Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 19 - The First Battle

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Flame and smoke roiled in the air from the battle below, bearing the odour of burnt flesh and blood into the secure compound guarding the rookery of the dragons, where Harry and the others waited. The earth shook as the giants, fighting their common enemies below, cast stones the size of train-cars crashing down upon their foes. Howls, screeches, and the roar of dragon-fire reverberated between the stone walls, echoing down the canyons and pitching wildly between Harry's ears. He couldn't see the battle raging on the mountainside below, none of them could. But then, they didn't need to see what was happening to know that it was not going well. The burning odour was growing stronger, the shaking earth was more severe, and the howls and screeches filled the air more than ever. The battle was coming closer, higher up the mountain. Soon, it would be at the compound walls.

Harry grew more anxious by the moment. His first instinct had been to attack outright, but both Antreas and Dakhil had stopped him. Ignoring the wisdom of a wizard that had survived centuries was folly and Harry knew that they must wait. The second wave would attack when their enemies were most weary. If Harry's force could break their lines, if they could keep heel to throat, perhaps the advancing darkness would retreat down the mountain, down to where Lucius Malfoy, now possessed by Voldemort, most certainly waited.

When the first wave began its attack, Harry had quietly sent the best Centaur archers high onto the mountainside leading down from the North gate. Hiding high in the hills, they would flank the advancing darkness and strike when Harry gave the signal. Along the edges of the other side of the valley, Harry sent the two remaining giants, Florge and Scrum, to wait hidden among the rocks. There they would hold the higher ground, preventing any Death Eaters from running away from the onslaught of Centaur arrows. Once they were set into position, the giants looked like a large outcropping of stone, nothing more. With luck they would mow down dozens with their clubs, large tree trunks bristling with barbed metal pikes the length of Harry's arm.

Hearing, smelling, feeling the first wave retreat back toward the main gate, Harry impatiently waited to lead the second wave through a hidden gate that skirted the side of the valley wall. Then they would know if there was any hope at all. Already, Centaur runners brought back reports that the number of the enemy was twice what was first thought - over two-hundred Dementors, nearly a hundred vampires, dozens of wizards, and five giants of their own. Clearly, the numbers were against them and they all knew it.

About a small fire, Harry sat with Dakhil and two other members of the Votary, Mikael and Katana. Dakhil was roasting sausages skewered on the end of a Centaur spear. Mikael was a large man, Ukrainian he said, with dark brown hair and a perpetual three days' growth of beard. Half of his left ear was missing and he had a wildness about his piercing blue eyes that, as Dakhil described, would frighten any living soul that dared to cross wands with him. As for Katana, she was quiet, almost subdued. Even sightless, Harry could discern how her black skin contrasted against the silver mail ringlets that covered her upper torso. Set against her quiet manner was the red aura that burned fiercely from her soul, perhaps the most intense Harry had ever seen. Unlike Mikael, she rarely spoke, but when she did it almost always carried import. The fire crackled and the sausages popped, sending a steaming squirt of burning fat onto Mikael's arm. He yelped, but Dakhil only laughed.

"I wish that was the only sting you would receive tonight, Mikael," said the vampire, grimly staring into the fire, turning the sausages on the spear and watching the dripping grease send little flares of flame lapping upwards.

"How you are hungry, Dakhil," replied Mikael, shaking his head and moving close once again to warm himself by the fire. "They arrive at doorstep before you finish." Again, Dakhil laughed.

"You should know by now, my Ukrainian friend," said Dakhil with a smile, "I don't eat sausages. The boy here looked a bit faint and I thought he should build up his strength." He held the point of the spear before Harry's face, the sizzling sausage splattering specks of hot fat against the shield charm protecting Harry's exposed face. "One should never meet their maker on an empty stomach."

"Thank you," Harry said with a thin smile. He took the sausage between thumb and forefinger, but it neither seared nor burned. Without flinching, Harry slid the sausage off the spear's metal point and took a bite. Once again, he detected a momentary smile in the aura of Dakhil. To the vampire's left, Katana let out a small snigger. She stood, her ringlets jingling as she did so, and then she looked upward to the night sky where the smaller dragon Tanwen circled.

"Even as Ebyrth reveals itself to the world, Asha's blessing is upon you, young wizard," she said with a low voice that was calm and as deep as the lake outside Hogwarts. "This is good... for the time has come. Prepare."

Scantly had the words left her lips than a tremendous roar exploded overhead. Talisan, the largest of the four dragons, appeared from no where, plummeting from the sky, streaking fire and smoke behind him and smashing to the ground, tumbling into a group of wizards that most certainly would have died in the collision had not Katana turned their attention toward the wall when she stood. Immediately, pandemonium struck the camp. Even though many knew their posts, some wizards called out to attack directly through the main gate, some scattered for the secret side gate, some ran toward the mountain's tunnels. The Centaurs were calling for patience, and all were yelling at the top of their lungs.

"SILENCE!" cried Dakhil, his voice reverberating off the canyon walls. "Everyone, move in formation toward the North gate! There we wait until the sign comes."

"But--"

"We will attack when the sign comes; not before! NOW MOVE!"

While the confusion subsided, Harry moved toward the fallen dragon.

"Where are you going?" questioned Dakhil.

"Talisan needs help," answered Harry continuing to walk to the dragon.

"Your orders were to--"

"I know what the plan is, Dakhil! I made it!" Harry yelled.

"We don't have time for this, boy!"

"I have all the time I need," snapped Harry in retort. "Now go! Lead the others and I'll join you when I'm done."

"Marek can care for the--"

"GO!"

With his wand still sheathed, Harry concentrated his mind. Bending space was easier than slowing time, even Ronan, his Centaur trainer, had admitted that. But Harry needed time, even just a little more to save Talisan's life. Right now, he was compelled. He felt that healing the dragon was more important than all the rest of it. He wasn't sure why, but he had to do what he could. He centred on the words Ronan had taught him.

In forest glen, the babbling brook is filled with silver fish.

Slow its flow and deny each drip to put them on your dish.

The sounds about Harry became muffled. He sensed that the auras running to the North gate were slowing, slowing... not still, but nearly. Harry summoned the Stone of Cinnabar from within him. Still bloody, he cast a fire spell upon it.

"Bravery, Wisdom, Love," he whispered and was instantly transported to the white room that waited for his command. "Talisan," he whispered, and was immediately drawn to the dragon.

He'd healed a cat before, but never a dragon. At first he could see the enormous creature prone on the ground, the three wizards surrounding it frozen in time, but the dragon looked up toward Harry, blinking as if it could see him. Talisan's breathing was erratic and he coughed blood and smoke. Then, as always, the scene paused, as if asking Harry to confirm that this indeed was the action he wished to take. "Heal my friend," Harry whispered again. Colour began to swirl about... broken bones... stunned nerves... sliced organs...a pierced lung... blood dripping on the fires of life... "Yes, heal them... heal them all."

The scene flashed black and Harry found himself broken from his trance, sprawled on his hands and knees, the jagged rocks tearing at his flesh, the stone of Cinnabar in his left hand. Before moving he pulled his wand and hid the stone once more inside his body, in the little pocket left by missing liver tissue. And once again, he thought of Greg Goyle and said a small prayer. Before he looked up he heard the dragon speak. His words were unsteady, but Harry could see that his injuries were healing.

"We must hurry," Talisan said, "the... the second wave... I must--"

"You must stay here," cut in Harry. "You must rest."

"I can't. It is my duty to--"

"It's your duty to listen to the bearer of the ring." It was another voice, the dragon Tanwen; Harry knew that, but she was nowhere near. She was still flying high above the rookery. Harry wondered how he could be having this conversation, how...

"The ring," he whispered, touching the stone with his other hand. He took to his feet, rubbing the black stone between his fingers. He expected to feel somewhat dizzy after healing the dragon, but he wasn't. Without turning, he noticed that the auras were beginning to funnel out through the North gate just as the injured were coming in from the main gate. They would need help too. He moved to see what he could do when Marek stopped him.

"Let me take care of the injured, Harry. If you don't execute like we had planned, we have no hope of winning and all will be lost, not just a few lives, but hundreds." Once more, Harry glanced to the injured streaming in. There was a strong urge to heal them all. Many were near death. For a moment he hesitated and then he grudgingly nodded his head.

"Right," said Marek. "Get going."

Harry ran to the side gate, reaching it in seconds. He could hear Marek calling for help from the other Healers to get the injured inside the caves. When Harry passed through the gate, it sealed behind him leaving no trace that an opening was ever there.

The group of wizards and Centaurs making up the second wave had not moved far past the gate. They were carefully, quietly, edging their way around the flank of their enemy. As Harry moved about one of the larger rock formations, he had his first chance to detect the advancing army. It looked formidable, but not a three to one advantage. For a moment he had forgotten the Dementors, creatures whose auras he could not see, but the moment did not last long. The wind shifted and the cool stench of their flesh filled the air. For an instant... from the canyon just below... Was he imagining it? Harry thought he could actually hear them talking to each other. He'd never heard anything but the clicks Dementors made when communicating, but this... it sounded like words. Whatever it was he was hearing, they were close. He resisted the temptation to wretch just as two of his own wizards fell to their knees in fear.

There was the faint chirp of some insect, the sign, and the air immediately rang with the whistling of arrows. The Centaurs high in position among the cliffs let go their first volley. Screeches of Dementor and vampire alike bubbled up out of the canyon like a thick ooze of pain. An instant later, another volley of arrows filled the air, followed by more screams; then another... and another. Moving his way to the front of the contingent making up the attacking second wave, Harry could hear wizards cry out from below for their lines to turn toward the side of the mountain.

"Shields!" someone called. The next volley struck many still off guard, but was less successful among the wary wizards. Harry continued to advance until he came to Dakhil's shoulder.

"Miss me?" Harry whispered. Dakhil seemed distracted.

"They're unsettled," he said quietly. "If we're going to do this, boy, we must do it now to tilt any chance of surprise. They await your command." A burst of exasperated disgust left Dakhil's lips, but Harry didn't hesitate.

"Strike now!" he commanded. "ATTACK!"

Arrows from the Centaurs stationed on the rocks above continued to rain down upon the rear of the line of Death Eaters, vampires and Dementors that had now driven Antreas' first wave back through the main gate of the compound wall. Even as the front of Malfoy's dark force was cheering for victory, calling for their giants to sunder the great wall protecting the compound, others at the rear were screaming with fear. The wizards and Centaurs in Harry's second wave cascaded down the mountainside firing arrows and filling the smoky air with an electrifying display of wand power. Spell after spell stunned, exploded and slashed their adversaries. Fear was palpable and its effect began to ripple its way toward the front. Harry could sense their auras fading against the onslaught. The Dementors could feel it too and they began to consume souls indiscriminately. It was Katana who described to Harry how, in some sort of frenzied state they began feeding on the fear of their own warriors. As the frightened minions tried to scramble up the opposite hillside they came face to face with the hidden giants.

Florge and Scrum rose as if ascending from the stone itself. With great strokes of their clubs they swatted their foes back into the advancing force, back into the frenzied Dementors, back into a boiling broth of disorder that had now made its way to the front of the lines.

What at first seemed like a rout of Harry's side was being flipped upon its head. Centaur arrows were dropping non-wizard vampires from the sky with nearly every draw of the string. Emboldened by the success of the second wave, the healthy in Antreas' original attacking force regrouped and began another charge. Werewolves that had scattered to the mountainside retreating from their first attack also sensed the change and returned to the fray.

Squeezed on both sides and pressed to the fore, Lucius Malfoy's army retreated back down the mountain. With all the confusion, Harry and many of the others in his second wave found themselves in the middle of Malfoy's retreating force. They had essentially split their enemy's force into two, allowing one half to retreat freely down the mountain while trapping the other in a great pincher. Harry and his forces had the lower ground while Antreas and the others pressed in from above. What followed was utter destruction.

Rakesh appeared from on high and began to dive toward the dazed and disordered warriors.

"Back!" cried Harry to the others. He heard similar cries from Antreas and his men further up the mountain. The werewolves did not head the warning. "BACK!" Harry yelled again. The Death Eaters were too distracted trying to handle the attacking werewolves and their own crazed Dementors to notice the dragon moving in.

When Harry's men moved away, the vision of auras cleared and he distinctly noticed three werewolves still tearing at the flesh of their enemies. One of them was Fred Weasley; Harry could sense his anger, his hatred, his thirst to destroy.

"FRED!" Harry screamed. "GET OUT OF THERE!" But Fred was a werewolf and nothing Harry could do would stop that. Then Igneus appeared on the flank of Rakesh; both were diving down on their encircled enemies. Soon it would all be over. Harry began to run, not away but toward his friend and the mayhem of the battle before him. Even as stunners ricocheted off in every direction and Killing Curses took down one creature after another, Harry ran. He leapt onto the red fur of Fred's back, knocking him to the ground.

The werewolf spun, opened his great jaws and grabbed Harry by the throat. Only the light shield charm about Harry's face was keeping him from being bitten through, but it wouldn't last long if Fred truly desired blood. On his back, his senses facing forward, he could detect the two giant auras of the dragons racing toward them. They had only seconds. Harry held his hands about Fred's neck, and pressed the black onyx ring against his friend's flesh.

"Be still," he ordered. "Be still, my friend."

The grip about Harry's neck loosened slightly and, in that moment, Harry spun them both to the ground and cast a shield charm. The world erupted in fire. Screams filled the air only to be silenced an instant later by another blast of heat and flame. The werewolf in Harry's arms struggled to break free, but not wholly.

"Get off of me, you bloody idiot," Harry heard him howl. "I swear I'll gut you!"

"The ring," Harry thought. "I hear him through the ring."

"Fred, listen..." said Harry sharply. "Hold still, just one more moment. The heat... the heat will--" The werewolf broke free of Harry's grasp and threw himself against the shield charm surrounding them. It held from within. Again he charged the shield and this time broke through. He yipped as his paws burned against the scorching earth, but in a flash he was gone, chasing after the part of the army that had fled down the mountainside.

With the shield charm gone, Harry could smell the burning stench about him. Where seconds before stood dozens of men and creatures, now only three lone wizards remained - Death Eaters that had seen the dragons in time and had shield charms of their own. One, seeing Harry stand in the glowing embers without his shield, released his own protective spell and began to run. He took two steps before his feet were in flames. He fell and began to sizzle against the scorched earth. One of the other Death Eaters killed him to release him from the misery. Harry walked toward the remaining two, the heat burning away the dirt that soiled his robes, but leaving the scarlet cloth and his skin unscathed. Somehow being here on the mountain, so close to the dragons, had steeled his ability to withstand the heat.

"It's not possible," said one, the dark haired wizard in black robes that had killed his ally.

"Fool," spat the other, blonde with robes of dark blue. "He's one of them - half-man, half-dragon."

"He's a boy," said the other.

"If this boy," said Harry, moving closer, "drops your shield charm right now, you'll cook to death like your friend there." The dark haired Death Eater raised his wand.

"He's blind!"

"Stop it!" said the other. "Are you mad?! There are scores in the hills around us. We haven't a chance." Harry continued to advance.

"The man you serve," Harry began, now close enough to tap the shield of the dark haired wizard with the tip of his wand, "Lucius Malfoy... where is he?"

"He'll... he'll be here soon enough. You'll see. Then... then you'll--"

"What colour is his hair?" The tip of Harry's wand began to glow red, sending out a pinprick of light onto the light blue shield that surrounded the Death Eater.

"B-Blonde," the Death Eater stammered, staring intently at the red glow.

"And his eyes? What colour are his eyes?"

"There... there red, damn it! He's found a source of true power, and he'll swat the likes of you from the face of the earth. Now get us out of this fire pit!"

"Dakhil!" Harry cried out. "Dakhil!" There was a swooping sound and the wizard flew down next to Harry on the scorched earth. He was in vampire form, the front of his robes stained red with blood that was even now vanishing, burning away from the intense heat.

"Voldemort's alive and he's still in Malfoy," said Harry with a sense of urgency in his voice that was building with anger. "This battle... it's not over. They'll regroup, realize that they still outnumber us, and attack again. We have to press our advantage while we can." Dakhil's lips pulled back into a horrific smile that revealed rows of long, sharp teeth. It was enough to make the Death Eater next to them shudder.

"Very good, boy," he hissed with a deep scratchy voice. The words were not human, but still Harry understood. "I will inform Antreas to pass this dead zone, when he is able, and move down. You will need to tell Rakesh and Igneus."

"What about Talisan?"

"He is well; do you not sense it?" And indeed Harry could and, for a moment, his heart lightened. Dakhil moved to fly when Harry grabbed his arm.

"And the others? How are our numbers?"

"We will most certainly be destroyed this night," cracked Dakhil. "Your comet, Ebyrth, will destroy us all." Dakhil took to the sky and faded into the darkness toward the higher parts of the mountain. As the embers cooled, Harry could sense the others from the second wave moving toward him. They had been victorious, but the numbers... they were half of what they'd left the compound with.

The Centaurs stopped outside the ring of intense heat, but Katana walked though it toward Harry.

"What are your orders, Primate?" she asked. There was a nasty gash on the side of her arm and the side of her face looked like it had some hex. Harry moved toward her and bathed her face in blue light; the boils receded.

"When the area cools, Antreas will move down to join us, but we cannot wait. We must continue the attack. We are searching for their leader, a blonde wizard with red eyes, wearing a dark cloak."

"The Phantom. A Dark Lord, I have heard him called." Her voice was calm, almost calculating.

"He's no lord, Katana," said Harry coolly, "but he will kill anything in his path. Warn the others. We head to the wasp's nest and the stingers there will kill."

"And these two?" she asked, nodding to the Death Eaters still desperately trying to maintain their shield charms.

"Leave them to Antreas," Harry said. "We can't spare the men." Katana raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat. Harry noticed the subtle change in her aura. "Or women," Harry corrected with a smile. "Or women."

Before long, Harry's beleaguered forces were well more than half-way down the mountainside. Soon they would be outside the perimeter that marked the magical border of the dragons' lands. During the entire journey, they had encountered no resistance. All they had found was the occasional fallen wizard or the black cloak of a Dementor; none alive. Katana and Mikael warned that they should not pass the perimeter, that the dragons would not follow beyond, but Harry already knew that. Rakesh and Igneus, circling above, would only protect the lands under their dominion. They would not attack outside it.

"Do you think Voldemort doesn't know that?" he asked, as they continued to march down the mountain. "If we don't crush him now, he'll use the time to rebuild his forces and attack again, more terrible than ever."

"You don't know that."

"I know that--" Suddenly, a Centaur scout, Shamire, appeared, sweat dripping from his flanks. Harry turned to him. "What news?" he asked.

"You were right, Chosen," the Centaur answered. "They have a camp just on the other side of the border. There are wounded everywhere, and lots of yelling. They are in a clearing surrounded by large trees, but the trees... they are not real."

"What?"

"I have never seen anything like it before. The trees look like trees, but they are not; they are dead, a fabrication. The werewolves are circling, but unwilling to enter."

"A barrier?" asked Katana. "To protect the camp."

"Maybe," said Harry, "or something worse. It's always something worse. Shamire, tell the others to be on their guard. The dragons won't fly past the border. It will be up to us to finish the job." As he said these words Harry looked toward the sky and saw the majestic creatures circle back, returning to the compound. "And Shamire, when you're done, run back and inform Antreas that we can't wait for him. We have to attack before they've regained their strength. There's still fear in the air, we have to press the advantage." Shamire nodded and vanished.

Harry and the others arrived outside the clearing. The Centaur had been right; the large tree structures encircling the clearing were dead. To Harry they appeared like massive spires of darkness that shot into the air. Each one was four to five feet across. Harry touched one; it felt like the trunk of a tree, but it was cold, lifeless. Mikael motioned for the others to spread out and encircle the camp. They were outnumbered four to one, but nearly all of their adversaries were lame, in litters or small cots that spread across the open field by the dozens. At one end was a large, black nothingness that rose from the grass to the sky above. Dementors, thought Harry. Could he hear the sound of voices, arguing? Before them was a wizard with an aura more intense than all the others. Harry knew at once who it was.

"Voldemort," he whispered.

A few minutes later, Mikael gave the signal. Harry and many of the others surrounding the camp cast spells to push the massive trees aside. Harry was worried that they might act as an alarm and give away the moment of surprise, but the trees moved. A dozen openings appeared all about the great circle.

The werewolves were the first to leap through. From all directions wizards and Centaurs poured into the field. Arrows, spells and counter-spells streaked across the air. Harry's mind was focused on one thing - the wizard at the far end of the camp surrounded by darkness. Moving closer, he could hear the screams in his mind, but he had learned to control the fears brought on by the Dementors, to control all emotion if need be. Still, as he approached Lucius Malfoy the more angry he became. The blonde wizard's back was toward Harry; he was seemingly oblivious to the onslaught and still speaking with the darkness of Dementors. Were they laughing? Harry didn't care if his foe's back was turned; he would kill this time, avenge so many of the deaths he should have stopped long ago. He was so focused on killing he barely heard Katana cry out.

"They're Muggles!" Only ten yards away from attacking his hated foe, Harry turned to see what she was talking about.

"These aren't wizards!" she yelled at the people laying in the litters and cots that filled the field. "They're Muggles; they've been immobilized."

Harry heard a high cold laugh from behind just as each tree surrounding the field split open with a great white light.

"IT'S A TRAP!" Harry cried, but too late. Wizard vampires and Death Eaters spilled out from the fissures in the trees that had been hiding them. Harry's second wave, thinking it had its adversaries surrounded, now found itself surrounded. The werewolves had already started to attack defenceless Muggles, getting them to turn their attention was proving near impossible.

"Now," hissed Lucius Malfoy. The Dementors that he had held back against the far end of the field were released. Nearly a hundred poured out and over Harry, knocking him over but leaving him alone as they attacked the others. He could have sworn he heard one of them say, "You're lucky, wizard." He knew that there were far too few Centaurs to bring them all down.

Harry turned over on his belly and watched as the lights of souls smashed into one another. They were still outnumbered, only now Harry's men were at the disadvantage and he hadn't the advice of Antreas or the wisdom of Dakhil to know what to do. Or did he?

Rubbing the band of onyx with his thumb, Harry held out his hand toward a familiar group of werewolves that were unsure who to attack.

"Hear me!" Harry called out. One of the werewolves turned immediately. It was Remus.

"Harry?" he yelped.

"The Death Eaters by the trees!" yelled Harry. Remus and the group of werewolves turned toward the trees and ran. All that is but one. Fred remained, with eyes of fire, looking past Harry to the dark wizard behind him. He charged.

"Fred, no!" yelled Harry. "He'll kill y--" A red stunner came from the side, slamming the werewolf to the ground. "Fred!"

All around Harry's group was falling like stunned pixies, some by red light, some by green. Dementors were swirling about as if waiting for the order to suck the souls out of the survivors. Spoils, Harry suspected. Harry looked toward the mountaintop. Where were Antreas' forces?

"I should have waited," he whispered into the sod.

"It would not have mattered," said Malfoy in a mixed high, cold drawl. Harry spun to cast a spell, but his wand was expelled before he could turn around. The next thing he knew he was immobilized, stiff as a board, but well aware of what was happening. He spit. His mouth was working, but try as he might he could not turn his head. He heard Katana screaming in pain somewhere behind him.

"Isn't it delicious, Potter," Malfoy asked, stepping close. Harry could smell the stench of the wizard approaching. He could not see the red eyes burning in their sockets, but he could sense the auras fighting within. Evidently, Malfoy was a bit more difficult to control than young James Chang. He wasn't going down willingly. Then, Voldemort's aura flashed bright.

"Since I was a little boy, I've always loved that sound, the way it penetrates the ear and rings the soul."

"You have no soul, Tom," snapped Harry. "You're a shell, a third of what you once were."

"And yet here I am, and there you are, trussed up like a Christmas turkey. A seventh of my power would be enough to destroy you!" Flecks of spit splattered against Harry's face - he felt them. The shield charm protecting his eyes had been broken. Lucius touched Harry's face.

"A few scars... not too bad," Malfoy observed as if judging a pig for market. "And the eyes... well, one can always find eyes from a willing donor." He laughed. Harry could hear the battle raging behind him, but here between the two, time seemed to stand still. Malfoy slipped off the dark cloak that had been Voldemort's... the second Horcrux.

"I couldn't possess you before, Potter; some silliness about love. But this..." He stroked the black cloth of the cloak. "This will change all that. You might say it's everything inside me that was ever good. Who needs such things, eh? Ah, yes... you do, don't you?" He shook the cloak like a big blanket and wrapped it about Harry's shoulders. "There. Its purity always protected me against wayward spells."

"Like a shell surrounding a rotten nut?" asked Harry dryly. "Why put it on me?"

"Because... with it I can penetrate you, withstand the goodness that binds you. With it I can take control of what I once gave you. Since the night I killed your parents my spirit, my power has flowed within the very fabric of your being - a fourth Horcrux, you might say. I will use it to take utter control and when I do I will be whole once more. It does become so tiresome always having to fight the host. But you, Potter, you are already me."

"You're mistaken, Tom."

"I think not." Lucius sighed. His head turned past Harry. "Your forces are crushed. Once I take your body, I will return to the lair of Singehorn and destroy the only force that can stand in my way. With the dragons destroyed, Europe will be mine."

"No... don't. I- I-"

"Don't beg, Potter. It's not how you'll want your last moments on earth to be remembered. Now," he sighed again, "this won't hurt a bit."

There was a small flicker of intensity in Malfoy's aura. Harry watched as the green evil began to issue out through his mouth and nose like a tapeworm being pulled from a bowel. For a moment, the green glow hung in the air as Malfoy fell to the ground.

"Don't do it, Tom."

The green encircled Harry and penetrated. Pain. The coils of Voldemort's essence wrapping itself around Harry's. Squeezing. Probing. Penetrating. Searching. Harry's skull felt as if it might explode.

Where is it, Potter? How are you hiding it?

The coils wrapped tighter, the pain became more intense.

You have the stone... and the ring! But where is it, that which I truly require?

"Come closer, Tom... closer." Harry drew in his invader, pulling him nearer to his inner self. "Feel true pain."

Suddenly, Voldemort found that he wasn't in control. The coils of his essence wrapped ever more tightly about Harry's, but it wasn't at his bidding. Harry's inward self fought his enemy, while his outward self saw the arrival of Antreas' army and the retreat of Lucius Malfoy and his followers down the mountainside. It wasn't much longer before Voldemort realized that the darkness with which he had marked Harry as a child was no longer there. It, and the scar that marked the curse, had been cleansed away at the falls.

Where is it? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

"Purity of light. Love harbours no enemies. Champion these precepts, Tom and be cleansed!" Somehow, Harry was drawing power from the goodness of the robe surrounding him. Scenes of laughter, warm laughter from a small boy flashed across his mind. The purity, the goodness was too much for Voldemort to bear.

This is not possible!

"But it is, Tom. I've been cleansed. Your power over me, our oneness is no longer."

The scene in Harry's mind showed a small baby being born. The mother, near death, held the child in her shaking arms, smiled warmly and kissed his forehead. Seeing this expression of love, Harry's thoughts betrayed him.

A boy? You have a boy?

Try as Harry might to stop them, the coils around his essence released. He could feel Voldemort vanish from his body.

"No!" Harry yelled as he fell limp to the ground. Before the darkness came, he watched as the green cloud of mist disappeared into the forest in search of yet another body to possess - Harry's son.