Fight To The Finish

Chapter Two

Harry landed in a large field, thankfully staying on his feet. He had no idea where he was, and it was very foggy out. He held out his wand, worried for a moment that he'd been tricked, that he was going to die without even inflicting any damage on Voldemort.

"Ah, Harry Potter...I see you got my invitation." Strangely enough, the cold, high-pitched voice, while sending shivers down his spine, made him feel better, feel relieved.

"Wand out already, Potter? Eager to begin, or you don't trust me?" There was a high laugh, and the shadowy figure of Lord Voldemort was visible as he came nearer, no longer hidden by the fog. His red eyes were practically slits in his pale, almost pasty face. Harry knew what would come next, and indeed they did. Voldemort's Death Eaters came behind him, dressed in black robes with large hoods, hiding their faces. Which one of them was Snape? Harry wondered. He looked at them apprehensively, wondering if coming had been a mistake, if he'd fallen right into a clever trap. He didn't show this fear; instead he looked straight back at Voldemort, hiding his repulsion.

He noticed that Voldemort still had his new wand. Two years ago when they'd met, he had told Harry that he'd picked up a new wand so that they wouldn't be caught in such an annoying situation like what had happened after the Tournament again. Harry knew this to be a good thing - Mr. Ollivander had told him years ago that you never get as good results with another person's wand. This had been proven true the last few times they'd battled.

Harry looked to the Death Eaters, wondering if Voldemort had chosen a new right-hand man yet. Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail, was yet another death Harry had caused; however, Wormtail had died partly because he felt indebted to Harry. Harry had been in a fair spot of trouble two years ago when Wormtail had stepped in, dying and, in a way, saving Harry's life...but that was a different story.

Voldemort laughed again. "I see you don't trust me." The Death Eaters were now forming a rather large circle, with Voldemort and Harry in the center. Voldemort had gained many followers since he'd regained his strength and body. "Not to worry, Potter. I'll play fair. My Death Eaters are only here to watch, to see firsthand the defeat of Harry Potter."

He was trying to intimidate him, but Harry stood his ground. He clenched his wand as he spoke. "You say that every time we meet, Voldemort - you never win."

Voldemort wasn't taken aback by this at all. In fact, he started cackling again. When he'd finished, he sneered, amused, at Harry. "That's true...This time, however, it's a fight to the finish. One of us must win, boy, and it's certainly not going to be you."

Harry felt a chill of fear, but he kept it hidden. I do have a chance, he told himself. I can win. He glared back up at Voldemort. "Well, what if I win? Have you already told your Death Eaters to kill me the moment you die?"

Harry would say what he wanted to Voldemort. He'd faced him too many times, and besides, in a few minutes he might be dead. He was not going to go down as a meek child.

Voldemort didn't laugh this time, but his terrible face still held a very amused expression. "Of course I didn't tell them something so preposterous, boy. It's practically a nonexistent possibility. However, as you like..."

He spoke to his Death Eaters, turning in a slow circle to face every one of them.

"If Potter defeats me," he said in a tone which obviously meant he thought the very idea impossible, "You are to let him leave in peace."

Voldemort began to laugh, and his Death Eaters joined in. Still smiling, he turned to face Harry. Holding up a hand, he made his followers go silent. "There, boy. I do hope you're satisfied." Now the smile left his lips, replaced with an expression of pure evil, pure malice. "Are you ready to begin?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Yes. I am ready."

Voldemort waved his wand, and a large stone appeared behind Harry. "To be fair, I've given you something to hide behind," he sneered. "Prepare to perish, fool that you are...thinking you could possibly defeat me..."

Harry ignored him, and the insult the rock represented, and walked to the very center of the circle.

The two wizards, one good and one the epitome of evil, bowed to each other, and began to duel.

"Imperio!" Voldemort yelled, pointing his wand at Harry.

Harry didn't even bother to dodge the curse. As it hit him and Harry easily threw of the effects, he wondered why Voldemort still insisted on using the Imperious Curse every battle, when it had no effect on him any time.

"Incendio!" Harry yelled, and out of his wand shot a burst of blue flame which immediately set fire to Voldemort's robes. He wouldn't sink to that level. He wouldn't use the Unforgivable Curses. Of course, he doubted the Ministry would put him in Azkaban for using them on Voldemort - he didn't want to use them out of his own pride.

Voldemort calmly put the fire out with his wand, and a thought flashed through Harry's mind: Without Avada Kedavra, how was he supposed to kill Voldemort? Did he even have enough power to use the deadly curse? Harry felt chills of fear as he prepared for the next curse to be thrown his way.

"Expelliarmus!" shrieked Voldemort.

Harry jumped to the ground, dodging the curse. He rolled quickly, pointing his wand and yelling "Stupefy!" as he stood up.

Voldemort dodged the stunning spell easily as he shouted, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Harry felt himself being lifted high into the air. In fact, he was so high and directly above Voldemort, he couldn't even throw any curses his way.

"Harry, Harry," jeered the voice. "What are we using such elementary spells for? You're seventeen, Potter. Surely you know more powerful spells than these?"

Harry said nothing, but braced himself for the killing curse which he would surely be hit with any moment. However, to his surprise, he felt himself being lowered to the ground.

"I'll give you a final chance, Potter. Show me what you can do."

As soon as he touched the ground, Harry whipped out his wand. "Incendius Mobiliarus!"

Voldemort began to shriek, his body now wracked with the sensation of being burned alive. Harry kept his jaw set. He'd done some research on excruciatingly painful curses after last year's deadly encounter - this was one that used to be an unforgivable, but was lowered after it was pointed out that the spell merely tricked the victim into believing they were feeling pain, and did no physical damage. He watched Voldemort shrieking and contorting for a while, feeling no pity, this evil creature who had caused so much pain for others. He waited for the curse to wear off, however: he wouldn't hit even Voldemort while he was down.

The curse was suddenly over, and Voldemort was panting. "Good, Potter...Breatheo Inhibito!"

Harry had never heard of this curse, and he didn't have time to block it. Suddenly, he felt a sensation as though a strong pair of hands was squeezing his neck. Instinctively, his hands went to his neck in an attempt to fend of the attacker. However, no hands were there, and Harry felt himself being strangled. He attempted to breathe, but no air could get into his lungs. Harry started to get extremely dizzy, and he struggled in panic, until the invisible hands finally released him of their grip. He collapsed on the ground, breathing deeply and wincing as his lungs expanded. Finally, the world came back into focus. Without pausing to think, he pointed his wand, screaming out, "Slicio Estomaca!"

Voldemort, who was already looking a bit short of breath, now felt the terrible sensation of being disembowled. Harry regained his strength as he watched Voldemort clutching his stomach and shrieking in pain. He held his wand at the ready, preparing to hit Voldemort with another powerful curse before he could be attacked.

However, before Harry even realized the curse was over, Voldemort had yelled, "Incendius Mobiliarus!"

Harry suddenly felt as though he was tied to a wooden stake, the flames all around him. He yelled out in excruciating pain, pain he'd never felt the likes of. Voldemort had used his own spell against him, and now Harry could appreciate just how painful it was. He screamed loudly as the fire burned his flesh.

It's not real, he told himself. There's not really any fire... With one last scream of agony, he focused on that fact, and released himself from the spell. He glared at Voldemort, and noticed that his face was contorted in pain as well. Harry didn't have time to wonder why. He just knew that he couldn't take many more painful curses. He wanted to end it all.

"Avada Kedavra!" he screamed, pointing his wand at Voldemort. A jet of green light struck Voldemort, who immediately...laughed?

Yes. Voldemort was cackling, his piercing laugh almost a high shriek. "Stupid boy. Avada Kedavra cannot harm me."

Harry's mouth was open in shock and defeat, his hand going instinctively to the strap of his bag. He wondered how this could be, how Voldemort had grown so strong he could block the unblockable curse, when he heard Voldemort's voice shriek, "Crucio!"

Harry yelled with pain. As many times as he'd been hit by this curse over the past three years, he'd never learned to block it, nor been able to escape the pain. He yelled down on the ground, his body convulsing. He forced himself to open his eyes, to give Voldemort a defiant glare even through the pain.

He opened them, and was shocked. For although the pain blurred his vision and limited his hearing, one thing was clear: Voldemort himself was shrieking, as though the pain and weakness Harry felt through his body was in his as well.

Harry had a flashback, to his fourth year of Hogwarts, just after the Triwizard Tournament and Voldemort's second rise to power. He felt as though he was there, once again, speaking to Voldemort. He heard his own voice. "He said my blood would make him stronger than if he'd used someone else's...He said that the protection my - my mother left in me - he'd have it, too. And he was right - he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face." And, looking through his own years-younger eyes, he saw once again the look that had flashed across Dumbledore's face for only a moment, but had been a gleam of triumph.

The flashback over, Harry returned to the him in the present, the him that was full of pain. He knew now what he had to do, the only way he could kill the scourge who called himself the Dark Lord. But how?

Voldemort stopped the Cruciatus Curse, and Harry instantly yelled, "Petrificous Totalus!"

Voldemort, who hadn't expected the boy to recover so quickly, had no time to dodge the hex. He was put into a full body bind.

Harry had bought himself time to think. On instinct, he took his bag off his shoulder, and reached in. He was surprised to feel his fingers touch metal. Closing his hand around cool steel, Harry lifted his hand just enough to see a sword, the same sword with "Godric Gryffindor" engraved on it which had helped to save his life in second year. Harry went into another flashback, when he'd been about to leave Dumbledore, who had just told him to follow his heart...

"Oh, Harry..." Dumbledore had said, just as Harry's hand had been on the doorknob and he was about to leave. He'd turned to see the Headmaster holding Harry's bag.

"Harry, you almost forgot this."

"Oh, thanks, Professor," Harry had said, extending his hand so Dumbledore could give him his bag. But Dumbledore hadn't given it to him. He'd just looked down at it for a few moments, his face old and sad. After a while he'd snapped out of it, and gave Harry a smile. "Here you are, Harry." He'd put the bag into Harry's outstretched hand, with one last statement. "And Harry....your father would be proud of you."

Harry had thanked him, not understanding why Dumbledore was being so emotional. He hadn't opened his bag or seen Dumbledore since. He hadn't known that Dumbledore had put the sword into his bag, that somehow Dumbledore had known exactly what would happen...

Harry snapped out of his trance. Though he could see the sword, it was still hidden to everyone else. He drew it out slowly, and slung his bag back over his shoulder.

Harry then stood up, holding the sword, and advanced toward the still motionless Voldemort. He kept going until he stood right above his frozen nemesis. Voldemort may have been unable to move, but his eyes were smirking at Harry, at the sword in his hand. He seemed to be thinking, "Foolish boy, a sword can't kill me." But Harry knew it could. He held out his wand. "Expelliarmus!" Voldemort watched his wand fly into Harry's hand, which held his as well. Harry placed the wand into his bag.

He had to. He had to kill Voldemort, and it was the only way. Harry put the jelly legs curse on Voldemort before taking off the body-bind. That way, he wouldn't be able to stand up, but he could still lift his head to see what was happening.

Harry slowly moved backwards several steps, looking around at the Death Eaters as a single tear made a trail down his face. He put his wand into his bag, and heard confused mutters. He didn't care about them. He closed his eyes, thinking of all the people he loved, even the Dursleys whom he thought he hated. He knew what he had to do. His eyes opened, and both hands gripped the handle of the sword.

Suddenly, without warning, he lifted the sword high into the air.

"No!!" a desperate male voice shouted. Snape? Or some other Death Eater who'd already realized?

Harry didn't pause to find out. H quickly put his arms down and thrust the sword into his own chest.

"Ah!" A gasp of pain left his mouth as the sword entered him, mangling his insides.

Harry fell to his knees, his hands still gripping the sword which was still inside of him. The pain....the cutting pain was even worse than the Cruciatus Curse...

"Nooo!!"

Harry heard Voldemort's high, shrieked protest. "No...." Voldemort moaned, writhing on the ground. Harry felt relief wash through him. It all made sense. He'd done the right thing...He was dying, and so was Voldemort...

Harry's thoughts began to become mixed and uncomprehensible. He vaguely realized that he'd been on his knees listening to Voldemort's shrieks for some time now...It really wasn't comfortable...

Harry collapsed onto his side, amazed at the way he just fell like that. The sword was still clutched in his chest, but the pain was gone now...He was floating...

Harry saw one of the hooded figures run to him, place a hand on his shoulder, and clasp it tightly. Snape? A wet splotch fell on his forehead. Was it raining...? No...the hooded figure was crying. It couldn't be Snape, Snape didn't cry, especially not over Harry...

Suddenly, Harry felt a great warmth flood his body. Confused and dazed, he looked up to the sky. Or, where the sky had been...Now, it was a bright warmth, and there were people there. He squinted against the light, trying to discern the figures. Cedric...Mrs. Figg... Lupin.... a woman and an old man who had once come out of Voldemort's wand....They were all smiling sadly at him. Then Harry saw his parents in the center, holding each other.

"I'm so proud of you," whispered his mother. She was smiling, but she was crying, too.

"You did the right thing, Harry," his father said. He was crying, too; all the bright people were. Why was everyone crying?

Suddenly, Harry remembered what had happened, his thoughts becoming clear again. They were crying because he, Harry Potter, was dying. Harry smiled at his parents, trying to tell them that he wasn't afraid. Yes, he was dying, but he had to. Now the people he knew, and others he didn't, could stay alive, live normal lives, not be scared. He had done it because that was the only way to kill Voldemort. That was the whole reason he had been alive, to kill him. And if this was the way, then dying wasn't so bad.

Harry heard Voldemort now moaning softly...then a high shriek, a final shriek. Harry closed his eyes, smiling sadly, and as he died, so did Voldemort.