Harry Potter and the Knights of Chaos

Chapter One: Reminiscing In the Moonlight

Harry James Potter stood in the center of his room, completely alone. He had awoken only a few minutes before; covered in cold sweat because of the same horrific dream that had plagued him for years. At least he had stopped screaming, like he had the first few months it had happened.

As he stood, breathing deep in an effort to calm himself, he felt a stirring in the air. Wind. A second later, the clouds parted, allowing the full moon to come into view. The silvery light shone across, leaving a perfectly round patch on the wooden floorboard's of Harry's room. Harry turned his head to the window, his face turned ivory by the light. It wasn't long before the light of the moon brought Harry's mind to a different place, a different time. It all began just after he had taken his N.E.W.T.s during his seventh year at Hogwarts...

The attack had happened without warning. Death Eaters had begun poring into the castle, blasting anyone and anything in their way to either the Headmaster's office or Gryffindor Tower. The Prefects, Head Girl, and Harry, the Head Boy, had been drilling all year for such an occurrence.

With the outbreak of the second war, disappearances had multiplied over Harry's last year at Hogwarts. Fudge had resigned in shame and the Ministry was in shambles; no one else would take the job. The Wizengamot had taken temporary control of the Wizarding world; but to no avail. Great Britain's Wizarding population was stuck in a state of anarchy; the Dark Lord's forces marched over the land like a plague.

It was no surprise to the school when the Death Eaters came; it was the manner of their arrival. Harry had never expected hundreds of black cloaked murderers to simply begin pouring from every seemingly innocent fixture. Death Eaters jumping from portrait holes, from behind tapestries, out of broom closets, even under the disappearing step Neville Longbottom always forgot to jump.

The siege upon the castle had lasted for a more than a day. The initial wave of Voldemort's followers had been repulsed when Dumbledore had activated the wards that protected Hogwarts. All those with ill will towards the students of Hogwarts found themselves ten miles away and on fire when seemingly innocuous items such as cups or cloak fasteners flew at them, now Portkeys.

After being thrown from the castle, Voldemort's men took two hours to regroup. Knowing magic would have no effect on the gleaming rainbow walls of light that had erected themselves around the castle, they were forced to mount an old-style castle siege, the likes of which had not been seen since the legendary charge on Camelot. After Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange blew a small hole in the wards, the Death Eaters flew in one by one, each mounted on a thestral.

Inside, the teachers conferred nervously with Professor Dumbledore. They had gathered in the Headmaster's study along with Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"What will we do, Albus?" Minerva McGonagall asked, wringing her hands nervously.

"There is one way out of the school Pettigrew does not know," Dumbledore said, moving behind his desk. He was referring, of course, to Peter Pettigrew, who had co-written the Marauder's Map, and thus knew more secret passages than even the Weasley twins. "It leads to an underground fortress located under the lake. You will take the students there, Professor Vector. Take Professors Fogherety and Geoffrey with you," he pointed his wand the Arithmancy, Runes, and Muggle Studies teachers in turn. "The rest of you shall come with me."

"Dumbledore," Moody cut in. "You're forgetting something. We can't go out that way. The wards are in place. The passages are all shut."

"Yes, Alastor. You are quite correct. However, the particular passage I am speaking was exempt from the ward lock. It will take some time to open, but we can do it."

"Time we don't have, Albus," Remus Lupin, returning Defense professor, put in. "Voldemort will break the wards in the next few minutes at this rate."

"What we need," Filius Flitwick squeaked. "Is more time."

Kingsley, who had been silent this far into the deliberations, stood up suddenly. "I'll do it," he said, buckling a one-handed Norse sword to his belt. "What?" he asked derisively, eyeing the assembled group. "You all know what I mean. Someone has to delay the Death Eaters. Who better than me? I'm younger than you, Mad-Eye, but still a high-ranking Auror. I have no fiancé, Remus, so there are no loved ones I will leave behind. Please, Albus," he turned to the Headmaster. "You know I'm right."

Albus Dumbledore hung his head. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, Kingsley." Kingsley nodded, his large mournful eyes flashing. "Thank you. You will not be forgotten."

Kingsley nodded and turned on his heel, his black cloak spinning around him, and the powerful Auror departed from his friends forever.

It had taken four minutes for the Death Eaters to make their way to gigantic stairway that led to the main doors. Waiting for them was Kingsley Shacklebolt, wand at the ready. Look at the roiling army estimated at 2,000, the brave Shacklebolt merely dug his heels into the dirt path that led to the stairs, held his wand and sword higher, and met them all with an ultimatum.

"None shall pass." He intoned, his deep voice carrying over the grounds, the lake, the Forbidden Forest. Every Death Eater, dementor, giant, and troll there heard it, and every one of them would be lying if they said a shiver of fear had not run down their backs at the sound of his voice.

By this time, the first Death Eater had reached Kingsley. Kingsley quickly slew him and turned, ready to meet the next attack. This time, a group of four Death Eaters engaged the brave Auror, only to fall as the expert Dark wizard catcher hexed or slashed them all in turn.

The minutes stretched to hours, and still Shacklebolt stood fast. Piles of corpses were everywhere, and the battle had been fully joined. Scores of Death Eaters scrambled over their dead comrades to engage Kingsley, around whom a brilliant golden aura was emanating. The aura was generated when one opened himself to magic, fully and completely. The magic coursing through his body kept him alive despite all the magical and physical attacks on his body, but would soon destroy him. No man survived the aura, once it had begun to shine. Kingsley knew this, and, even if it had not been so, he knew he would not survive anyway. The odds were too great.

Finally, it happened. A purple lightning bolt struck him squarely in the solar plexus, driving Shacklebolt to his knees. The light got brighter, a more and more magnificent hue of gold that hurt the eyes of the Death Eaters. Kingsley smiled serenely as his soul gently faded from his body. He lingered for only moments to see the light completely burn his mortal shell away, along with a good deal of the Death Eaters. He saw puddles of mud and blood mingling as it began to rain heavily. Had he had lungs and breath to do so, Kingsley would have laughed. The pureblooded bringers of death had become, quite literally, what they had always hated. Mudbloods.

Kingsley's did much more than thin the Death Eaters of nearly two hundred men. While he fought, the teachers led the students away from the school via a secret passage accessed by a pool in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. There the students waited in the ultra-high security fortress under the lake that was further protected by dozens of different wards.

As this was happening, a small group of people stood in the Great Hall, preparing. The members of the Order of the Phoenix, the D.A., and a platoon of former Ministry Hit-Wizards were dressing in the highest quality dragon-hide armor and strapping various swords, knives, axes, and shields to themselves. Night had fallen, and the moon was out and less than two nights from being full. In the corner of the room stood Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, discussing the situation in low, heated whispers.

"Harry, it is my wish that the D.A. stays with the students."

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Professor. This might be the only chance I have to kill Voldemort. I'm not going anywhere. As for the D.A.? They'd never listen to me if I told them to stay. They're your army, Professor. Dumbledore's Army, and they fight today. Every one of them is prepared to do their duty."

The elderly headmaster hung his head. "You've grown up too fast, my boy. All right. Your soldiers will fight, Harry."

Harry nodded and turned towards the group of people getting ready, yards away. "What are we going to do, anyway? Just rush out and attack?"

"In ten minutes, the clouds will peel back and the near-full moon will show. When that happens, a charm I have prepared will activate. After the effects of my charm have dissipated, your D.A. will attack from the Astronomy Tower on broomsticks. The Order of the Phoenix will burst from the main doors and engage the enemy directly. Take your soldiers to the tower now, Harry," said Dumbledore, placing a hand on his shoulder before Harry turned to go. "And Harry?" Harry turned around. "In case I do not survive tonight, I would like you to know how very, very, proud I am of you. You are like the grandson I always wanted," the old man smiled one last time before Harry grinned back and ran up to the Astronomy Tower with the rest of his army.

"All right, people," Harry said, pacing back and forth among the ranks of the D.A. when he reached the tower. "We are outnumbered. The enemy is of much greater skill and experience. It's likely some of us won't make it through tonight. None of that matters. What matters is the castle, because if Voldemort gets control of Hogwarts, the war is over," Harry paused to call his broom into his hand. "We've trained hard over the last three years, and I'm proud of all of you. Tonight, we do our duty. Tonight, Dumbledore's Army goes to battle!"

The army yelled their agreement and mounted their brooms. Harry kicked off and rose several feet in the air. He removed his wand and brandished it, sending gold and scarlet sparks into the air.

"Use the Stunning Spell," Harry called to them, his voice deeper and more mature than the one he usually used when speaking. "But don't be surprised if it's blocked. If things get sticky, don't hesitate to use lethal force. Show no mercy, because we shall receive none. Now," he rose higher and called over his shoulder as he prepared to dive. "Follow me, Dumbledore's Army! Show the Death Eaters fear and pain, as they've showed us! Tonight is the night for retribution!"

So the D.A. took off, yelling for blood and ready for battle. Harry led his friends, his teammates, and his fellow students in an impossibly steep dive, looking for all the world like knight riding to battle. He brandished his wand and the sword he pulled from the Sorting hat and was dressed in goblin-made armor, light but strong.

At the same moment the D.A. dive-bombed the unsuspecting Death Eaters with Patronuses and Stunners, the Order of the Phoenix burst through the doors, curses blazing from wands. The Death Eaters were caught completely unaware, and found themselves frantically trying to defend themselves from the very people they had thought they were close to defeating.

For hours, the battle dragged on. Harry quickly learned to stifle his disgust and remorse at killing, instead focusing on only either skewering his enemy with Gryffindor's sword or blasting them with his wand. He lost count of the number of dementors his Patronus ran down. His stamina was quickly fading, and just as he felt he couldn't take anymore fighting, he saw the face of the Potions Master, Snape.

"Here, Potter. Can't have you fainting, can we?" he told him in a grim voice as he flipped Harry a small crystal phial and blasted a troll into oblivion. "Don't die on us, Potter. Between James Potter's son and Voldemort, I'll take James Potter's son."

Harry nodded once, curtly. He gulped down the contents of the bottle and immediately felt like new. He looked, questioningly at Snape.

His lip curled with a touch of his infamous contempt. "You may not have taken my N.E.W.T. class, Potter, but surely you must know what an Endurance Draught is. Ah, not matter. Back to the battle, Potter. You have a Dark Lord to kill," and, with a flourish of his cloak, Snape ran off into the night, shouting what could only be curses of the Dark Arts.

Harry stood, drawing Godric's sword again. Without pause, he buried it into the side of a mountain troll and knocked back two Death Eaters with a Full Body Bind. Turning to face a dementor that had began gliding towards him, Harry took the time to shout a warning to Ron, who was perched precariously on the head of a mountain troll, trying to burn out its eyes with his wand and not able to see the dementor behind him. With a bellowed incantation from Harry, his Patronus gored the two dementors with its antlers and disappeared, tossing its head in a salute its master.

Finally, when the moon was highest in the sky, the clouds rolled away and it shone a single oval-shaped ray of silver light onto a patch of grass about one hundred yards ahead of Harry. At the same time, the wards around the castle gave a little shiver, then a cough, and disappeared. Voldemort's increasingly scattered army was further driven back by the scores of Aurors and Hit-Wizards pouring in.

At last, when the battle became fully joined, Harry saw him appear. Two hundred yards away from him was Tom Marvolo Riddle, known for more than twenty-five years as Lord Voldemort. Across the battlefield, their eyes met, red boring into green. Harry felt whispers in his head and pain in his scar until he threw Voldemort out of his mind, utilizing the Occlumency skills he had developed from two years of lessons from Dumbledore himself. He saw Voldemort nod curtly, a grudging salute between enemies. Harry then turned the psychic attack on Voldemort, invading the twisted half-blood's mind and encouraging pain. Unfortunately, he was thrown out before he could do any damage.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Harry ducked just in time to avoid a jet of green light from a Death Eater to his right. In response, Harry cut him from shoulder to opposite hip, keeping his eye on Voldemort the whole time, who had begun walking towards him.

In response, Voldemort flourished his wand in a long, fluid moment and Harry saw four Aurors all lift in the air and be thrown hard into the courtyard wall, killing them instantly. Harry snarled and brandished his own wand, from which a chain of electricity fell and dropped two of his cave trolls and three of his Death Eaters to their knees, making various noises of agony as lightning shot through them. When the bodies stopped smoking, Harry continued his slow walk to the center of silver, where his destiny awaited.

The two foes continued walking towards their inexorable destination. They both knew that tonight was the night that the Prophecy would be fulfilled. That night, in that sliver of moonlight, one of them would die. There was no chance for both to live. There would be no resurrection, no revival. Tonight was the night that the manhood of Harry James Potter would be tested.

Harry was twenty yards from the moonlight now. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron trying to pry his ax from the chest of a dead troll and Hermione shooting spell after spell at a group of zombies that had her cornered against the now-dead Whomping Willow.

Fifteen yards.

Harry gulped, feeling fear prickle his scalp and scar. Before, he had had no chance to be scared. Everything had happened too quick. He knew what was coming now. It was kill or be killed. Harry spared a glance to his right. Hagrid was wreaking havoc among a group of Death Eaters, pounding and throwing them around like so many rag dolls. Next to him was Professor Flitwick. The tiny little man was using some sort of levitation charm to great effect; he was jumping and rebounding off trolls and giants like a rocket, leaving bluebell flames and huge craters in his wake.

Ten yards.

Harry put his wand in his robes and switched his sword to a two-handed grip. No sense in using his wand, as it wouldn't be very useful against Voldemort's. If they connected again, the Priori Incantatem effect would take place again and nothing would be accomplished. Harry swallowed again, but found he had nothing in his mouth to swallow. His hands were mercifully dry and his glasses, protected with a dozen different charms, were clean and unrestrictive of his vision. He held his sword in front of him and began muttering a protective charm over and over. "Semper Protectus, Semper Protectus," he muttered in a chanting tone, feeling magic begin to crackle forth from the tip of the sword. It flowed over him, a warm bath in a cold night. Harry began to feel a little better about his fate.

Five yards.

Harry swallowed a final time and moved into a ready position, prepared to block any spells of the Dark Lord's with the blade. He saw that Voldemort had put his wand away as well, but had not drawn other weapons yet. As the distance began to close, Harry saw him reach into his cloak and pull forth a magnificent Japanese katana. The hilt was carved in a visage that Harry recognized with a shiver as a basilisk. Voldemort shifted into his own ready stance, sword held high and forward, low in hand in a "ward-off" gesture.

They stood just inside the circle of moonlight.

Harry stared at Voldemort, his piercing emerald gaze meeting only Voldemort's own unfathomable crimson one. For a moment the two famous foes stood there, sizing each other up. Each used Legilimency to scan the mind of his foe for weaknesses the other could exploit and each used Occlumency to prevent their foe from doing the same to them. Harry was the first the give up probing Voldemort's mind. His mental armor was too good, it was pointless. He instead focused his energies on Riddle's physical appearance.

The moonlight had stained his already ivory skin even whiter, adding a hint of silver shine. It also made his eyes, with their vertical pupils and red glare even more unnatural-looking. Though Harry had seen Voldemort many times in various guises and forms, he had never seen the feared wizard looking so demonic and inhuman as tonight. It was said by witnesses that Harry had ceased to look like a human as well. The moon had made his own skin appear as flawless as snow and his hair blacker than the deepest obsidian. His eyes were bright globes of the purest emerald, so intense that even the light around them even appeared greener. Harry Potter, hopeful savior of Wizard-kind, stood there in opposite his greatest enemy, looking as handsome and as terrible to behold as a Seraph, or at least like the legends of the now-extinct High Elves.

The two greatest of foes, most extreme of opposites, most different of people, stood there for a minute or more, silently waiting for that one moment where the other was off their guard. Moonlight glinted off Harry's magnificent sword, but was seemingly absorbed by Voldemort's blade of ebony.

The moment stretched into a seeming eternity. All the sounds of the battle raging around them had muted, fading to the background. The sights around them dimmed and time slowed as their awareness of each other heightened and their view of the other became clearer. Harry felt a conviction set upon him and knew it was time. He could wait no longer. The battle must be joined. As he raised his sword, he felt a soft but sudden wind stir his hair.

"Harry," a soft female voice carried on the wind. Harry hesitated. He knew the voice, having heard it earlier in the night when the dementors grew near. It was his mother. "Good luck. I couldn't imagine being more proud of you."

"You grew into a fine boy, Harry," his father's voice joined his mother's. "And you're quickly becoming a fine man. I wish I could have been a bigger part of your life, son."

"We all miss you," Sirius' voice added his own two Knuts. "And we're looking forward to seeing you when you join us. You'd better not 'til you're older than Dumbledore, though, or I'll make you wish you were still alive."

Harry chuckled out loud at this and felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. At once, he stiffened again, his body suddenly brimming with tension. Tight, corded muscles stood out in his arms and neck.

His chuckle echoed strangely in the moonlit air. He saw the slits that passed for Voldemort's nose widen and hear him sniff. Pale red eyes widened, giving him all the appearance of a lunatic. Harry saw it all in perfect detail; the world seemed to have slowed around him. He heard Ron's bellow and saw his giant of a best friend hurl the ax he carried into a mountain troll. He saw Dumbledore immobilize sixteen Death Eaters with a flick of his wand. Then Harry felt the change in the air. It was almost tangible, the magic flowing in the air between Voldemort and himself. The night was here. The time was now. Harry took a final deep breath and leapt, closing the distance between him and Voldemort.

"VOOOOOOLDDDDEEEMORRRRRRRRRT!!!" Harry bellowed, his voice carrying over the whole din of battle.

"POTTTTTER!" Voldemort screamed, leaping at the same time.

The two colossal of foes met in the exact middle of the moonlit circle. Their blades met and filled the air with sparks. The two never moved forwards or back, only circled around each other as they fought. Harry's vision narrowed to a black tunnel and soon his thoughts were only on blocking. High left, middle right, head shot forehead, stomach thrust, low right, high right. All the while the two stared into the other's eyes, red meeting green, hatred meeting hatred.

Finally, Harry gave up. He stopped fighting in a particular strategy and instead cocked the blade behind his head like a batter readying for a pitch. With another unworldly bellow, he swung the sword with all his might, praying to at least maim Voldemort.

Unfortunately, Voldemort was not as slow as Harry had hoped. The evil wizard managed to get his own sword back in line just in time to meet Harry's strike. However, the strength of it was so great that the katana was ripped from the Dark Lord's hand and shattered like so many pieces of glass. The sword of Godric Gryffindor was torn from Harry's grip as well, the great blade cracking in three pieces. Neither of the two wasted any time in drawing their wands and jumping back from the other, preparing for a wizard's duel.

"Acrius!" Voldemort cried, sending a high-pressure spray of hydrochloric acid in Harry's direction.

"Fulguritus!" Harry countered, forcing Voldemort to abandon his curse in order to avoid the chain of electricity aimed at him.

"Crucio!" Voldemort screamed when he had regained his footing. Harry, unprepared, was thrown to his knees by the sudden and overwhelming wave of pain that wracked his body. Harry concentrated through the agony and shut his mind off from the pain, once again using Occlumency.

"Transfiguro!" Harry shouted, suddenly on his feet again. Instantly, the air in front of him shivered and turned into seven or eight icicles, all ten feet long. The began flying towards Voldemort, making spearing motions with their extra-sharp points. Voldemort snarled and waved his wand, turning the ice spears into steam. Harry growled and flourished his wand again. This time, Voldemort became covered in a suffocating silver mass. Harry could his dark shape within, trying to throw off the molten silver.

For a moment, Harry thought he had won. He saw the black figure collapse and the dark arms go slack. Harry was just about to utter a celebratory yell when the figure began squirming again. Suddenly, the silver liquid exploded off Voldemort as his body tensed and grew larger. Harry stood, amazed, as he saw Voldemort's form twisting, reshaping, changing, until. . .

"Oh, my God!" someone screamed. Harry had never been religious, but felt the sudden urge to cross himself at the moment. Harry looked fearfully at what Voldemort had become. People began screaming and someone was shouting "Don't look at it, don't look!"

Lord Voldemort had become a basilisk.

Harry stood there for a moment or more, frozen by fear. The basilisk/Voldemort reared back, its poisonous yellow eyes shining like a lamp in the darkness. Harry swallowed and replaced his wand. Time to reveal his trump card. No one else save for Professor McGonagall knew about it. It was Harry's last, greatest, and most terrible weapon. Harry gathered all his remaining energy and concentrated hard. Finally, when he felt he was ready, Harry did it.

The changes began immediately. Harry began to shrink, finally stopping when he was no bigger than a large swan. At the same time, he felt feathers of scarlet and occasional gold sprout over his body. His feet twisted; becoming cruelly hooked talons. His mouth hardened, forming a flaxen-colored beak. His wings spread and Harry took to the air, crying as only the animal he had changed into could do.

Harry Potter had become a phoenix.

Harry's thoughts suddenly snapped back to the present. He blinked and was surprised to find himself still sitting upright in his grubby little bunk in the grubby little room he had rented. The phoenix. He had nearly forgotten about it and its role in Voldemort's downfall. His thoughts began to wander freely again as he remembered the quiet fall afternoon Dumbledore told him about his new Animagus form.

"Harry, do you know what this means?" Dumbledore asked delightedly. The old wizard was pacing around the room in his excitement.

Harry searched his mind for a moment. What did it mean? "I've become an Animagus faster than my dad?" Harry asked.

"Yes, yes, my boy, but you had Professor McGonagall tutoring you. No, that's not it. You see, Harry, it's not the choice of the wizard which animal form they take when they become an Animagus. No, the form an Animagus takes is usually reflective or his or her character traits. Take Sirius, for example- a more loyal man could not be found, just like a dog. It is a rare thing for an Animagus to take the form of a phoenix, Harry, and the only other one I know has indeed shaped the lives of many men. An Animagus does not choose his animal form, Harry, but rather is chosen by it. Now that I think of it, it's rather like a wand, isn't it? It became clear to me that you were destined for great things as soon as Voldemort marked you as his equal. I suppose Fawkes recognized the bird within you, Harry, phoenixes are quite amazing judges of inner strength and character."

"Professor, you mentioned that you knew another phoenix Animagus. Who was he? I'd like to talk with him."

Dumbledore smiled, his bright blue eyes twinkling merrily. "Harry, I would be delighted to talk to you whenever you want about phoenixes. I am the other of which I spoke. After all, it is highly unusual for a phoenix to allow itself to be taken as a pet. I do not transform often, of course, for unlike Professor McGonagall or Sirius, my Animagus is not a creature that one would see every day. Consequently, I will request that you only transform for the purpose of practicing. No one, not even Ron and Hermione, can know about this, Harry. You must Occlumate constantly, my boy, so that Voldemort gleans no hint of this through your mind. This will be your last and greatest weapon, Harry, for when you are a phoenix, you will have all its powers, including immortality. This does not carry over to your human self, of course, but will prevent you from dying in a transformed state. If my suspicions are correct, the form will save your life more than once."

Harry shook his head again to clear his thoughts. Save his life... That was certainly true. Why, if he hadn't been able to transform into a phoenix, Voldemort probably would have done him in during that fateful night, five years ago...

Harry gave another avian cry, flapping his wings hard to gain altitude. His emerald phoenix eyes pierced the gloom of night and saw the basilisk, striking at all that moved. Harry saw a crowd of Aurors fall, struck dead by the glare of the evil king of serpents. Harry gave another war-cry and angled his beak towards Voldemort's eyes.

With one final flap to start, Harry tucked his wings under his tiny little body and dove at Voldemort, rocketing towards him faster than any broomstick could propel him. The distance between them closed in mere seconds and Harry opened his wings like sails, catching air and slowing him down for the final approach to the basilisk's face.

Harry plunged his talons into Voldemort's left eye, feeling them go as far as six inches before he gripped, anchoring himself in. He immediately began savaging the eye with his beak, diving again and again into the gelatinous mass, keeping his eyes closed and hoping that the killing glare didn't penetrate his eyelids at such point-blank-range. Finally, the yellow light that he could see even through the closed lids dimmed, and Harry opened his eyes long enough to hop to the next eye, ripping into it in a similar manner.

As Harry went about his grisly work, he was dimly aware of the saurian screeches of agony emitting from Voldemort's throat. Apparently, Harry could still speak and understand Parseltongue in his phoenix form, because he heard Voldemort raging at him.

"ARRGH- BOY, WHEN YOU GET OFF- EURGHA- I SWEAR, YOU WILL BEG FOR CRUCIO BEFORE I AM DON-ARREHHRG!!!"

Harry took to the skies again, a brilliantly crimson light where there was once none. Harry opened his beak and for the first time used his phoenix throat for song. The haunting melody drifted through the hearts and minds of everyone there, and Harry's allies became heartened and doubled their efforts. The Death Eaters and all who allied themselves with them felt a great fear stirring in their chests at the phoenix song. Harry saw the few remaining trolls clutching their ears and groaning in pain.

Harry took a deep breath and continued to fill the air with his phoenix song, a great call to battle that none refused. The fight began again, the Aurors and D.A. members standing up and beginning the rain of curses again.

Unfortunately for Harry, his pause to sing had given Voldemort the exact chance he needed. Voldemort reared back and snapped forward seemingly all at once, his great fangs dripping with acidic poison. Harry dodged just in time, lowering his left wing so he peeled up and port.

In retaliation, Harry opened his beak and let fly a ball of flame. The fireball scorched the hide halfway along Voldemort's back. Voldemort screamed again, hissing with rage. Harry flapped hard to rise again, preparing to make another dive. He tucked his wings beneath him and sped toward Voldemort like a ballistic missile. A wreath of fire grew around him and a high-pitched whistle sounded from the small gap between the two halves of his beak.

What happened next would have proved fatal to Harry, had he been an ordinary bird.

Voldemort's gigantic serpentine form writhed and shrunk, becoming a human again. The Dark Lord raised his wand and bellowed the Killing Curse; all this happened in less then a second. Harry had no time to pull up before the emerald light was upon him, only time to open his mouth wide and swallow it.

Immediately, Harry felt his whole avian body grow as frigid as any glacier. Then he felt heat combating the dead cold. With perfect clarity, Harry felt his phoenix body burst into flame, which felt more like a warm blanket than burning death. Harry fell for what seemed an eternity before his tiny, wrinkled body fell to the ground. As soon as consciousness returned to him, moments later, Harry concentrated and reverted to his own human form as well.

When he gained full use of his dimmer human senses, Harry found himself sprawled on the ground, his robes in a heap all around him. His wand was tucked deep inside a pocket in the lining over his robes, near his heart. He looked wildly around for any sign of Voldemort. Suddenly, a high, cold laugh echoed from somewhere in front of him.

"Well, well, boy," Voldemort said as he approached, his wand out. "You've caused a lot of trouble for one so young. You've organized a force of children that has nearly routed my army of Dark creatures and Death Eaters. You've even damaged my basilisk- it'll be quite some time before my eyes heal." As he said this, Harry noticed that the skin around his eyes was bruised and bleeding, as if from the beak of a very small bird. "I'm afraid it ends now, boy. You've caused me too much trouble, too much aggravation. But look where it got you! So you'll end, boy, cold, scared, and alone. Good-bye, Potter! AVADA-"

"NO!" Harry bellowed in protest. His hands played along the ground and found something. A sword! He picked it up and swung it at Voldemort, still from his position on the ground.

At once, the effects of Harry's swing became apparent. It was not any sword that was picked up by Harry. It was the hilt-shard of the sword of Gryffindor, which had been cast aside after being broken earlier in the fight. The piece of the blade still on it was scant half a foot long, but it was more than enough to slice Voldemort's wand neatly in half.

"No," Voldemort breathed, looking down at the half-piece of wood he held in his hand, hardly daring to believe it. A brilliant red substance was poking from the tip of the black wood, sparking. "NO!" Voldemort cried. He threw the half of his wand he held into the air, where it exploded, a brilliantly scarlet fireball expanding and almost eclipsing the moon.

Harry knew that now was the time. He drew his own wand and brandished it at Voldemort.

"REDUCTO!" he bellowed, blasting Voldemort with the curse. The self-proclaimed Lord of Darkness was blown backwards, covered in burns and gashes that bled freely. As soon as he staggered to his feet, Harry cursed him again. "FULGURITUS!" Harry cried, allowing the electricity to play across Voldemort's body for several minutes before stopping it. Again, Tom Riddle stood with difficulty, meeting another curse for his troubles.

"ERRAHNIA EXCREVAE!" Voldemort moaned in pain as blue light washed over him, leaving flaming ice in its wake. Voldemort spun wildly, trying to displace the ice that had frozen to skin while burning it.

"TRACHEA CONSTRICTO!" Harry continued. Voldemort rose in the air, a blue-grey mist surrounding his throat. He clutched at it, making gurgling noises. Harry just stared at him until Harry felt Voldemort's neck bones beginning to creak as sure as if Harry's own hands were around his neck. Harry removed his wand, allowing Voldemort to collapse to the ground, breathing heavily.

"No! Master!" Peter Pettigrew, aka Wormtail, cried, rushing over to Voldemort side. "I'll protect you, Master!" he cried, pointing his wand at Harry. "AVADA-"

Before Pettigrew could finish the curse, he was thrown backwards by an orange light. Harry whirled to see Remus Lupin standing twenty feet away, his wand raised.

"Finish the job, Harry. I'll take care of this vermin," Harry nodded grimly and turned his attention back to Voldemort, who had just risen to his feet once more, bleeding and bruised.

"TERRANIUS!" Harry yelled with a flourish of his wand. At once, the ground split and Voldemort found himself being pelted with stones whizzing about at almost the speed of sound, some as large as Harry's head.

Finally, Harry saw it was over. Voldemort pulled himself to his feet again, breathing heavily. His left arm was shattered badly, it would never again work properly. His ribs were in similar shape, so badly broken from the repeated attacks on them. Burns, whether from lightning or fire, covered much of his body; his skin was no longer ivory and perfect. His legs were obviously not heavily damaged; he stood upon them without any hint of pain save favoring his right knee, which was sporting a burning pile of ice.

"It's over, Tom," Harry said, using his real name for the first time in his life. "You've lost. Repent now, and I'll ease your passing. Two words, and you won't feel a thing," Harry's tone grew mocking. "It might even be painless. I don't know; I've never died," he echoed Voldemort's own words to him, spoken during the Third Task during his fourth year at Hogwarts.

"I'll never take back what I've done, Potter. You've not won yet."

Harry laughed and motioned with his arms the battle raging around them. "Look at yourself, Tom. Your powers have left you. Your army is losing. You don't even have a wand. You're nothing, now."

Voldemort shot forward, his eyes aglow with murderous delight. "Not all my powers have left me, boy. See for yourself the might of Voldemort!"

Harry felt Voldemort's mind in his, a palpable presence. Caught unawares, Harry's mental defenses shattered, allowing Voldemort full access to Harry's mind. Harry fell to his knees, clutching his head. His scar had burst open, bleeding heavily. He could barely breathe; the pain was so intense. This was worse than a thousand years of Cruciatus, more awful than five hundred dementors. Harry moaned in agony, wishing with all his heart to die right there and then.

Slowly, Harry began to fight back. He mustered all his remaining strength and did what no wizard could expect him to do. He didn't push Voldemort away, or try to rebuild his walls of defense. He pulled Voldemort in until he was drowning in Harry's mind. Harry called up his memories and performed the polar opposite of Occlumency. Calling up every positive memory he possessed, every pure thought, and every good feeling he had ever had, Harry force fed them into Voldemort's mind.

The effect was even more painful to Voldemort than when he had tried to touch Harry in Quirrell's body. Voldemort recoiled from Harry, but the Boy Who Lived held fast, keeping Voldemort in his mind, keeping the memories flowing. He showed Voldemort all the Christmases he had at Hogwarts, he showed him every enjoyable afternoon with Ron and Hermione, and he showed him his joy at being chosen as Head Boy. He particularly enjoyed Voldemort's disgust when he showed him sleeping with Lavender Brown last New Year's.

When his happy memories had run dry, Harry began to show him emotion. No pain, no desire for vengeance, not even annoyance. Instead, Harry showed Voldemort every positive emotion he had ever had. He showed him his blind loyalty to Dumbledore, the Order, and his friends. He showed him his pride in the D.A. and the wonderful sensation he got whenever he flew. Finally, when he could feel Voldemort's mind beginning to crumble, he showed him the final emotion, the bane of many a man's existence.

Harry showed him love.

Feeling rather than hearing the scream of agony that Voldemort was in the midst of, Harry kept pouring the golden warmth of caring into his mind, feeling the iron-hard defenses eroding and crumbling as if were glass that had been struck by a Bludger. Harry felt Voldemort's already questionable mental state deteriorate further and further under the onslaught of what had already been proven Voldemort's greatest foe.

Finally, Harry felt the last mental ward collapse, Voldemort's brain liquefying beneath the burden of positive emotions. His body began to hiss and smoke, withering like a green leaf lit on fire. Harry, not really noticing what he was doing, backed away from the Dark Lord, keeping his wand and mind trained on him at all times.

Smoke billowed freely from Voldemort know; rising in little tendrils from his eye sockets, nostrils; even his pores. It grew thicker and more sulfurous as the seconds ticked by until finally, with a last scream of agony that was like raspy leaves on wind, Voldemort's body burst into flame. In seconds it burned out, leaving only a fine white ash to mark the grave of the greatest Dark wizard the world had seen in a century.

It wasn't long before the ash was blown away as well by a sudden breeze that stirred the otherwise still night air. For a moment it retained the shape of the Dark Mark, but then that too was scattered by the wind.

Immediately, the Death Eaters began moaning in pain. They clutched their Dark Marks, which had begun smoking and burning painfully. The trolls, who were under his dominion in the first place, blinked about as if confused, then fell as clouds of Troll Tranquilizer were released into the air. The last few dementors faded as quick-thinking Aurors Patronused them into oblivion. Harry sank to his knees, breathing a deep sigh of relief. He shut his eyes and felt a tremendous weight he did not even know he carried lift from his shoulders. All around him people were cheering as the first light of the sun showed in the horizon. It illuminated a blood- and carcass-strewn battlefield that had taken the place of the grounds Harry had spent so many lazy afternoons on.

For nearly fifteen minutes, no one spoke or moved. Then, slowly, very slowly, a cheer started among the crowd. It grew louder and louder until it was almost deafening. People were screaming themselves hoarse and stamping their feet; all clapped until their hands ached. Older members of the crowd were overcome with relief and cried openly, thanking a whole host of gods and ancestors it was over.

The War was over; and the victor was standing before them. Harry James Potter had killed Lord Voldemort.

Fin.