The Riddle War

Chapter Five: Bello

To War

James Black panted as he tore through the frigid rain that persisted in England. It was two weeks after spring had arrived in the rest of Europe, and he still had to struggle through the melancholy elements of late winter. It was runs like these that felt like they would never end. By four miles in, Black's mind had screamed at him to stop and get someplace warm and dry. By six, every splash his foot made in the mud of the trail was punctuated with some kind of curse. By eight, Black had gone numb, both physically and mentally, to everything around him. His pace became locked in at just under six minutes a mile and Black would later swear he dreamed.

Finally, after making it inside his little cottage, Black exhaled and felt every unpleasant sensation anew. He was cold, stiff, wet, and quite miserable, and was reminded of these facts all at once.

"I should have taken up tennis," he groaned to the kitchen as he conjured a cup of piping hot coffee. Pausing before drinking it, he added a generous dose of amber liquid from a cabinet. "A conjured cup of coffee with enough Irish spring water to conjure up a good humor," he toasted to the air before burning his tongue on the coffee. "It's official," he said morosely. "God hates me."

By the time James dried off (he refused to get any wetter by taking a shower, no matter how hot the water was) and changed into day clothes, he found the Irish coffee barely cool enough to drink. Harry sipped the coffee gratefully and put water on the old-fashioned cast-iron stove for another cup. It tasted better when you took the time to brew it. Conjured coffee always tasted like that horrible instant stuff the Muggles gulped down.

"Getting a little grimy, are we?" he said to coffee pot as it gurgled away. Being warm and cozy always made him cheerful, and when he was cheerful, he spoke to his furniture. Harry attributed this quirk to the lack of conversation in his day-to-day life. "And you," he continued, regarding his mug. "You need to get that crack fixed before you cut my lip. Silly bastard."

"I hope you're not talking to me," a voice called from Harry's left.

Harry wasted no time in hurling his mug in the direction of the sound, hoping the hot coffee would distract the intruder. His reflexes were so honed that Harry had already tipped over the table and pointed his wand at the intruder before recognizing him.

"Sorry, Viren," he apologized, standing up and fixing his table. Two more flicks of his wand cleaned up the spilled coffee (which had fortunately missed the Finn) and repaired his shattered mug. "Coffee?" Harry motioned towards the pot on the stove.

"It is I who should apologize," Viren said grandly, bowing. Harry grunted in annoyance- the elder wizard a tendency to showboat a little, reminding Harry that he was a politician, after all. "I should have known Portkeying right here without prior notice would frighten you."

"That Portkey was supposed to be for emergencies only," Harry reminded him, pouring two cups of coffee at Viren's nod of assent. "I take it something big has happened, then?"

Viren nodded, clearly excited. "Indeed something big has happened. A werewolf bearing the Dark Mark was captured last week in Ireland. Because he would not talk and had tried to kill himself several times, it was agreed that he had some valuable information. Discreetly, I was called in to interrogate him and discover his secrets."

"I'm trusting that you're here because you did?" Harry asked, adding another generous portion of aqua vitae to his coffee. Viren wondered if the drink was now merely coffee with a shot of whiskey or the other way around.

"Precisely," Viren answered. "After considerable effort on my part- the mind of a werewolf is no orderly thing, I can assure you- I extracted proof that there was to be an attack on the Ministry tomorrow night, just before midnight."

Harry frowned. "I thought Voldemort attacked the Ministry almost weekly and the Ministry was now conducting business in the lower and most secure floors only." Indeed, he had been informed of this situation by Viren himself. There was no facility in Britain that Ministry could run out of and still be an effective government (though its effectiveness now was under debatable), and so the facility had to continue to be in use, despite the danger. The government was now run in the lowest levels of the facility, where prisoners had previously been kept.

"True, dear boy, he does," Viren allowed. "But this attack is different. Where the other attacks were led by some subordinate of his and mainly to keep the Ministry off-guard, this attack is going to be led by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named personally. He is planning to lead a large contingent of his entire army into the very heart of the Ministry. In short, he is planning to eliminate years of cat-and-mouse assault/counterassault by thrusting a dagger into the very heart of the government."

Harry shook his head. "What I am supposed to do? Haven't you told the Ministry this?"

"The ranking officer in Ireland's MLES did not believe me."

"What?!" Harry exploded indignantly. "Shouldn't he at least have told his Head of Department anyway, just in case?"

"If he had, it is likely he would have been fired for allowing the werewolf to operate in his jurisdiction. Instead, he chose to have the werewolf destroyed- decapitation with a silver ax, I believe- and the matter was closed. He ordered me back to Finland or threatened to have me arrested, as I did not have my passport on me."

Harry leaned back in his chair, seething. "Those incompetent fools," he spat. "And they wonder why I isolated myself."

Viren cast a cool gaze at Harry. "What's done is done," he said evenly. "I came to you because you have a personal stake in this. Whenever He-Who-Must-Named goes into combat, his greatest weapon and ever-present companion is his familiar."

"Nagini?" Harry demanded incredulously, springing to his feet. The last Horcrux!

"Exactly," Viren nodded. "She is quite resistant to spells (being, as she is, a possessor of a portion of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's soul) and this makes her very useful to use as a method of assassination. Confident of his other Horcruxes, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named takes her into battle with him whenever he deigns to appear. However, if you can use the din and confusion of battle to your advantage-"

"-I'll be able to knock out Nagini and slip back here unnoticed!" Harry finished.

Viren nodded. "But you must make preparations now. There can be no room for error. You must kill her with this." He flipped a leather case to Harry, who found it held a Muggle hypodermic needle that contained a clear liquid.

"What's this," Harry asked, feeling that the needle was Charmed somehow.

"It is a Muggle syringe," Viren answered. "Filled with the deadliest poison the most dangerous Potions Master in Finland could synthesize. I told him it was for the humane execution of a magical python I had that had become too bloodthirsty for its own good. He promises me it would kill a young dragon if it had to."

Harry eyed the solution in the needle, but to him it looked like water. "Thanks," he said, replacing the needle in its case and putting the case on the counter. "I have some things to get ready, if you don't mind," he said, leading Viren to the hall. "Here's your return Portkey. I trust you know how to reactivate the used one here?"

Viren informed he did and wished him luck. Harry thanked him and ran into his laboratory, his heart hammering like he had just finished an interval session. Actually, now that he thought of it, he had a series of quarter-mile repeats to do before he left this evening. . .

* * *

Severus Snape sighed in satisfaction as he sipped from his goblet of wine from his reclined position on the couch in his luxurious apartment. He loved it when everything went according to plan, and his latest endeavors- indeed, his very life- had gone exactly according to plan the last few years.

Much of Snape's sudden rise could be attributed to his murder of Dumbledore, he knew. The doddering old fool had focused too much of Snape's troubled childhood and not enough on his Slytherin ambition. Of course he was ambitious enough to kill a man who trusted him for the sake of a little advancement! He was a Slytherin! He had no friend of mentors. Severus Snape was a main who respected power. And the Dark Lord quite clearly proved to Snape that he possessed far more power than the ancient Dumbledore.

Ever since killing the old man, Snape had been given many opportunities to prove his ample abilities to his master. He had yet to fail in any task given to him by the Dark Lord for six years, and the result was this sumptuous apartment and the title of Right Hand. He was the Dark Lord's most useful tool, his most lethal weapon, his most trusted servant. . .

Snape took another sip of the ancient wine in his goblet and looked in appreciation in his room. His house-elves, gifts from the Dark Lord for poisoning an up-and-coming Auror lieutenant, had wisely anticipated his whims and decorated the suite of four rooms (living room, bedroom, study, laboratory) exactly to his taste. Dark, highly polished wood prevailed throughout the room, accentuated the low-slung, sophisticated furniture. The decorations were few, but luxurious. The one portrait in the room, hung directly over the huge black marble fireplace, depicted Snape in very ornate dress robes, bearing symbols of his high office. One, a laurel crown worked in silver, rested on his head, while the other, an amulet that bore the Dark Mark, hung at his neck.

Yes, Snape decided, everything was going to plan. The assault on the Ministry tomorrow would make the Dark Lord's victory complete. As planner of the operation, Snape fully expected a reward vast beyond the scope of all the Dark Lord's other servants. Perhaps control of Ireland. . .

* * *

Harry prepared for the attempt on Nagini's life almost exactly as James Black prepared for races. At dawn, he awoke and completed a brief twenty minute warm-up jog around his property. It served as it always did to refresh him and get his awareness up. After breakfasting, he went into his lab and began to prepare everything he'd need.

Okay, Harry thought, going over his mental checklist. Lucky running shorts instead of underwear? Check. Undershirt? Check. Light Graphorn hide armor? Check. Heavier dragon hide armor? Check. Normal Wizarding robes? Check.

And so on, until Harry was sure he had everything he could possibly need. Last of all he donned his Invisibility Cloak and tucked the syringe of poison into his robe pocket. He looked at the clock.

Merlin, how the day had flown by. Usually, before races, time seemed to crawl and torture Harry by drawing the waiting out. Today, time had sought to distract Harry by flying by, nearly making him late.

Voldemort's attack was to take place at ten minutes to midnight. It was now five minutes to midnight. By now, the battle had to be fully joined.

Standing up, Harry took one more swig from the bottle of amber liquid on his kitchen table to fortify him for the horrors ahead. War was never a humane thing. He only hoped he was good enough at sleeping Occlumency to block the screams and wails of the dying from his dreams. . .

* * *

Eric Jennings, the newest member of the MLES, screamed as he saw Aulus Colbert, his partner, crash to the ground, blood spurting from a horrendous wound in his thigh. The older man (who had been a scant six months from retirement) gargled and shuddered before finally lying still when a Death Eater's searching wand found him.

"We need backup!" he cried into the Ministry address system. It had a direct link to the Auror Office downstairs. "Please, it's a full-scale attack, there are werewolves, repeat, werewolves, and large swarms of dementors! We can't repulse them!"

"We're coming," a tinny voice replied. "We're coming as soon as we can."

"Come soon!" Eric wailed, overcome by fear. "There was only a few of us on duty tonight! We can't fortify the Atrium, we need to fall back!"

"Do not fall back," a different voice piped in. "Repeat, Jennings, do not fall back! You have to hold that Atrium, do you understand?"

Eric straightened up at hearing the Minister's voice. "Yes, sir!" he barked. "We'll do it or die trying!"

"Do England a favor and succeed in the former and not the latter," the Minister replied. "You'll have your reinforcements soon."

Jennings signed off, resigned to his fate. They wouldn't come in time, he knew. He was dead meat-

* * *

Bellowing at the top of his lungs, Ron Weasley leapt out of one of the many fireplaces in the Atrium at the same time as the rest of the Order. The Order had known about the attack from their own sources and had planned to ambush a large portion of Voldemort's army. As Ron had predicted in his tactical assessment of the situation, the army had pushed forward as quickly as it was able and had left its sides dangerously exposed to a flank maneuver. The Order had planned its counterattack for the precise moment when Voldemort's army had not yet penetrated the gate to the bowels of the Ministry, but had covered all the ground to cover in the Atrium.

"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!" Ron cried, Stunning two Death Eater and narrowly missing a third.

After a brief duel with the third Death Eater that ended in a broken nose for Ron and a broken skull for the Death Eater, Ron leapt through the air to block a curse headed for his brother, George.

"Thanks," George grinned, dispassionately firing a lightning bolt at a charging troll. The two brothers fought side-by-side for another few minutes as the shock of the Order's counterattack subsided and the battle begin to turn more towards Voldemort's army. It was the same old numbers game; the Order was simply too outmanned by Voldemort to mount large offensives. Stretched as thin as they were, the best they could do was delay the inevitable Voldemort.

"Ministry reinforcements!" someone- Neville Longbottom?- shouted over the noise of battle. Snaps and pops from Apparating Aurors and Hit-Wizards filled the room as they arrived from all over the country and downstairs. Grunting against this wave of Ministry fighters, Voldemort's army dug their heels in and settled in for a long fight that they knew they would win.

The fighting continued for another five minutes before Voldemort's army began to assert dominance again. The Order and the reserves were being pushed back to the rear-center of the room, closest to the lift that they had to defend at all costs. . .

Ron steeled his resolve and tried to ignore the various minor wounds his body had sustained during the fighting. If he didn't pause to heal that cut above his right eye, he would soon start getting woozy from lack of blood. Already, the light-headedness was beginning.

Then he saw Him.

Near the back of the fighting, a solitary figure had appeared. Clothed in black robes that made his ivory skin shine ever the brighter, the Dark Lord Voldemort strode confidently towards the gates. Ahead of him slithered his familiar, Nagini, who struck at the few remaining foolish Ministry Aurors who had not fallen back to the gates. With a malicious smile on his lips, he waded into the thick of the battle, raising his wand to block a stray curse. . .

* * *

Harry crouched behind a vase in the Atrium, watching the entire fight as it progressed. Seeing his friends and people he knew being hurt was even worse than Harry had imagined. He knew it would be difficult, but imagining it in his head was nowhere near as heartbreaking as seeing it unfold in front of him. It was like trying to recall the exact feeling of a race. You just couldn't know it unless you were in it.

Twice now, as Voldemort's army had asserted its dominance after the arrival of the Order and the Ministry reserves, Harry had raised his wand and prepared to add in whatever aid he could to the hopeless cause of the defenders. Twice he had managed- barely- to stay his hand. It was like kicking in a race. He couldn't go too early. . .he had to be patient. He had to be patient. . .

Fuck patient, Harry decided a heartbeat later. He wasn't going to wait for Voldemort to just show up whenever he pleased and let his friends die in the meantime. His "saving-people thing," which had driven him to exile in the first place, had flared up with a vengeance. It was time to put the old quirk to use. Harry stood and raised his wand. . .

. . .and immediately dropped to a crouch again. There he was! Voldemort! And there, at his knees- Nagini! Harry rammed his wand back into its holster and withdrew the hypodermic needle. Now was his chance.

Taking care to keep the Invisibility Cloak covering him, Harry sprinted towards the serpent, raising the syringe like a dagger. His quest for the destruction of the Horcruxes would end here!

The tip of the needle was inches from Nagini's handsome, diamond-shaped head when the snake suddenly reared back and struck at Harry. Twisting, he managed to catch the bite on his gauntlet and avoid a painful, spasming death from the snake's poison, but in the process of doing so lost his Invisibility Cloak.

For a horrible drawn-out second, Harry's vision was filled with two familiar red eyes with catlike pupils. They widened now, in surprise and fury.

"POTTER!" Voldemort roared, momentarily causing everyone in the room to freeze.

"REDUCTO!" Harry responded, catching Voldemort by surprise and blasting him back several feet. He had to avoid him, or Voldemort would toast him for sure!

Doing the unthinkable, Harry pointed his wand at the ground and cast a Jumping Charm before Voldemort could react. The Charm sent him sailing through the air and into the area where the battle was at its thickest and most intense.

As dangerous as Harry's position was, here in the forest of crossfire between the two forces, being alone with Voldemort in a clear field would be infinitely worse. It was like the middle laps of a 5K. All he had to do was stay alert.

Twisting and turning his body like a contortionist on acid or a dancer gone mad, Harry made countless holes in the bodies of Voldemort's soldiers with his trademark Piercing Charm. Normally used for making small holes in wood or brick, Harry's powered-up version left fist-sized, finger-deep gashes in whatever it touched. Flesh was considerably softer than brick, after all.

"Percutio!" Harry said for the umpteenth time, drilling a hole into a werewolf's flank. It whined and dropped to the ground, alive but incapacitated.

Harry was tiring fast from all the magic he was using, but pushed on. Thank God for his conditioning. If he hadn't been in such good shape, the difficult magic he was using in such abundance would have already claimed his consciousness. Spells to heighten the senses, quicken reaction time, confuse enemies, spill blood, cut flesh, heal wounds. . .it was all becoming a dizzying blur to Harry.

Taking heart in his unexpected presence, the defenders rallied around Harry and were beginning to drive the army back. Having a gyroscopic blur of a weapon in the enemies' midst didn't hurt, either.

Finally, Harry became tired enough to make a tiny mistake in his attack. One split-second opening was all Voldemort had been waiting for or needed. A slight lapse in Harry's concentration as he blew a troll into oblivion was more than enough for Voldemort to cast a rope around Harry's ankle and yank him out of the thick of battle. Screaming wildly, the defenders abandoned their fortified positions and charged the still far more numerous enemy.

"So, Potter," Voldemort spat icily. "You've returned to us. How lovely; we've missed you so. Severus, take command while I put an end to this troublesome little runaway once and for all." Harry sneered as he saw a man he hated more than any other (Voldemort did not count, being as inhuman as he was) leap from behind Voldemort and into the battle. He was sorely tempted to try to follow him, but knew the greater threat was with Voldemort.

"You're looking pale, Riddle," Harry retorted, raising his wand and trying to appraise his enemy coolly. "I hope your health is well?"

"Very well," Voldemort answered angrily. "Especially since your little blood transfusion a few years ago!"

"Glad I could help," Harry quipped sardonically. "But I think I'd like it back now."

"Arrogant brat!" Voldemort hissed. "Nagini!"

Harry was completely unprepared for what happened next. Leaping into his outstretched hand, Nagini hung limp in Voldemort's grip as if she was some kind of poisonous bullwhip. Voldemort flicked his wrist with almost casual detachment and Harry barely avoided getting bit in the face.

"Do you like my new weapon, Potter? I developed it just after you fled in fear."

Harry gritted his teeth, but said nothing.

"Something wrong, Potter?" Voldemort asked in a voice sweet with decay. Harry felt a mental probe, like scraping fingers, bounce off his shield. "You've learned some Occlumency, I see," he continued, flicking the whip/snake at Harry again, who dodged and saw Nagini's head bury itself in the wall momentarily before freeing itself and returning to Voldemort's side.

There's my chance. Harry thought. He had to distract Voldemort.

"I'm so glad you noticed," Harry answered in a would-be conversational tone. He hoped this next bit didn't get Voldemort so mad he used the Killing Curse instead of the snake. "Your mother was an excellent teacher- and instead of gold, she only wanted to spend those cold, lonely winter nights with me!"

Voldemort let out a decidedly catlike hiss of rage and cracked Nagini at him with all his unholy might. It worked exactly like Harry had hoped. Sacrificing accuracy for power, the Dark wizard had missed entirely, burying the snake even deeper into the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

Now! Harry thought, whipping out the syringe. Stabbing downward with all his might, he felt the needle penetrate Nagini's magically-toughened skin and depressed the plunger, injecting the entire container of poison directly into her heart.

Almost immediately, she started smoking. Yelping, Voldemort let go of her, as if she had become scalding to the touch.

"What-" Voldemort began, but Harry did not allow him to finish. He closed one eye and brought his wand to bear, squinting his unclosed eye and hoping his aim was true. . .

"Percutio!" Not quite. The blue-white hex missed Voldemort's eye and instead skipped off the bone around it, causing most of his eye to vanish in a puff of smoke. The cheekbone cracked and bright red blood began to pour out of Voldemort's shattered face.

Harry was so shocked at the damage his spell had done (Voldemort hadn't even had the most rudimentary of defenses up) he just froze like an idiot, looking at Voldemort as he snapped back. Screaming in pain and rage, he swung his wand at Harry like a baseball bat. As it swung, a great wave of fire flashed into existence, rolling over Harry. Not fire, Harry corrected as it played across his body. Pure magical energy. Pure rage. Pure hate.

Purely lethal.

Then his world went black and Harry thought nothing at all.

Fin.