was becoming a deadly war of attrition, one where a single mistake could be the end of him. Harry knew he couldn't just defend, he'd make a mistake and that would be it.
But that still left the major issue he was having. Voldemort was too fast, too strong, and his unrelenting assault didn't leave him a single opening to return fire. All he could do was hang on for dear life.
More spells flew at him, forcing Harry to shield and dodge more than ever. Riddle, the genius that he was, was adapting to his style sending more explosions around him, forcing him to shield them before impact, tiring him out greatly. He couldn't just allow himself to be bombarded with the shrapnel and bits of earth that flew from each spell.
As he kept up this new strategy, Harry was getting further battered and bruised. His arms were sluggish, one of his eyes could only see blurry images, having been hit by a rock, and his legs were on fire, overworked and full of lactic acid.
No matter how strong and ritually enhanced his body was, he could feel it coming, the end was nigh and unavoidable.
Already he'd taken a deadly spell off the chest. And no matter how powerful the Elder Wand was, it couldn't make up for the fact Harry was a lesser wizard than the incarnation of evil that was raining what felt like hellfire and brimstone at him.
He'd done too many extra rituals, he had too much experience and was far more of an accomplished fighter.
As another blasting spell went off just beside him, Harry was thrown off his feet and sent sprawling through the air, landing on the ground with a loud thump, not that he could hear it with his ears ringing.
It was instinct alone that saved him, the Elder Wand powering a shield of pure desperation before it collapsed under the weight of a second spell, a Killing Curse. As Harry had been in the process of standing, he felt the malice in the spell, not being able to even see it. And, doing the only thing he could, he dropped, flattening himself onto the ground, hoping, praying.
Luckily, the spell was aimed too high and went right on over him. As soon as it passed, he got back to his feet, if he'd stayed stationary he'd die.
It was mindless now, operating on pure instinct beat into his body from countless hours of training. It was as if his conscious brain had shut down and only his subconscious was capable of continuing as his lungs desperately gasped for air, burning from the lack of oxygen, from the excess of smoke and dirt he'd inhaled.
By this point, he couldn't taste, he could barely see, and his ears were still ringing, or half deaf. If it hadn't been for the respite of spells, he may not have even noticed that Riddle had halted his spell casting.
Harry sank to his knees and sucked in air as his heart desperately pounded, trying to work some oxygen through his body. While he used his hand to brace himself, he craned his neck up and saw what had pulled Voldemort's attention from the imminent killing of his prey.
Cuddles.
Cuddles had once again saved him.
The burning carcass of a giant snake had been cast off of her and the putrid smell of charred flesh invaded even his dulled sense, the thick smoke burning his eyes. Though to most it would be a horrendous smell, to Harry, it smelled of hope, courage and was like a shot of adrenaline to his system.
Using the hand he had on the ground, he pushed himself up and mentally called Cuddles' attention to be on the Dark Lord. No doubt he'd try for retribution.
Then, as if the realization of what had just occurred had hit Voldemort, he let forth a pained cry of unquenchable wrath.
"I'm going to kill you, Harry Potter," he said, disdain dripping from every word. "I'm going to make you watch as I burn your familiar alive and cook the flesh of your fiancée. And only after you hear the pained screams of your closest friends, of everyone you knew and who might have loved you, then, and only then, will I consider ending your pitiful existence."
If the malevolent presence of the Dark Lord hadn't been evident before, the feelings of pure maliciousness and vengeance were palpable now. The monster before him was exuding magic at such a rate that Harry felt himself draw back.
All the while, Harry hadn't been idle. He'd been creating dragons made from Cuddle's special fire, smaller ones, the size of bludgers, with the command to try and divebomb the Dark Lord after flying high and staying out of range.
But while Harry had been putting together an offence, even if he was stuck defending again, Voldemort had been preparing a spell, a work of magic that was beyond powerful. It was a spell that must, at its primal roots, be wholly evil.
As Harry began to fashion another dragon, and Cuddles was leaping into the air, taking off, preparing to rain down fire upon her master's enemy, Voldemort struck.
Huge chains came up from the ground, sickly looking, as black as night. There was a sense of wrongness to them, a galling animus that couldn't be shaken. And as the chains touched Cuddles, she shrieked in agony.
The forward momentum she had built up died in its infancy. Instead, she was pulled to the earth and no amount of rolling or fighting back could pull her off the ground.
These chains felt like manifestations from the underworld. Only from the depths of hell itself could something feel so wrong.
Harry began casting magic at the chains but everything he threw at them was reflected. It was as if he was throwing rocks at the chain anchoring a battleship. No matter what he threw at it, they wouldn't be budged. He couldn't even knick them or cause visible damage.
"You can't end them," Voldemort said, calling out in triumph with sadistic glee as he advanced on the restrained dragon. "Now you get to watch as a piece of your soul is devoured."
He'd been charging forward, hoping to desperately defend his dear friend but Voldemort's words stopped him. A piece of his soul? Did the Dark Lord think he'd been lying? That he'd split his soul and had a living Horcrux as Riddle had had with Nagini?
As the thoughts rolled through his head, the words of a horrendous and truly terrifying spell were muttered. "Fiendfyre," the madman said.
Dark red and black flames emerged from the end of Riddle's yew and phoenix feather wand, taking the shapes of great magical beasts. The fire was furious, angry at all living things and heading towards his faithful friend, the one Harry had been able to count on to save his life.
But what could he do? All he knew about the spell was to flee and keep away from it, for the flames hated and devoured all.
Staring at the oncoming inferno, Harry felt the first cracks in his resolve, his courage.
He'd been so sure he was going to find a way to pull this off, that he'd be the conquering hero that defends his beau and returns to his family and friends victorious against insurmountable odds.
And while he'd almost won with his fiery dragons, he knew none now remained, and even if there was one, what could they do against such reckless hate?
Harry sunk to his knees as bile filled his throat. Riddle was going to roast Cuddles alive..and then Fleur. He was going to hunt down his family and friends and torture them all, all in an effort to be as cruel and vindictive as possible to Harry.
Was he just going to accept that?
Was he just going to lie down and accept his fate?
Gripping his wand, an inaudible answer called from within him.
No! No! No!
He would not just lay down and die!
He'd fight. He'd give every ounce of effort he had, he'd step through hell's gates before he'd give up and let Cuddles and Fleur be burned alive.
And yet, even with his renewed spirit, what could he do?
But it was then, with only a fool's hope, that inspiration struck.
It was a play of pure desperation and all that he had left.
Harry shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, centring himself, counting to three, un, deux, trois, before exhaling and opening his eyes.
He was calm now and ready to give this a shot.
Calling upon his willpower, he fashioned it into the sharpest of edges. Picturing the effect, he put all his creativity to work, giving this shape. With his intent, he gave it purpose and with his magical power, he put it all together.
Gripping the Elder Wand with both hands he cast a nameless spell, a silent spell. But bursting forth from the tip, pure white fire came forth, fire full of righteousness, and purity. It was filled by the untarnished love, care, and affection he had for Cuddles, his fiancées, his family and his friends.
The pure white fire shot forth impossibly fast, putting itself in front of the incoming Fiendfyre, creating a wall that he kept expanding, stretching it to the very height of the wards entrapping them there. And though Harry would love to have kept his eyes open and watching, he had to concentrate, he had to focus with every fibre of his being.
He dropped to his knees, so he didn't even need to concentrate on his balance.
He held his breath so he didn't need to concentrate on breathing. And he'd swear that his heart stopped at this moment too.
His entire being, his entire purpose, was singularly focused. With everything that he was, Harry expanded the fire, pushing it out, enveloping Cuddles, himself and more and more of the surrounding area.
He continued to push it, ever faster, all around the area, not allowing Voldemort a chance to flee, fully surrounding him, forcing him to fight against it.
It was just like being in the Chamber of Secrets again, except this time, he was outside in a burnt-out landscape, without any walls or structures around, just wards trapping him, keeping them in.
Every millisecond Harry expanded the fire and refused to allow it to be tarnished or pulled from his control. Without conscious thought, he began lifting his hand high above his head and slowly began to wave the Edler Wand in a circle as it was pointed to the heavens.
And with the greatest concentration, the most breathtaking of feats, Harry began a firestorm. At the eye of the storm was Harry, on his knees his wand conducting the rotation of the flames like a maestro directing his orchestra. And though they may have started to move at a glacial pace, they quickly picked up momentum and moved as if they were pushed and fed by the gale-force winds of a hurricane.
Somehow, while pulling off this feat of magic, he could hear everything, the sound of an intense fire that had never been achieved before, burning, combusting everything and anything in its path. And yet, with all the great noise, anything and everything was drowned out.
There was only a single point of resistance in the firestorm, one that was forcing it away, keeping it from incinerating the entire area.
But it couldn't last, nothing could survive this firestorm.
If his eyes had been opened, they wouldn't have seen, couldn't have seen. It was an unending avalanche of snowfall, great sheets of white cast all-around at once but made of flame and the brightest of whites.
Everything burned. Nothing withstood it.
But Harry kept it up, he pushed everything he had into it. Even as blood dripped out of his nose, as it ran out of his ears, he pushed on. He couldn't feel his pulse, he couldn't form coherent thoughts. All he could do was continue on and break past his limits until he fell forward, face down and the magic feeding his flames diminished.
How long he lay in the dirt, tasting it, he would never know. He lay there, letting his magic replenish, hoping his senses would return, and all his breath to breath life into him.
His chest rose and fell but not a single living thing made a noise.
Harry's ribs pushed in and out, his heart beat normally and the sound of his breathing was all that there was. Second after second, minute after minute, he lay there, no thoughts entered into his mind.
All he could do was lay still and simply be.
Whether he'd dozed in and out of consciousness, he didn't know. The first thing he felt different was the sound of leathery wings flapping, followed by the sound of dirt being depressed by a weight before he felt scales rubbing up against his face.
Turning his head, with great effort, he cracked open his good eye and saw his scaled familiar, with his bleary eyes. Cuddles was small enough to fit into his pocket and regardless of her health, she nuzzled up against his cheek.
Harry couldn't have stopped his lips from curving into a smile, even if it was a struggle for him to do so.
He tried to sit up but it took three efforts to get out of his prone position. Once he was there, he looked around but there was nought to see.
There was dirt, there was Cuddles, there were rocks, and nothing else.
The white flames had cleansed all. There wasn't a corpse around to see, nor was there any evidence The Burrow had once been there.
Sitting there, he let it all hit him.
Had he defeated Riddle? Was he finally free?
Groaning, Harry made slow deliberate movements to roll over onto his hands and knees. Each movement was agony. His body felt like a motor that had been removed of all its oil and lubricants. Theoretically, he should be able to bend his arms, wrists and knees, but the experience was painful. Though, minute by minute, energy was returning to him, his magic replenishing.
Harry looked over the barren landscape and focused on his breathing. He needed to stand and then find Fleur but as he tried to stand, his legs gave out and he crashed into the scorched, soot-covered earth.
As Harry laid on his back, he felt his little dragon curl up on his chest, no doubt enjoying his body heat, and he lost himself in the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.
He was alive, he knew that much but his thoughts were still a struggle to string together into more than a singular coherent thought.
So he let his head lay into the blackened earth and shut his eyes.
There was such a peace and calmness that had come upon him at that moment. His thoughts drifted to his parents, but not the terror-filled last few moments of their lives, a young Harry in his crib, his parents humming a tune. There were scenes and feelings of him flying, on his Nimbus, on his Firebolt, and on the back of a Hippogriff with arms wrapped tightly around him.
As Harry lay on the ground, awaiting the return of a fully functioning body, he saw friends new and old, he saw his parent's friends, and his professors, teachers, and mentors. But most of all, he saw Natalia's brown eyes staring up at him, the two of them dancing and walking with hands clasped together. Fleur's blue eyes full of love as they walked around her home, of Daphne sitting in her chair, studying, a cute inquisitive look on her face, her nose buried in a book.
As he sat there and let his mind be awash in memories of his fiancées, he heard a soft noise, a soft crunching of soil, only audible from the complete dearth of other noises, save his own heartbeat and breathing.
He rolled his head left and then right, looking around for the source of the noise but he didn't see anything.
He let out a weary sigh, resigning himself to have to sit up again.
But before he moved, he felt Cuddles kick off his chest, flap her wings, and fly away from him.
With more strength then he'd had previously, he sat up and then rubbed at his bleary eyes. Blinking three times, he looked over and found the source of the disturbance.
Fleur was walking towards him, well, limping really. There was a gash on her bad leg, blood, soot, and soil had mixed together, coagulating the wound. Her once lustrous hair was clumped together, full of a gross mixture of blood, ash, and dirt. One of her eyes was bruised and swollen shut, a trail of dried blood stemmed from her nose, and there was probably more under the filth she was covered in.
And it wasn't just the physical injuries he could see, nor the marring of her natural beauty that showed her ordeal, Fleur's clothes were ripped, stained and had holes in them, though, miraculously, her chest was still covered. The armour she had donned today was mostly missing, as he could see the majority of her bare stomach.
While he watched her make his way to him, grimacing with every laboured step, Cuddles landed on her shoulder and began to rub her head up against Fleur before affectionately nipping at her ear.
If he could have risen, he would have but he doubted he would do more than fall after a step or two. And so he rested his head back in the dirt and awaited her arrival, listening to her approaching footsteps.
"Are you okay, 'Arry?" Fleur said, the earlier screaming must have left her throat raw, as it was still hoarse and raspy.
Bringing his head up, he saw she was nearly at his side and he sat back up, inviting her to join him. Fleur brought her wand out and with an unsteady hand, she attempted to transfigure a pile of blackened rubble. But, as she sat, Harry could feel the magic waver, and it only amounted to a very poor attempt at a bench.
Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the uneven bench seat that was in the dirt, as it was missing legs and lacked an armrest on the other side. He looked at her, and then patted the ground beside him, causing some ash to puff up.
"I think I'm okay," Harry said, finally answering her question. "Just overdid my magic usage…"
Though he'd trained to the point of exhaustion many times, this was far worse than anything he'd experienced before. And, he wondered if he'd even pulled the magic out of Cuddles as she was in her small form now.
"And you?"
Fleur leaned up against him and Harry could feel the tremors affecting her body, even the hand that had been placed on his was shaking.
"I'll live," she said after taking a deep, steadying breath. "You really did it, though, 'Arry?"
Harry shrugged this time, honestly, he didn't know for sure. All he knew was he'd used his fire to stymie the Fiendfyre before he filled the entire area with fire, forcing it to constantly grow and not leave any space under the wards. Either Voldemort had tunnelled underground or he'd been turned to ash in the firestorm.
"I believe so," he said, weakly extending the small bits of magic he had to feel around. The wards were still up, he could tell that but if he'd anchored them with a ward stone, then his demise wouldn't impact that. All around him he felt a dearth of magic. His final magical act had removed any traces of magic that had existed elsewhere.
"Why 'asn't anyone arrived?" Fleur asked, her head resting on his shoulder.
Harry pressed his fingers into the soil and grabbed a handful of it. "Until those wards are down, nobody is coming to help us," he said as he opened his hand and let the dirt pool fall between his fingers. "Give me an hour and I'll be good to go."
Fleur hummed in response and let stretched out, lying down, her head coming to rest in his lap.
As Harry stroked her clumped hair, his thoughts drifted to the incredible young woman. Not only had she survived facing Voldemort, she'd been willing to stay behind and try to kill his Horcrux. And though she'd been impressive in the Forbidden Forest, and her training, he couldn't help but shake his head at her willingness to follow him into perilous plights.
"What are you going to do now?" Fleur said, her soft voice drifting up to him.
Harry shut his eyes and thought about it, realizing how crazy this was all going to be. "I'll need to talk with Amelia, Daphne and Natalia," he said, opening his eyes and looking off into the distance. "I'll have to release a press statement and do an interview, though Amelia will probably help with that. After that, uh..."
Fleur's musical laughter filled his ears and Harry realized how free and unburdened his shoulders felt.
"I meant, what are you going to do with your life now that you've won?"
Harry chuckled and tried to brush some dirt off of Fleur's cheeks. "I'll live," he said, the fact that he was no longer under the threat of a Dark Lord coming for him was just beginning to dawn on him. "I'll travel around the world, exploring the depths of magic, spend time with Natalia, Daphne and you, and marry you all and have a family."
Her hand came up and caressed his jaw. "I like the sound of that, 'Arry," she said, smiling up at him, even as another tremor shook her body.
Grabbing her hand, he brought it up to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss. "So do I," Harry said, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. "So do I."
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