Harry Potter and the Headmaster's Pensieve

Chapter 16 - The Final Battle

Voldemort and his Death Eaters were already engrossed in their nightly meeting as Wormtail scurried through the back door. He slid hastily into his seat, slouching so that his head was barely visible above the polished wooden tabletop, and discreetly brushed the faint line of sweat away from his brow, hoping no one would notice.

Yet someone did.

"Wormtail, why is Nagini not with you? I told you to stay with her at all times," Voldemort's cold voice reverberated against the stone walls, and Wormtail sunk even lower in his seat.

"S-she is sleeping in the foyer, my Lord. I b-believe she found something tasty outside, and is working now to digest," Wormtail stuttered in reply.

"Come here, Wormtail," Voldemort said silkily, pushing Wormtail's seat out with a small crick of his finger. The small man scurried to Voldemort's side, dropping to his knees and pressing his lips eagerly against his knuckles. Voldemort yanked his hand away quickly, as if burned, and placed an alabaster fingertip below Wormtail's rounded, blotchy face. "She knows better than to sleep outside of my presence. Why do you lie to Lord Voldemort, Wormtail? Why, when you know I can see right through you?" Voldemort asked, his voice no more than a cold whisper.

"M-my lord?" Wormtail stuttered, looking away from the snake-like eyes. Voldemort's slender fingers locked around Wormtail's chin and forced the quivering man to lock eyes with him. A cruel sneer twisted Voldemort's skeletal face, and he tossed Wormtail to the floor, furious.

"What has happened to her, Wormtail? Tell me quickly, and your punishment may be less severe," he snarled at the whimpering lump of ragged robes and trembling flesh.

"I-It was Harry P-potter, my L-lord. He said he was going to k-kill her," Wormtail stuttered.

"And why did you not deliver him directly to me?" Voldemort thundered, towering over Wormtail.

"I owed him a life debt, m-my lord. I c-could not bring him to his death...that magic is strong, stronger than I am..." Wormtail's weak voice trailed off.

"There is no time...we must attack now. If we hurry, he will not have left the grounds yet. Prepare yourselves for battle, but remember, Potter is mine. I shall join you shortly. Come along, Wormtail, unless you have any other pressing matters of honor that will inhibit your ability to destroy the other members of the Order of the Phoenix." Voldemort's voice was like quiet thunder, his rage emanating from every pore. The Death Eaters at the table jumped to their feet, some with whoops of excitement, and rushed to the door.

"My Lord, I know time is of the essence, but I would like your permission before I act. I believe I have information on Potter's actions, and I could deliver him to you easily. But I will need both Lucius and Draco for my plan to work, if you allow it," Severus's voice whispered urgently from beside Voldemort. The Dark Lord turned.

"We will need our numbers, Severus. But if you can ensure Potter will die by my hand, then I allow it," Voldemort replied.

"I will return to the battle as soon as Potter is delivered to you," Severus said, bowing. He turned to the Malfoys, who sat immobile in their seats.

"Come, we must go to Spinner's End," Severus said, and the two blond men reluctantly followed.

They appeared in front of the slight, decrepit building and Severus pulled out a rusting key. The front door opened with a painful groan, and Snape ushered the Malfoys in. He instructed them to sit on the couch, and seated himself across from them.

"What is this mysterious plan you have, Snape? And why did you drag us all the way out here in order to execute it?" Lucius asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Severus smirked.

"I have no plan, Lucius. I just figured it would be better for everyone involved if I removed the two of you from the fight. As the Dark Lord will lose this battle, and his life, and I have it in my power to keep you two from harm, I figured I would use it productively. After all, that is what I promised your son after the Dark Lord so graciously left your lives in my hands. So please sit back and relax, and I will return once Lord Voldemort is destroyed once and for all," Snape replied calmly, standing. Lucius, furious, rose.

"All we've worked for, and you're going to throw it away? You traitor! I'll tell our Lord what you've said, I'll go to him now-" Lucius sputtered, but Severus silenced him with a stern look.

"You'll do no such thing. Your life is mine so long as he is alive, and I forbid you to leave this house. But to ensure that you stay put, Incarcerous!" Snape bound both father and son, then sealed the crumbling house with protective wards before returning to Lestrange Manor.

* * *

"The last horcrux is gone, the final horcrux has been destroyed," Harry repeated to himself, his left hand glued to the blinding pain radiating from his forehead. His wand arm was raised, a brilliant silvery stag disappearing in the mist as it charged towards the Order's headquarters. Harry stumbled forward, forcing his eyes open through the pain as he struggled towards the imposing estate. Sounds of people apparating all around him filled his ears, but he barely noticed his friends arriving as he gazed at the marble columns framing the heavy wooden doors. He raised his wand towards the door.

"Voldemort! I have come to fight you for the last time!" He yelled towards the estate. As if on cue the Death Eaters appeared, silver masks and snarling voices closing in on him. They raised their wands at him, but the tightly packed group was soon blown apart by the force of the Order's various spells. Harry spun on his heel and fired a stunning spell at a large figure attempting to take him by surprise. The Death Eater fell, and beyond him Harry could see Luna and Neville trading curses with Antonin Dolohov. His mask and hood had fallen away, and a rivulet of blood was snaking down his pockmarked chin as he snarled at the pair. Neville had a streak of black across his cheek and the shoulder of his robe was smoking slightly, but his face showed no pain, only determination. Luna seemed more focused than normal, and entirely unhurt.

Harry turned, surveying another pair of Order members fighting a Death Eater. Tonks appeared to be in a furious battle with Wormtail, and Lupin had appeared to support her as she narrowly dodged a well aimed reducto spell. She tumbled to the ground, and Lupin, furious, stalked up to his former comrade and punched him squarely in the jaw.

"How dare you, Peter? How dare you hurt the woman I love? It's enough that you turned on the people that called you a friend and trusted you with their lives, but to rip away everyone who's ever cared about me, who's ever looked past what I am, when I defended you all throughout our school years? I should have let Sirius kill you the night we found you, or better yet, killed you myself!" Lupin snarled, his arm rearing back to deliver another punch.

"No, Remus, please, have mercy-" Wormtail begged.

"Mercy? MERCY? Where was your mercy for Lily or James, where was your mercy for Harry? You deserve nothing, Peter, you deserve to suffer as those you've damaged have suffered. Perhaps in the past I would have let the proper authorities deal with you, but no longer. You've crossed a line, Peter, and I must as well," Lupin spat angrily, knocking Wormtail to the ground. He raised his wand, and with gritted teeth, uttered Avada Kedavra. Peter's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, the gleaming silver hand turning to an ashen gray and disintegrating into the grass.

Harry stared, transfixed, at the scene before him. He had known what it meant to be a member of the Order, but was still impressed at Lupin's defense of Tonks. The battled continued around him, but he was momentarily stunned, overcome with pride mixed with horror for his former teacher and friend. He turned away only when they embraced in relief, to give them privacy.

He started towards the manor once more, wand arm outstretched, searching the crowd for signs of Voldemort. A crack of apparation sounded behind him, and he flung around, a stunning spell on the tip of his tongue. A bony hand closed around his wrist, tugging his arm downward.

"Don't be stupid, Potter, I'm not the one you want to kill," Severus Snape's voice hissed through the silvery mask. "I've stacked the odds in your favor, but you'll need to hurry and finish this before there's much more bloodshed. The Dark Lord has specifically told us all that you are to remain unharmed until he appears, but you know that the Death Eaters will have no qualms hurting anyone else, especially your friends. I hope you have a plan to defeat him, Potter," he added.

"I do, sir," Harry said, lowering his wand. Snape pushed him roughly towards the manor, charging into the fray of cloaked, masked figures firing curses at the ragtag group of Order members. Harry frantically searched for Ron and Hermione, noticing that with Snape's addition, the Death Eaters seemed revitalized. He noticed a shock of red hair beside a bushy, brown-haired figured, and darted towards them. They were exchanging curses with an older, stockier version of Gregory Goyle, a man that could only be his father. His movements were slow, but his wand seemed particularly vicious, spewing out spells with deadly accuracy. He seemed to have realized that while Ron was quicker, Hermione's curses were significantly more powerful, and was focusing on taking her out before Ron. Ron was being overly defensive of Hermione, attempting to cast as many defensive spells as he could around her. Harry's wand was out, a stunning spell aimed for Goyle, but it didn't reach him until after a shock of brilliant yellow light erupted from the Death Eater's wand and hit Hermione solidly in the gut. She let out a shriek of pain before crumpling to the ground at Ron's side. Harry fired another stunning spell at Goyle, enraged, before turning to his friends. Ron had dropped to his knees and was cradling Hermione in his arms, his fingers desperately searching for a pulse.

"It's time to end this," Harry said to Ron, crouching at Hermione's side. "I won't let anyone else be hurt in this battle." He rose, striding towards the throng of Death Eaters. They all jeered at him, but none openly attacked him as he strode towards the entrance of Lestrange manor. The air seemed to crackle around him, but he would not be distracted, he would not be swayed from his goal. The Death Eaters he passed seemed to stare at him in confusion and perhaps a slight tinge of fear, but Harry barely noticed them as he approached the stone steps. "VOLDEMORT!" he called out, his voice ringing unnaturally loudly in the chaos of the battle. "COME OUT AND FACE ME!"

A tense silence fell over the balmy hills of the Lestrange Estate as the shouts of spells and the blasts of curses faded into the darkness. Harry stood, his wand arm outstretched, pointed towards the heavy wooden doors of the mansion. They blew open, revealing a tall, pale figure, eyes glowing a bright blood red, serpentine lips twisted into a menacing grin. Harry squared his shoulders, stretching to his full height as Voldemort approached.

"You are ready to face your death, Harry?" Voldemort's high, cold voice echoed in Harry's brain. He raised his chin, but did not reply. He could feel Voldemort attempting to bend him, to break him, but he fought it effortlessly. For a fleeting moment Harry wondered if Voldemort would try to possess him again, and immediately the faces of those he loved rushed to the surface of his brain, effectively blocking Voldemort should he choose to go that path. Voldemort was eyeing him interestedly, as though trying to determine the most effective and satisfying way to kill him. Harry took a deep breath, and met the slit-like eyes. "You still refuse to bow to death, Harry. This is your failing. Pride was your mother's downfall, and it shall be yours, as well," Voldemort said softly. Harry's eyes narrowed, the mention of his mother giving him the strength he needed to carry out his task.

"I challenge thee to a duel of souls, and may the best dueler win," Harry said, his voice calm, controlled, yet infused with such power that his words rang clear over the vast expanse of land. His wand was pointed directly at Voldemort's chest, and a shining silver beam exploded from the tip, and wound around them both. It circled them in a flashing figure eight, and Voldemort stared at it interestedly for a moment before returning his gaze to Harry.

"A duel? I fully intend to kill you, Harry, and kill you quickly at that. As much as I would love to see you suffer, your death will be so fast and so simple that even your ghost will be humiliated to have died in such a way. Now, BOW TO YOUR DEATH! CRUCIO," Voldemort said, his wand instantly at Harry's chest. Yet, instead of the typical flash of azure light, a sparkling golden beam exploded out of the end of Voldemort's wand, entwining with the existing silver beam surrounding the pair. A gleam of triumph flashed in Harry's eyes as he saw the first trace of discomfort in Voldemort's. Suddenly he felt a tugging sensation similar to that of a portkey, yet far more intense, centered around the top of his head. Bright white lights clouded his vision, and he blacked out.

When Harry awoke, he found himself surrounded by a thick gray-white fog. He tried to move, but found that he couldn't feel his arms or legs - his consciousness told him instinctively where they were, but when he reached out an arm or tried to step forward, only tendrils of pure white mist seemed to radiate from him. Looking down, he saw that he had been transformed into a floating mass of glowing white light, a translucent wisp of weightless material swaying amidst the copious amounts of fog. Tentatively he stepped forward, and saw the mass of light that had once been his body move forward.

"Harry..." A voice called out to his left, high and ethereal and vaguely familiar. Instinctively he reached for his wand, but realized mid grasp that he didn't have it. Confused, he moved towards the voice as it called out again, more urgently. It was easier than running, easier even than flying - he simply thought of where he wanted to go and he was there, instantly. The swirling gray fog became a silver blur as he dashed towards the voice, and noticed it was significantly closer and clearer when he heard it again.

"Harry, over here," it called, now with a note of musical laughter. Harry turned, realizing he had nearly overshot the source, and darted through the fog to the edge of a brilliant, white-marbled arena. Tall, arching columns surrounded a bowl shaped stage of highly polished white stone, smoother than glass. The entire arena was supported on nothing more than pure white clouds, stretching endlessly into the masses of gray fog, from which Harry realized he had just emerged. The stone glittered in the bright, filtered light from above, drawing him closer, and he wondered for a moment if it had been the arena itself calling to him.

"Harry, here," the voice sounded, directly behind him. He turned abruptly, and saw what he could only imagine he looked like himself, a glowing mass of white mist. Yet as he watched, the mist morphed into a distinctly feminine shape, with deep red hair, and startlingly green eyes. A pair of soft pink lips formed, and smiled at him.

"You've been braver than I could have ever imagined, my dear son," the ghostlike figure of Lily Potter said, reaching towards where Harry's face would have been, if he'd had one. He concentrated for a moment, imagining how his body felt around him, his facial features, his limbs - and was surprised to see them appear instantly where he stood. She smiled at him, and ran her fingertips down his cheek. It felt as though a warm breeze had brushed against his face.

"Where am I?" Harry asked, tearing his eyes away from his mother's face and taking in the white marbled arena behind her. It seemed to radiate magic, far more powerfully than anything he had experienced before, and appeared almost sinister, despite its breathtaking beauty. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another form appear, another pure white spirit. Harry turned back to his mother, and watched as the new figure morphed into a likeness of his father.

"This is the entrance to the Realm of Souls, something of a portal. It's where those who don't fear death arrive once they die, or, as in your case, participants of a duel of souls arrive to do battle. I never would have thought I'd support such a fanatical decision, but it seems as though this is the only way to finally destroy Voldemort," James Potter said.

"But, I don't understand...how am I going to defeat him? I don't have a wand, or any sort of weapon, how am I supposed to fight him?" Harry asked, gazing past his father to the shining white arena.

"When a person dies and is unafraid of death, they can pass through the arena unharmed. When a soul is ripped from its still-living body, it has defied the laws that govern this place, and the arena turns hostile. If any part of your soul, or any soul involved in a duel of souls, comes into contact with the stone of the arena, it will be destroyed. The fighting style is fairly brutal, a lot of grabbing and tearing, but I think you'll have no problem," James said, coming beside Harry and pointing towards a clear area on the other side of the arena. A grayish blur, unnaturally dark against the masses of white, was emerging from the fog. His parents gently pressed him forward, propelling him towards the shimmering arena columns. The bowl shaped stage glittered menacingly as he inched forward.

"Now? But I'm not sure...I mean, the book didn't fully explain..." Harry protested, fighting effortlessly against the pull of his ghostly parents.

"The duel only lasts for an hour, or both souls are destroyed. You're as strong and prepared as you'll ever be, my son. Be as brave as we know you are, and you'll easily triumph over him now. We cannot help you, but we will always be with you," Lily said, leading him to the edge of the arena.

The stone crackled menacingly around him as he moved between the tall columns, instinctively moving upwards above the concave stage. Blue and white sparks slithered along the curves, shooting towards the center. Taking a breath, he tore his eyes away from the arena to face his opponent.

Voldemort's fractured soul wavered at the edge of the arena, pulled unwillingly forward as Harry ventured towards him. Unlike Harry, Voldemort was unable to reshape his tattered form into a more humanlike figure, and the charcoal gray tendrils of his being seemed brittle and fragile. It seemed as though he was focusing solely on staying afloat above the polished surface, using all his willpower to simply not collapse into a heap on the deadly stone.

A wave of pity for the figure before him washed over Harry as he made his way to the center of the arena. Could he really destroy a creature so weak, even though he knew that it was Voldemort? Here, in the one place where Harry clearly had the upper hand to the most powerful dark wizard, he felt his Gryffindor compassion tugging at him as he took in the sight of the wretched creature.

"His mind is sharp, Harry, even if his body is not. He is still the villain we have all given our lives to destroy, and you must finish it," a voice echoed from the side of the arena, gentle, but firm. Turning, Harry saw the ghostly form of Albus Dumbledore standing beside his parents.

"Still afraid to fight me, Harry? Still afraid that your power will be no match for mine? I am still stronger than you in mind, still far more powerful than you could ever hope to defeat. I will destroy you!" Voldemort's voice echoed across the arena, and although it was somewhat feeble, it captured Harry's attention immediately. Focusing on Voldemort with more palpable anger, he reached the center of the arena. Voldemort's form still seemed unwilling, though his voice still spat out challenges. As they met in the center, Harry breathed once (though unnecessarily) before speaking.

"I have ALWAYS been stronger than you, in any way that mattered! You may have kept yourself alive for all these years, clinging the earth like the lowest maggot, but you've never lived! You never took the time to care about anyone but yourself, never forged the sort of relationships that have kept me going when I thought I couldn't go any further. If I died today, I would know I did so bravely, doing it to protect the people I love, but you would rather see whole hordes of people - those loyal to you, even - die in order to further your meager existence. They'll dance on your grave today, and in a few years, all you'll ever be is the pathetic excuse for a wizard that was defeated TWICE by a wizard less than a quarter your age! You disgust me, and it's time for me to do what I was born to!" Harry shouted.

And then he lunged forward.

Plunging his ethereal fingers into the mass of Voldemort's form, he pulled away thick, gluttonous strands and watched as they slid heavily to the surface of the arena, coiling around themselves like wet spaghetti before catching fire. They burned brightly for a few seconds, a hot blue white flame that burned itself out a moment later, leaving no trace of the portion of Voldemort's soul that had fallen just moments before. Harry stared in shock, but Voldemort's cry of anger and anguish returned him to the task at hand. He looked up just as a tendril of Voldemort's inky soul reached out towards him. He dodged it easily, his fluid body slipping easily past Voldemort's labored, sluggish movements. Reaching upwards, Harry closed his hand around the offending tendril and ripped it off, throwing it violently to the arena floor. Another cry, and Voldemort backed away, desperately trying to flee out of reach.

But Harry was too fast for him. He trailed behind, deliberately tearing chunks of Voldemort's soul off and tossing them to the magical stone, watching as the ragged hunk of gray mist turned steadily blacker and colder. Voldemort seemed to be heading between two of the arching columns, no doubt trying to escape, but Harry would have none of it. As they neared the edge, he wrapped his arms around Voldemort's waist - or, what would have been his waist, had he been able to coalesce into human form - and pinned him against the column. The inky black tendrils sizzled as they made contact with the diamond white stone, and Voldemort let out a shriek of pain as his soul slowly dissolved.

"No. You cannot escape your fate, the fate you chose for yourself the minute you stepped into my parents' house that night sixteen years ago. You should have known then, when you tried to kill an innocent, defenseless baby in order to ensure your own immortality. You fear the afterlife? Fine, you'll never see it. Now DIE!" Harry yelled, tearing the meager remnants of Voldemort's pitiful soul in two. He threw them at the floor, watching with a morbid fascination as the flames grew, then died.

He moved out of the arena, shaking as the reality of what had just happened began to set in. His form felt more human now, more real, now that he'd finally defeated Voldemort. He felt as though he would collapse from the weight of it all, the strength it had taken to make those final steps, but as he began to sink to his knees in the mass of clouds, a gnarled yet surprisingly strong hand closed around his elbow. Headmaster Dumbledore, complete in his purple velvet robes shimmering with silver stars and moons, pulled Harry solidly to his feet and embraced him.

"I knew you could do it Harry. I knew, in the end, you were the strongest of all of us, that you could defeat him," Dumbledore said, a smile dancing beneath his flowing white beard. His bright blue eyes shone with pride as he looked down at Harry. They were joined by his parents, who hugged him tearfully, too proud for words.

"Harry! Good job, mate, I never doubted you," Sirius's gruff voice sounded from a few paces behind them. Harry ran to him, smiling at the cocky smirk that played on his godfather's proud face. Sirius wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders, pulling him into a fierce hug before rejoining the group.

Harry looked back at the swirling mist from where he came, sighing. The fighting would still be going on - they wouldn't have realized that Voldemort was gone yet. And how many more had died while he was fighting? He would much rather stay here, with those who had given him the strength to do what he had done, those who taught him what was important, what was worth dying for.

"You can't stay, Harry. I know you want to, but you've got so much life to live now," Dumbledore said gently, guiding him away from the arena. "Until now, your life was defined by Voldemort...now you can choose what makes your life living - why would you ever want to give that up?" he asked.

"We'll always be here for you, when it's time. But it's not time now, my dear son, now go, and make us proud," Lily's voice sounded softly in his ear. Harry looked back, reaching for them all, even as he slipped backwards into the mist. "We love you," his mother whispered as all four waved at him, smiling sadly.

Soon there was nothing, nothing but gray mist and an increasing pressure at the top of his head, a sensation of apparating and traveling by portkey all at once - and then he was returned to the dewy lawn of Lestrange Manor.

He sat up, groggy, taking in the ongoing battle. Bodies littered the field, yet he was somewhat heartened to see it was mostly those in Death Eater masks limp on the ground. Voldemort's empty, inferi-like body lay prostrate beside him, slow, shallow breaths coming from his mouth, but no life behind his eyes. Shuddering at his own handiwork, Harry struggled to his feet to better assess the situation.

The battle had moved further down the lawn after the duel had started, it seemed - someone had put a powerful shielding spell around the two, Harry imagined he had Ron to thank for that. He could see clusters of order members and ministry officials battling with the thinning ranks of Death Eaters, and Snape's austere figure stood out among the Order Members, and he was deflecting stunning spells away from Neville, who was battling viciously with Bellatrix Lestrange. He started towards the center of the fighting, which, as he drew closer, saw was less organized fighting and more ragged groups fruitlessly sending spells to each other. And the bodies...while he saw the abandoned corpses of Dolohov and Macnair atop a pile of black-robed bodies, he also saw Moody's corpse laying beside that of Kingsley Shaklebolt, and Tonks sobbing over Lupin's body as Charlie Weasley tried to comfort her. Shaken, Harry spoke.

"It's over now! Voldemort's soul has been destroyed! You Death Eaters fight for nothing now!" He yelled, his anger magically amplifying his voice.

All the spells stopped, and every head turned towards him. Fred and George were the first to respond, whooping joyfully in hoarse, elated voices. Slowly the excitement spread across the lawn, the remaining Death Eaters dropping their wands or falling to their knees in despair.

Except for one.

"He has killed our Lord, and you would give up so quickly?" screamed Bellatrix Lestrange in a shrill, crazed voice. "NO! I will not allow it! Our Lord has charged us with dispensing of this mudblood brat, and I will not let him down!" She raised her wand, pointing it directly at Harry.

"Harry, look out!" Ginny's voice called from his left, as she shot towards him at a sprint. Tackling him, they fell to the ground as more than one shout of Avada Kedavra pierced the air.

Ginny and Harry slid down the slick, muddy hill of the trampled lawn, tumbling over themselves before coming to a stop. Harry breathed in once, grateful to be alive, then roughly grabbed Ginny to make sure she was ok. She gave him that hard, burning stare once more, but he stood and pulled her to her feet, and they dashed to the throng once more.

Everyone was looking at the center of the circle in shock. There, Ron, Luna, Neville, and a groggy Hermione had their wands pointed at the crumpled figure of Bellatrix Lestrange. The reflection of four killing curses still lingered in her eyes.

It was Mrs. Weasley who finally broke the silence. She let out an enormous sob, then pulled both Ron and Hermione into a fierce hug. Neville, still in shock, looked over at Luna wordlessly until she smiled dreamily at him and reaching for his hand, which was still outstretched, wrapped rigidly around his wand. Cheers of jubilation filled the air, and Harry turned to Ginny, grinning. She launched herself into his arms, kissing him feverishly before his friends closed in around him, showering him with more love, pride and congratulations than he'd ever expected after having just done what he'd done.

And in that moment, he could see the life he wanted to live. A life spent with family and friends, a life full of love and joy. A life that would be worth living, and worth dying for - a life that would make his family proud. And then he truly would be the Boy who Lived.