Grimmauld Place had never been so full. Ancient seams groaned while people milled around inside, shoulder to shoulder. The furniture in the living room had been stored away, leaving the space clear for the floo to disgorge an endless stream of people. Various languages bounced against one another in the air, intermingling and clashing all at once until it was a hum that rang in Harry's ears.
Sirius stood at his side, eying the growing crowd. It had been his suggestion to place Grimmauld Place under the Fidelius Charm and use it as the staging area for what was being called in hushed whispers, the final operation, die letzte operation, and l'operation finale, and various other iterations that drifted around the room.
Fleur hid upstairs in his room, her amplified allure keeping her from his side. Thankfully, Mariika had come along with Bill and had gone upstairs to keep her company, Gabrielle close behind.
Fleur had snuck into his room the night before, himself having been pulled from Hogwarts the evening before, and climbed into his bed without a word. It had only been inside her arms that he'd found any sleep in the few remaining hours before All Hallows' Eve.
The cacophony of voices settled as Dumbledore raised his wand into the air, the tip shining to capture everybody's attention. A lingering bark of laughter from Moody was the last to die out before Dumbledore spoke.
Harry barely listened, his attention immediately drifting to their role in the attack, the one Dumbledore had laid out for them just a few days prior. The one that had kept both he and Fleur up long into the night, holding each other in silence.
It sounded simple.
Have a clear picture of who he was locked in his mind. Who he really was.
And all she had to do was to love the real him hard enough that the Horcrux got burned away.
Well…Dumbledore hadn't said exactly that.
But it had been what Harry heard and the absurdity of the linchpin in their tactics had left him restless in the days following. As it was, he found his foot bobbing against the ground and his arms clutched tight against his chest. A hand dropped onto his shoulder and then another on the opposite. He turned to find Sirius on one side, Sebastian on the other, both with attention locked on Dumbledore.
He wasn't quite sure if he was being chastised for his fidgety movement or reassured, but either way, he let the pressure on his shoulders settle him, the comforting presence on either side a welcome one.
A pale-blond mop of hair caught his eye and drew his attention back to Dumbledore. Malfoy sidled up next to the headmaster and stared out at the assembled force through drawn and tired eyes.
"Mr. Malfoy has agreed to help us," Dumbledore was saying, gesturing to the young man next to him. "Auror Tonks will disguise herself as Antonin Dolohov, an agent of Voldemort's that we know to make regular reports to Voldemort himself. Mr. Malfoy will escort Auror Tonks through the wards and to their keystone in order to render the manor vulnerable. Following the removal of the wards, an anti-apparition jinx will be placed over the area, maintained by our friends from the Italian Warding Division."
A small group of three men and two women raised their hands in identification as Dumbledore gestured towards them.
"They will each have a pair of guards and must be protected should you notice one of them struggling. After a certain point, if the jinx falls and Voldemort gets away, we lose this opportunity forever." Dumbledore let the pronouncement fill the stagnant air. "Once the wards are down and the jinx is in place, we will approach the manor from the north and south, with a smaller team of Auror Tonks and Alastor Moody pushing in from the western gardens to flank and distract the entrenched Death Eaters."
Harry glanced over to where Tonks stood next to Moody, her friendly countenance replaced by a severity mirrored in her mentor's scarred features.
Dumbledore's eyes grew hard and he stared down the crowd arrayed in front of him with all the weight of his legend behind his gaze.
"If you are confronted by Voldemort, activate your emergency portkey to return to our staging area outside and rejoin the battle from there. I will engage him as soon as I am able. And remember, we want to capture, if possible."
Murmurs of assent and dissatisfaction rolled through the crowd, prompting a not-so-quiet scoff from Moody.
With a word as razor-sharp as a guillotine, Dumbledore spoke.
"Dismissed."
Both hands on Harry's shoulders steered him from the room and out of the sudden bustle. He distantly hoped they'd continue up to the bathroom so he could empty his stomach again. Instead, they stopped on the landing just before the stairs.
"You ready?" Sirius asked, his voice gruff and almost indistinct for the hum of activity just around the corner.
Rather than trust his voice, Harry suppressed the honest shrug and nodded.
"We will be going with you," Sebastian said. "Myself, Sirius, and Andromeda. Apolline will be staying here with Gabrielle, but know that I had to fight a battle of my own to keep her from coming to watch over the two of you. It may be unlikely that we will be in danger, but if we are discovered, it is almost certain Voldemort will soon follow."
"Still not sure how you managed that," Sirius grumbled.
"I had to play a little dirty. She's forgiven me though…I think."
Sirius nodded, then focused on Harry.
"Got your mirror?" he asked.
Dutifully, Harry produced his mirror from his pocket, its twin now resting with Dumbledore.
"And the portkey?"
Harry held up the little toy dog.
"Your wand?"
Some distant part of him wanted to snicker and pat theatrically at his pockets, but his hand simply lifted his holly wand from his pocket.
"Good. Good. I guess…I guess we'd better go collect Fleur and get to it."
Harry nodded and climbed the stairs on wooden legs, each step muffled by the anxious anticipation packed so tightly inside his body that it made his ears ring.
Fleur sat on the edge of his bed, her hair pulled back with the simple ribbon she had transfigured from black to lavender, a singular color peeking through the haze in his mind.
That and the blue of her wide eyes on his.
Mariika sat beside her, her own silvery hair loose and draped over a shoulder, her hand on Fleur's knee. They hadn't been able to tell anyone of their role in the battle, not even Ron and Hermione, and had only been allowed to say that they were going to participate. He'd gotten an absolute reaming from his friends about it. Not that they were mad he couldn't tell them, no. They had threatened to curse him until he let them come along. In the end, it had been an intervention via Dumbledore that had settled the matter.
"It is time?" Fleur asked, her voice steadier than the panic flashing across her face should have allowed.
Sebastian nodded, then frowned at his daughter.
"You spoke to your mother and sister?"
It was Fleur's turn to bob her head.
"Maman did a lot of crying…Gabrielle too. I tried to tell them not to worry about something that probably will not come to pass."
Sebastian nodded, then glanced up at the ceiling.
"I need to talk to them too, then we can go," he said, then slipped from the room, leaving dense silence in his wake.
Without a word, Mariika rose and excused herself from the room, leaving the three of them alone to try to think of anything other than the potential goodbye happening one floor above.
Harry crossed the room and dropped down onto the bed next to Fleur, wrapping his arm around her when her head dropped down onto his shoulder. Sirius leaned against the wall by the door and remained there until Sebastian returned.
"Let's get to work."
XxX
Godric's Hollow was not at all how Harry had imagined it.
In his mind, it had been full of idyllic houses spaced far apart, trees and giant lawns between them. The privacy of the countryside mixed with the close-knit feeling of Hogsmeade. What he found was far closer to the latter than he expected; cottages bunched up against one another with street lamps illuminating dark houses. Frost crept along the windows and roofs, the quiet air filled with only their breath.
Harry had understood the necessity of the night. A gathering force would be difficult to spot in the true countryside where Malfoy manor sat, unassuming. What he wished for, however, was that it had been a tad warmer. A shudder that rolled through Fleur and down to where their hands clasped between him told him he wasn't the only one, her breath coming out in giant, heated plumes of mist.
"This way," Sirius said, his voice hushed and strained.
He led them down the empty cobbled street, their footsteps bouncing from small cottage to identical small cottage, lending the impression of a true army off to war, rather than their simple group of five. Fleur's hand tightened around his as they walked past an ancient church, the outside surrounded by a multitude of weathered gravestones and small statues. A wrought-iron fence encircled the cemetery and Harry tugged Fleur over to his other side, putting himself between her and it.
The house he had imagined and dreamed of was not the sprawling estate he had pictured, but a small cottage made somehow more painfully personal for its quaint size. His steps faltered as they drew nearer, the ruined roof and collapsing front wall a ruinous reminder of reality.
By contrast, against the wooden front gate rested a veritable mountain of flowers. Cards and parchment notes poked out from between green stalks and multicolored bouquets and littered the ground in front of the dilapidated front fence.
They approached the broken home, Harry and Fleur at the head of the group, to find each card bore well-wishes and thanks for Harry and his family. Rather than linger as a part of him begged to do, he pushed open the gate with his free hand and stepped over the tumbling pile of flowers.
XxX
The land around Malfoy manor came to life with irregular twists in the air that produced nearly a dozen clumps of Aurors, each one with wands out and eyes scanning the darkness around them for signs of discovery. The smallest group, just a pair, appeared ahead of the others below the crest of the hill.
They crept forward, one hobbling up the soft earth on a wooden leg, the other with gray hair illuminated by the moonlight.
"The others will be in position as well," Moody grumbled.
His magical eye latched onto movement in the middle distance, the once-disorienting discrepancy in his vision made mundane by years of practice.
"Tonks and the boy have apparated in. They're on their way to the manor."
Teams assembled behind them, the jinxing groups falling in line behind him and Dumbledore, their supports flanking each one. They passed a small flask between them, each taking a swig before handing it to the next. Moody reached out as it passed behind him and snatched from the waiting hand.
He sniffed it and wrinkled his nose at the fragrant, sweet scent that wafted out.
"Draught of Peace, Sir," said the man who he'd snatched it from, his voice thick with a German accent.
"I know what it is," Moody growled, dumping the flask out onto the grass, much to the dismay of those who hadn't gotten their share. "Nerves keep you sharp."
He turned to the bodyguards.
"Did you have any?"
Quick shakes of their heads met his question.
"Good, because your jobs just got more difficult. Keep an extra eye out. They're going to be more likely to dismiss small movements or shimmers in the air that might mean a disillusioned enemy…on second thought…" he trailed off, using his magical eye to pick out two Aurors he knew to be efficient and waved them over. "You two are now a part of these teams. Protect the jinx-caster at all costs."
He flung the empty flask back at the man who he'd stolen it from and turned back to join Dumbledore.
"Good thinking," the older man murmured, eyes narrowed in the direction of the manor.
"With roles as important as theirs, you can't be too vigilant."
"Indeed."
Not a peep or cough arose from the assembled force behind them, a fact for which Moody was supremely grateful. Too often in his years as senior recruit trainer, he had seen an operation fed to the werewolves because of a sneeze, cough, or sniffle. He'd had half a mind to silence the lot upon arriving and was heartened to find it unnecessary.
"There."
Dumbledore's voice was sharp, and a moment later, Tonks appeared in front of them with a soft crack.
"Draco's out," she said, voice quick and efficient. "Portkey went off without a hitch."
She focused on the jinx teams behind Moody.
"Get going."
Cracks of disapparition sounded behind him and shadowy forms blinked into existence just outside the tall fence surrounding the manor.
Another flash of light and it was time.
Tonks' hand wrapped around his arm and she drew him into blackness and battle.
XxX
Harry had expected, hoped, for a flash of memory when he walked through the front door. To be able to see ghostly images of his parents running through the narrow entryway and around the stairs or hear the memory of laughter echoing through the house. If he'd been alone he might have announced that he was home or close his eyes and pretend he could remember it all.
The strangled grunt Sirius let out from behind him as he too stepped through the door perfectly encapsulated everything he was feeling.
"It's…been a long time," Sirius whispered with vocal cords of sandpaper.
Harry didn't respond, letting his silence carry the words away.
Fleur's hand tightened around his and he caught the tilt of her head out of his periphery, but found himself unable to look away from the rubble-strewn wooden floors and demolished walls.
"They…left it," he finally managed, stepping forward to peer into a small den on the right, left virtually untouched, "all broken like this?"
"It's a monument," Sirius muttered, sliding around Harry to glance up the stairwell where moonlight spilled through the hole in the roof, illuminating the upper floor.
"There is one in the cemetery, is there not?" Fleur asked, her quiet voice making him jump and turn to look at her.
She smiled sheepishly in return.
"We…learned about it in recent history class at school."
Sirius nodded, waving them past the stairs and down the narrow hallway.
"I think you underestimate the fanaticism for the Potters. It's not wholly undeserved, but it can get a little out of hand."
The horror of giant strangers pushing in at him as he wandered the fantastic, new Diagon Alley surfaced in his memory. People touching him, shaking his hand, whispering his name as though he were worth revering.
Another squeeze on his hand brought him back to the moment and they gingerly stepped over the remnants of a door. The frame had been blasted apart with insulation and framework visible through the torn drywall. The room beyond was…
It was…
It was where his earliest dreams lived.
A room of maroons and golds with brooms painted across the top just below the trim. With shelves inset into the walls, their books spilled across weather-tattered chairs and strewn across the floor. Moonlight filtered through a large window, dwarfed by the hole in the ceiling, piercing through the upper floor and out the roof and allowing access to the stars beyond.
It took him only an instant to notice these things, a blissful instant when he hadn't yet seen the crib or the irregular swath of floor where the books and sheets of paper stopped and a simple carpeted floor showed through.
Where his mother had fallen.
A quiet, wet curse from Sirius had Andromeda placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him away from the sight, while Harry could only stand, trapped in a feeling of perverse connection to a woman he had never really known.
His parents had always been…strangers.
And heroes.
People who wouldn't have allowed the Dursleys to continue their abuse and would have whisked him away at his first tear.
They had also been long dead by the time he was able to ask about them, in a time before the Dursleys had been truly reviled by what he was. They were an idea, a vague want that would go forever unrealized.
But here, on the corpse of a war thought ended fifteen years before, there was a hole.
A space that had held a body that had fallen to protect him. That had been covered by the rubble of what followed and had been carried down the street and entombed.
The nebulous forms of his parents…his mother, became real.
Physical.
And they strangled him.
They tore at his throat and clutched his chest tight, tears burning down his cheeks.
Movement filtered through his watery vision and he was pulled into a fierce embrace.
One that, for once, he wished belonged to Apolline.
XxX
Malfoy manor stretched high overhead, ostentatious parapets lining the roof, dotted with corbels of curling, expensive artistry. The garden they apparated into was long dead, hedges and bushes bare long before the true onset of winter. The first flashes of spellfire lit the night, the casters out of sight around the edges of the massive home. Jets of color arced high and wide, splattering against the far hills or impacting against shields surrounding the jinx-casters.
Tonks's hands flashed, signaling a group of four racing past the window nearest them towards the northern front. Five heartbeats later, her wand tip touched one of the half-storey high panes of glass and vanished it. She shrank considerably before climbing through, her lighter weight easier to maneuver and far quieter upon the stone floor on the inside.
With a wave of his wand, Moody cast a silencing charm on his foot, and doubled up on his wooden leg, just to be safe.
The room beyond the window had clearly once been an office. A grand fireplace stood along the wall to their right, flanked by bookshelves that reached uselessly to the high ceiling. The desk that should have dominated the room sat against the opposite wall to allow space for a group of poorly transfigured beds to sit close to the fireplace.
Tonks slid through the room, her small footsteps inaudible against the shouts that rang, however muffled, through the halls outside. Moody followed as quickly as he was able, his staff abandoned back in the hills in favor of less encumbrance. His bones may be old, cracked, and missing in places, but they still knew how to fight.
Footsteps thundered past the door as Moody melded into the shadows of the wall. A shrill, piercing voice echoed unintelligible commands from further down the hall. Tonks froze for a moment, then her hand formed into the sign.
Priority target.
She shifted forward and checked around the corner, the sound of footsteps replaced by a breaching crash from the south side. Moody didn't bother suppressing his grin.
The hall outside was a dingy, once opulent mess. A long red rug down the center masked their footsteps, its vibrant color spotted with the mud and grime of hundreds of footsteps. Ancient sconces sat empty and doors along the hall stood ajar, each one carefully checked before they proceeded.
A vicious crack resounded through the air and the ground beneath their feet trembled in resonant response.
That could only have been one of two people.
The hall ended at a tremendous dining room. Pillars lined the space and a table longer than some houses were tall stretched from end to end. To the left, a cold fireplace, to the right, one of their points of incursion.
Bodies littered the stones inside a massive hole blown in the wall with far more taking cover and firing blind curses out into the mass of intercontinental Aurors outside. Vicious green curses spewed into the night, the return fire a motley mess of colors that split stone and torched the air. Near the back, protected by a pair of kneeling guards that alternated shields, their target stood with her matted mass of ebony hair flailing as she sent precise curse after precise curse into the oncoming forces, picking off those brave enough to try to push forward.
Moody tapped Tonks twice on the shoulder and traded places, his wand angled around the corner, his magical eye doing the work of positioning. With an utterance, the curse was away.
A sinuous form blurred through the indistinct vision of his magical eye and leapt, intersecting the curse.
A shriek preceded the explosion that blew apart the corner they hid behind, stone fragments slicing across the already deadened nerves of his face and arm. Tonks shielded herself and grew larger, back to her usual size where she was most comfortable fighting. Moody stuck his hand back around the corner, low against the ground, and sent a deluge of easy, nonverbal cutting charms and reductor curses out towards the enemy, taking care not to send any out the opening.
"Patronus to Dumbledore," he barked at Tonks, who nodded her assent. "Bellatrix north, Voldemort south."
A silver hare skidded out of the hallway, silver wisps trailing behind that coiled through newly spell-laden air. It sprinted through the curved archway and out into a foyer where Death Eaters portkeyed in to bolster bending lines, heavy boots thudding the stone as the Patronus slid through and beneath, using the stone walls for speed and drawing closer to its target. It zipped around columns and ignored frantic pleading shouts from behind a metal door, leapt off a table, a sconce, and out a window.
Outside it found the person it had been sent for, standing in front of a single woman who worked frantically to reapply a jinx to the massive home. A pair of bodies lay at their feet, devoid of the spark of life that guided the hare.
It landed amidst a churning wave of earth that engulfed a frantic wizard, whose comrades rejoined with twin jets of green light that were captured by molded stone.
Message sent, it vanished.
Tonks' voice rang in Dumbledore's ears alongside the shouts of curses and pain that thickened the air. The unique thud of lifeless bodies; a final punctuation on screams and grunts that tore at him the same as it had done fifteen years before.
But now he was older, slower, and still the only person who could do what needed doing.
With a flick of his wand, he summoned the clothes of two nearby allies, dragging along the surprised men, and assigned them to guard the jinx-caster with a single gesture.
The southern front. Not far.
With careful manipulation of earth and stone, a small square of hardened rock carried him across a battlefield that aged legs struggled to cross with necessary haste. A shield at his side caught splashes of violet and red while summoned rocks shattered into shrapnel against killing curses.
His tiny platform shifted and grew to span deep, jagged wounds in the ground; a transfiguration attempt to bring down the outer wall to allow access. Sturdy construction had led to his failure and cost those two guards their lives in the resultant confusion.
But there would be time for such concerns later.
The southern front dueled to a stalemate, neither giving nor gaining ground towards the house. Windows had been reduced to glass dust and spells spewed out from the darkness inside.
Dumbledore squinted as he stopped his transport behind an adequate wall.
He couldn't see the interior, the radiant light of the spells only splashing against the outer stonework as they flew. Moonlight from above gave no assistance.
Much too dark.
He worked through a series of counter curses and anti-illusions with the monotonous speed of long-unused skills coming awake to flex dormant muscles. A specific inversion caught and he used it to sever the enchantment, rendering the interior visible.
Spellfire from inside slowed for a moment and he swiped his wand in an arc, the trio of blasting curses impacting the supports between the massive windows. The stone gave way without resistance, bludgeoning those unfortunate enough to be caught behind.
Within, Voldemort stood, unmoved, the dust of disintegrated stone pooling around his feet.
The air filled with spells again, his forces pushing hard against the rattled Death Eaters, but not taking ground in front of the self-fashioned Dark Lord. Voldemort raised his wand and thunder rolled his challenge across the sky.
Without taking his eyes from the shadow of a man that stood before him, he pulled the mirror from his pocket and held it to his face.
"It's time."
XxX
Fleur wasn't sure how long she'd held him or how long tears had chilled her shoulder. He'd shaken in her arms though little noise punctuated the stillness around them.
The others had left them alone in the room to take up their positions outside, a precaution that, she hoped, would be unnecessary. But both Moody and Dumbledore had insisted, and she could tell Harry was glad for the company overall, if not in that particular moment.
She had let him go only slightly, her arms still dangling over his shoulders and her forehead pressed against his.
"I am sorry this brings you such pain," she whispered, each word fogging the frozen night air.
His shrug lifted her arms and the hollow vibration of his sense began to settle.
"I'm about to be in a lot more."
"Of a different sort," she agreed with a pained grimace that reflected in her heart.
Countless nights had spun by, leaving her restless and frustrated as she had turned the upcoming moments over in her mind. Even the idea of his agony raked its claws across her being.
Not because she was afraid of losing control, not anymore, but because she was the one doing it. A simple, selfish thought that had wormed its way into her thoughts and lingered.
There was no question if she loved him enough.
There was no question if there was a connection she could exploit.
She could do it. She knew she could.
She had to.
But he had endured so much.
The boy that had become her friend had been timid and suspicious, tainted by the mundane evils of neglect and abuse long before magical evil reappeared in his life. Yet he'd become strong, he had willed it so in spite of everything. A solid, steadfast force of safety and compassion with a well of love and understanding so deep she had yet to find the bottom.
And she, the one who loved him in return, would cause him pain.
It made her sick.
And his trust in her made her soar.
There was no reticence or doubt in him. No fear of her or what had to be done. Just that same, hard-headed determination to see things through. To put an end to something that should never have been his responsibility in the first place.
And to finally, finally be free.
Free to move forward. Where they could plan a future without an 'if' hanging over them like an axe.
Where she could let herself dream those biggest of dreams.
Sound filtered through her thoughts, resonating through where their heads met as much as it did through the air. Achingly slow with faltering breathy noise between each note, he hummed.
Her family's song.
Her song.
His.
It caught in his throat and he fumbled in his pocket. The mirror in his hand shimmered and Dumbledore's face appeared, aged creases lit by unseen spells.
"It's time."
XxX
The hare vanished from view and Moody stepped out into the dining room, wand aloft and shield at the tip of his tongue. Reassessing, he let his wand tip fall, ready to draw the ground up in the sort of shield that would stop the type of spells Bellatrix preferred.
A massive snake twitched at her feet, the wisps of his violent purple curse coiling off its scales, fading to reveal unmarred flesh.
He kept his face studiously neutral.
It was one of them.
No matter. If things went to plan, it'd be taken care of. If not…well, he probably wouldn't be around to worry about such things.
Bellatrix didn't coo or taunt, as had been her penchant in the past, and her wand cut vicious streaks through the air. Their duel began without comment or propriety and Moody spun into motion.
Stone beneath his feet pulled free with each step, spinning around him to dizzying effect while its protection offered him only glimpses of his target and her now fully engaged guards. Killing curses spat from their wands, peppering the stone whirlwind around him and blasting craters into the floor where Tonks had been standing.
She jumped back, rolling when her foot caught a piece of rubble. Her form shrank to minuscule in response and she conjured a wall of her own to take the brunt of the follow-up spells.
Moody's wand tore through the air in wide arcs, spells slicing at the columns on either side of the room, and with a grunt and a heave, he brought them down atop their assailants. The roof overhead groaned as the marble structures toppled then were shattered by white-blue spells impacting their center.
Bellatrix's manic thrusts were punctuated by animalistic growls when rubble crumbled atop the still-twitching snake. Each spell that shot forth battered at both Moody and Tonks, their defenses chipping away at the onslaught. Slower, less precise casts from her two followers peppered the ground around Moody, mixed with shards of ice and banished rubble.
A killing curse detonated one of his stone protectors, allowing a piece of the marble pillars to sail through, smashing through his wooden leg and dropping him onto the stone.
A tiny, childlike form skidded to a halt beside him, Tonks' face shining with sweat at the exertion of holding such an impossibly small form.
Thunder rumbled overhead as she drew a semicircle wall out of the floor even as her body let go of its transformation, bubbling back to her normal size in fitful, lurching bursts.
"Need to move," Moody ground out, waving his wand to transfigure the wood of his broken leg back into its full length.
Tonks' wand flashed over him, drawing more stone to protect them as layers upon layers were stripped away. Sweat fell from her in rivulets, her brown hair slick against her head, dark eyes wide and focused.
"Turn it to dust, blast it with air," he said, rising into a crouch. "We'll use the cloud as cover. If you're up for it, we need something to draw her attention. The idiots don't matter."
"On it," Tonks said, her mouth drawn into a line.
After a mere moment's thought, she corkscrewed her wand in the air and thrust it up, bursting their defense into a dusty fog. Her form shuddered at the edges of his vision and he was moving, her frantic whisper trailing him.
"Get in firing position. This will only work once."
He hauled himself across the room and over the table, the click of his repaired wooden leg a locator for spells to pierce the dust hanging in the air, ripping wooden chunks from the table and stone from the floor to sail and shatter against the far wall. Ancient injuries shouted through the cramped passages of ruined nerves, lancing forgotten pain through his limbs.
He hit the far wall with a pained grunt, his momentum too great to stop with his false leg. His shoulder flared even as he rolled it, stepping forward to take his supporting role.
Tonks' form was indistinct through the dust that stretched across the dining room, a dark shadow even to his magical eye. Without the giveaway of his leg, Bellatrix stood rigid, wand aloft, scanning.
A voice cut through the forgotten battle raging behind her and the far-off clashes of spellfire on the opposite side. It rang with all the authority and contempt of one who stood above all.
"Bellatrix."
Voldemort's voice was every bit as contemptuous and unconcerned as Moody would have imagined, his face impassive as it appeared out of the swirling dust.
The snake on the ground shuddered and rose, bearing its fangs at its master.
Bellatrix's wide, dark eyes darted to her Dark Lord, her pointed wand faltering.
His reductor caught her in the side.
Spells flew at him from her guards even before her body had entirely lost its shape, a surprised silhouette that dropped into a pile of ash behind them.
Next to them, the snake coiled to strike.
And began to smoke.
XxX
Dumbledore's face vanished from the mirror, leaving Fleur paralyzed.
With exaggerated calmness that didn't reflect in his sense, Harry put it back in his pocket and fixed her with those deep green eyes.
"Here we go."
She nodded and pulled him into a kiss, his mouth molding to hers as though they had been doing nothing else. For a brief, wonderful moment, there was only him and the joy in her chest.
He smiled when she pulled away, though their fleeting joy faded as the world around them returned. He hesitated, then turned to yell towards the front of the house where Sirius stood watch.
"We're uh…starting, I guess," he said, his awkward grimace making her smile.
The answer was slow in coming but when it did, it was clear and hard.
"Kick his ass, you two."
"Ready?"
She nodded, removing her arms from his shoulders so she could take his hands in hers.
The fire burned inside her. A pulsing thing that kept time with her heartbeat and waxed and waned as it desired. She reached into it, bringing it into the outer world.
It churned through her veins, heating her muscles and skin until it expressed around their hands as two rolling balls of her fire.
Her power.
His answering smile was wholly unconcerned and filled with the trust that forged the bridge inside her that let her dive so much deeper. Into the passion and singular focus where he dominated her world. Where protection was an instinct as integral as breath and love.
Where the rest of her lived.
And where she could see Harry.
Her Harry.
Her darling.
The flames around their hands stretched high, pulses of heat driving back waves of loose papers scattered across the floor.
She breathed in, the cool air stinging her nose while the clean scent so distinctly Harry was oxygen for the fire between them.
Steam rose from her skin as she stoked the flames harder, higher, and opened herself to the terrifying depth of love inside her.
The light shifted from roiling orange to bright blue, sending their shadows dancing across opposite walls. Blue fingers reached up through the hole in the ceiling towards the starlit sky, caressing broken wood and leaving charred ash in its wake.
Through it all, his sense was sedate. A small bundle of nerves entirely overshadowed by the brilliant sunrise that was his love. It coursed over her with the strength of the summer sun and warmed her far deeper.
He smiled and squeezed her hands.
"Let's go."
The flames moved with her eyes, climbing his arms with slow precision, diving into the creases of his skin and down through his pores. Reaching deep into his marrow and core to find only him.
Up his shoulders. Across his chest.
Climbing his neck and chin until it covered eyes still wrinkled with a loving smile.
She crawled across the smooth skin of his forehead, the rough edges of his scars cold and hostile to her touch. A snarling, biting undercurrent of anger and hatred lashed out at her, a presence so far removed from what she knew.
From who he was.
Her body swallowed and her power sank through the cracks, into chasms between identity and outsider, between love and rabid, animalistic hatred.
His grunts became groans and his groans became hoarse, wet screams.
She encapsulated the darkness and pushed.
Blue became white in her vision, the crackle of air and the house around her lost in ethereal wails of agony.
The knot resisted, spiking out in reactive bursts of fury, each snapped tether a battle lost in its war for her darling. It undulated and shrank beneath her pressure, a vortex of darkness fighting with fitful, pathetic spikes to keep her from her victory.
It spluttered.
Then disintegrated.
She grabbed hold of the black cords that stretched off into the night and poured herself into them.
XxX
Dumbledore put the mirror back in his pocket and lifted his wand in answer to the challenge. Spells flew around him, digging trenches in the earth and reducing walls to shattered rubble. Fatigue plagued him, ancient muscles burning energy he no longer possessed to fight a battle that must be won.
He stepped forward, noting with no small amount of satisfaction that the placid confidence on Voldemort's face was scuffed raw at the edges with unease. No matter his considerable skills and confidence, Voldemort had never allowed himself to be cornered.
"Here we are again," Voldemort said, wand held tight in his long, gray fingers.
Scarlet eyes narrowed, betraying tension behind the calm words.
"For the last time, I should think," Dumbledore answered, ignoring the flash of self-satisfaction across his opponent's eyes.
He wasn't sure how the destruction of the Horcruxes would manifest in the primary soul, but he doubted Voldemort would be annihilated along with his containers.
Voldemort's bow was theatrical and flawless, Dumbledore's hesitant answer calculated and slow.
In a burst of uncharacteristic motion and for what might be the first time, Dumbledore started the duel with the first cast.
His barrage was quick and basic, an exercise in speed and precision rather than esoteric complicated knowledge. Nonverbals flew from his wand tip in blinding succession, each one in triplicate and with enough force to shatter any other opponent's shield in an instant.
Voldemort put little stock in the defensive however and responded with arcs of electric fury that dug grooves into the walls and floor, bursts of magical lightning detonating the spells before they'd had a chance to land. Somewhere behind the flashes of destroyed spells, Voldemort responded with his own concentrated barrage, one that forced Dumbledore to the side rather than to erect a useless shield of either magic or earth.
The dance of dueling consumed him, a slowly rising tide of what had once been a crashing wave of motion and focus. Voldemort's errant spells and sharp, transfigured projectiles wounded his fellows as often as it forced Dumbledore to move or shield himself. Sparking air lifted the small hairs on Dumbledore's body as complex twists and agile dodges reminisced of bygone years.
Bursts of boiling orange lit in the moonlight, a coiling flame that snapped and hissed, then struck forward, blazing heat scorching through his beard and clothes, leaving blistering pain across his off-arm. A tap of his wand deadened the pain and he stuck the arm to his side with another tap before encapsulating the coiled flames in a chamber devoid of air and severing its connection to Voldemort's wand.
His third answering transfiguration caught Voldemort in the side, the first two bursts of thrusting earth maneuvering feints. A pained grunt left sallow lips and Dumbledore used the moment to press forward, spinning deflected spells up to crash into the ceiling and then out into the night sky. Killing curses carved the air, bright and painful green that left streaks of afterimage in their wake.
A burst of icy wind halted Dumbledore's advance, frozen teeth gnawing at his fingers and face, burning at his eyes. A wide, modified cutting curse split the freezing stream to be dispelled by a swipe of Voldemort's wand.
Another killing curse split the air between them, impacting on a reflexive barrier of stone that shattered under the blast.
Enduring the pain of rocks against frail skin, Dumbledore stood focused on Voldemort, wand jerking in quick movements, a reply of a wave of spellfire.
Voldemort's answer was decisive, a wall of frozen air that burst apart on impact with the oncoming spells to be spun into icy shards and redirected at Dumbledore.
The ice splashed to the ground, returned to the condensation it had been drawn from.
Voldemort stood upright, the sneer on his face faltering along with his stance. Fitful faded killing curses etched the ground around Dumbledore's feet, cutting small chasms into the stone.
Scarlet eyes poured fury into Dumbledore, the edges flecked a painful glowing blue.
"What is this?" Voldemort snapped, more pitiful spells splashing against a shield charm as Dumbledore drew closer.
Without an answer or an utterance, ropes snaked from Dumbledore's wand and coiled around the Dark Lord whose legs gave out as his skin began to boil and blister.
With a deft movement, Dumbledore plucked the wand from Voldemort's hand.
It clattered to the stone floor and cracked beneath his heel.
XxX
Harry awoke to cold hands wiping at his forehead and a sobbing face hovering above him. It was one he knew better than his own, one whose pain he felt more keenly than his own.
When he smiled up at her, her sobs turned into a laugh and she pressed him to her, the scent of warm cinnamon bringing him finally, fully, home.
XxX
Sirius stepped through the rubble of the ancient home, scanning for someone, anyone that he might know that could direct him. With Harry and Fleur safely at Grimmauld Place with her parents, he needed an answer.
The wall to the dining room was mere rubble, strewn across the ground amidst crumbled columns and stone blackened by a sinuous line. The table, or what once had been a table, adorned the massive space in fractured pieces piled against walls and into corners.
A shock of faded purple caught his eye deeper in, passing by an archway that led to the center of the home.
Tonks turned as he jogged up, her normally friendly face filthy and drawn, but smiling.
"Wotcher, Sirius," she said with a quick bob of her head.
"I'm glad to see you're alright," he said, closing the distance to place a hand on her shoulder. "Did anybody find…?"
"My aunt? Yeah," she said with a grimace. "She was...in pretty bad shape. They took her to St. Mungo's."
"Moody?"
At that, Tonks smiled. "Depressed, I think. Now that it's all over. But he'll be alright. Send Narcissa my tentative love."
"You bet."
XxX
St. Mungos was a jumbled mess of activity, incoming wounded from the battle crammed the halls and medi-witches and wizards ran from room to room with strained, pale faces.
It took more than one 'don't you know who I am?' to gain him entry to the long-term care ward but once there, he found it far less packed than the emergency unit. The room he had been directed to sat near to the end of the ominous too-clean hallway that reeked of antiseptic and despair. It tried to push into him as he jogged down the hall, to fill him with the dread that only fear and tight, unbearable anticipation could bring.
Her door was open and the room dark.
A shadow sat next to one of the beds that shifted to glare icy fury at him while he stood framed in the doorway.
"What are you doing here?" Draco snapped.
"I was…coming to check on her." Sirius swallowed and took a step into the room. His eyes adjusted slowly to the almost complete darkness, save for the faint hallway light spilling inside.
Narcissa lay in the hospital bed, legs and arms twitching even as her eyes remained closed. The muscles in her neck tensed and relaxed at irregular intervals, jerking her head slightly from side to side.
Between her shuddering legs, a cat coiled on the bed, yellow eyes trained on Sirius.
"So you care now that it's too late?" Draco asked, glaring up from his seat, eyes dark and bloodshot. "Couldn't be bothered to help her when it mattered, just to see what happens after?"
"T-they needed her," Sirius croaked, staring down at his cousin.
"Which is why she's not dead." Draco shrugged one shoulder and his voice cracked. "Yet. There's a chance…either way."
Saying nothing and unable to tear his eyes from Narcissa's twitching form, Sirius pulled over one of the chairs and sat.
"You can't stay here."
"Tough."
Rather than fight, Draco slumped back in his chair, eyes fixed once again on his mother.
Minutes turned into hours as Narcissa's movements both worsened and lessened, the worst of them having her groaning in her unconsciousness. After one that had Sirius running for the nearest medi-witch, Draco sagged in on himself and fixed Sirius with tired, defeated eyes.
"If…" he tried, his sharp voice dulled by potential grief. "If she…"
He cleared his throat.
"She'd want Aunt Andromeda to be here."
So it was that not much later the three of them watched, waited, and hoped. Slept in fitful shifts and picked at meals. They stood to the side as potions were forced through teeth gritted in pain.
And so it was that the three of them watched as twitching slowed and pale blue eyes fluttered open.
XxX
The days that followed the battle were filled with disbelief, rather than the utter joy that everyone had expected to follow Voldemort's downfall. The Dark Lord's trial was well attended and well-reported with papers across the world posting pictures of the Dementor pulling the shriveled, faded soul from Voldemort inside their protective, runic cage.
The joy spread slowly, crawling through cracks in disbelief and covering the doubt that was formed by premature celebrations fifteen years before. It hadn't been until Dumbledore himself appeared on the front page of the Prophet and explained, in the most general and vague of terms, how it was that Voldemort returned before, and why it was now impossible for him to do so again.
The parties that followed such an announcement had been loud, magical, and pushed the Statute of Secrecy to its brink. Obliviators from across the world worked with smiles to remove memories from muggles who had inadvertently witnessed the celebrations.
The country rejoiced. And to an extent, the world.
Memorials rose alongside fireworks, a monument to the cost of their victory.
Nearly broken families held tight to one another in hospital rooms, their precious moments unspoiled by words.
Families, and friends too close to be anything but, celebrated and danced, welcoming the new days with unbridled laughter and joy.
A wind blew through grass and shifted fallen leaves, carrying the warmth of an ever-green forest.
And two people sat in a clearing, their hands intertwined and sides pressed together.
They sat in their silence and dreamed the same dream of a future unburdened.
Together.