Nothing Hidden

Harry lay on the cold floor, trying to catch his breath.

Voldemort had released him after several minutes of torture, and now circled him slowly, leering.

Out of Voldemort's sight of vision, Harry's wand was already in his hand. What he might do with it, he didn't know. He was no match for Voldemort, and he knew it. Whatever spells he had learned, what match were they for the Unforgiveables? Voldemort could finish him any time he chose.

But Voldemort was in no hurry. This boy, who had escaped him so many times, would suffer before he died.

"Get up . . . or do you wish to die cowering?" he mocked.

Harry rose. If Voldemort wanted to duel, Harry was prepared. He didn't believe he could win, his only thought was that he must face the end bravely.

Voldemort attacked.

Harry had a split second to react, but the many hours he had spent practicing paid off. It was a curse he was familiar with, and he blocked it.

Again, Voldemort raised his wand. Harry knew there was no reason why the next one should not be the Killing Curse. There was no way to block it. There was no countercurse.

Another familiar one. Harry blocked it.

So it went, Voldemort attacking, Harry blocking or dodging out of the way. They moved in a slow circle around the spacious room. How soon before Voldemort tired of this dance?

"They've taught you well," Voldemort's snake-like mouth spread into a thin, ugly smile, "but what is the use, boy? You have nothing left in you." His smile became wider still. "I know your secret now."

"And what's that?" Harry demanded. Voldemort liked the sound of his own voice too much. Why not just get on with it?

"For so many years I wondered what had defeated me. Surely not a Mudblood's affection for her child. I realized — the clever witch — she used the Dark Magic I taught her against me."

Harry felt the heat rise to his face. This was too much.

"How . . . dare . . . you . . . talk about my mother! Murderer! She wouldn't get out of your way! You think I would believe anything you say?"

"Foolish boy!" Voldemort's smile grew impossibly wide across his skeletal face. "The product of Mudbloods and Muggles, what do you know about the truth?"

"I know my mother died for me!"

"Yes," Voldemort's voice was a soft hiss, "she did. And now you will join her. But first . . ." he raised his wand, "Crucio."

The curse hit Harry's shield, erected just in time, shaking it to the core. He couldn't hold it, he felt it growing weaker under the tremendous strain. A few seconds more and it would disintegrate into wisps of blue fog. He concentrated on holding on to his shaking wand. His head filled with a roar, blood throbbing in his temples.

Voldemort lowered his wand.

"Very good," his eyes had a cruel spark, "but surely you know that not every curse can be blocked."

In slow motion, Harry saw Voldemort's wand rise. Suddenly his head cleared. There was a strength coming from within him that he had never felt before. He was seconds from death, but he knew now that he would face it the way his father had. He would fight with every power that was at his disposal, however futile the effort was, because to stand and wait for Voldemort to strike him down was to accept that Voldemort was undefeatable.

Someday, Harry thought fervently, Voldemort would be defeated.

"Avada . . ." — both Voldemort and Harry at the same time.

"Expelliarmus!" — voices in unison, at the same time as the infirmary door shattered.

"Kedavra!" — Harry alone.

He was hit. His heart pounded hard and fast, as if being torn out of his chest. His head reeled and pain overwhelmed his mind and body. The floor lurched to meet him as he fell.

Beside Voldemort's dead body, Harry Potter lay pale and unmoving on the cold stone.