Year 4-18: Best-Laid Plans

Harry landed awkwardly on his hands and knees, unable to right himself properly after such a haphazard Portkey journey. Neville similarly stumbled and fell sideways, knocking Harry to the grass.

"What the hell—?" Neville groaned. "Where are we?"

"Get off, you prat," Harry muttered, roughly shoving Neville out of irritation. "We're in deep shite, that's where."

"But...but it's over, right?" Neville said uncertainly. "The Tournament's over?"

"Sure is," Harry grumbled, hurrying to his feet. "And now the real task begins."

Harry tried spinning on the spot, unsurprised when he was unable to Apparate away. He then grabbed Neville's arm and touched the Triwizard Cup with the other hand, but nothing happened – the Portkey was inactive. Voldemort had wisely erected wards to prevent any magical form of escape.

"What is this place?" Neville asked, standing to get a look around.

"Keep your voice down," Harry hissed, pulling Neville down low. Through the dim moonlight, Harry saw hazy rows of tombstones extending out into the darkness, confirming his worst suspicions.

"Expecto patronum," Harry whispered, and his thestral Patronus erupted from his wand. "Go to Dumbledore, and then my father," Harry instructed the silvery specter. "Tell them we've been taken to the Little Hangleton graveyard. Voldemort is here. Come quickly." The Patronus shot off into the night, disappearing from sight.

"Who is that?" Neville asked, finger pointing shakily into the distance. Harry squinted and saw a huddled form moving in their direction. They only had seconds to spare until their location was revealed.

"Accio rubber balls," Harry muttered, jabbing his wand into the air. He expected to hear the sound of his buried claxons shrieking through the night, activated by his makeshift switches. But nothing happened.

Impossible, Harry thought. Have the claxons been discovered? Surely not...there was nothing magical about them to give them away to diagnostic charms.

"Accio red rubber balls," Harry growled, thrusting his wand back into the air. Then, when he was met once more with silence he tried, "Accio claxons!" Still there was nothing – his planted trap simply would not activate.

Just then, Neville howled with pain and dropped to the ground, clutching his scar in pain. "Harry!" Neville grunted through gritted teeth. "He's here!"

Harry didn't need to ask to know who Neville was referring to. Nor did he need to wait for the shuffling man to walk out into the moonlight to know that it was Pettigrew, holding a bundle of blankets that could only be one thing – or person.

A high, cold voice rang out into the night, causing a chill to run down Harry's spine: "Kill the spare."

"Neville, run!" Harry shouted, preparing to defend the boy helplessly writhing in pain at his feet. It wasn't until he saw Peter raise his wand that he remembered that he, Harry, was the spare.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry dove behind the nearest headstone as the flash of green light rocketed across the clearing towards him. It smashed into the stone, showering him with debris.

But Harry did not remain idle. He sprang back to his feet, firing a salvo of curses Pettigrew's way. Peter was forced to drop the bundle in his arms to defend himself, his Shield Charm barely withstanding the force of Harry's blows.

Harry did not slow down, ducking behind another headstone as he continued throwing spells without abandon. Bone-Breakers, Blood-Boilers, and every other nasty near-lethal spell Moody had taught him. Even in the dim lighting Harry could see Peter's eyes go wide, perhaps not anticipating such a powerful response.

"Finish him, you fool!" Voldemort shrieked from the ground. Peter snarled, his own return volley equally as lethal as Harry's. He was forced once again to dive behind a headstone, the curses sizzling menacingly overhead as they sailed off into the night.

It was difficult to break through Peter's defenses, reminding Harry much of their previous fights at Hogwarts. But it was apparent that Harry was far stronger now – he had the advantage in both stamina and raw power. His training had paid off...Peter's defenses were waning, and he was clearly on the back foot, forced to alternate between Shielding minor curses and ducking the nastier ones.

Finally, Harry got his opening. Peter tripped, falling flat on his back as his shield crumbled under a Blasting Curse. Harry, filled with hatred at the man who had ruined the last four years of his life, did not hold back in his anger:

"Crucio!"

Peter screamed in agony as Harry's curse connected, causing him to writhe about in the grass. Harry strode forward, heart pounding in his throat as he channeled his pent-up anger and aggression into the spell. After fifteen seconds or so he released the curse, causing Peter to gasp for air, still flat on his back.

Harry strode forward, standing over the man and aiming his wand at Peter's face. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you," he spat.

He expected Peter to cower in fear and beg for mercy. What he didn't expect was for the man to laugh, an unsettling cackle of near-insanity. "You think this is funny, Pettigrew?" Harry demanded.

"You were right about the Potter boy, my Lord!" Peter laughed gleefully. "He does have a darker side to him!"

"What are you—?" Harry frowned. Then a jet of blue light hit him in the arm, causing his limbs to snap together as he toppled over backwards. He was powerless to do anything, staring straight up at the sky from his back, caught under the Body-Bind Curse.

Another black-robed figure strolled into view, face partially obscured by the hood pulled over his eyes. Harry only caught a glimpse of a pepper-gray beard peeking out from the shadowed face, as the figure pointed his wand down at him.

"Shall I finish him, my Lord?" the figure spoke in that maddeningly-familiar voice Harry still couldn't quite place.

"Not yet," came Voldemort's high voice. "Tie him up with the Longbottom boy. I wish to meet him face to face before he dies."

Harry was levitated into the air, transported back to where Neville still lay, cowering and moaning in pain from his scar. Harry floated helplessly towards a bubbling cauldron, full of what he was sure was the ritualistic potion to revive Voldemort to full strength.

Where the hell is Dumbledore? Harry thought helplessly. Surely his Patronus should have arrived by now. Had it failed to deliver the message? Was Dumbledore being held up by something – or someone? And what about Harry's father? Was he simply biding his time, rounding up the Aurors? They ought to be here already!

The hooded figure deposited Harry on the ground in front of a nondescript headstone as he attended to Neville. As he did so, Harry managed to barely make out the inscription carved upon it:

Unknown mother

? - 31 December 1926

Survived by her son

Ecclesiastes 3:1-2

As Neville was roughly tied to the headstone beside him, Harry's stomach lurched as he realized who was buried beneath their feet. This isn't Little Hangleton, he realized with horror. We're at the wrong graveyard.

Through the darkness now Harry saw the outline of the office building he'd visited with Saul the previous summer, once the site of the orphanage in London where Voldemort had grown up. He'd never thought to wonder what became of Merope Gaunt after she passed away following her son's birth. Now, he knew...and he was powerless to stop what Voldemort had planned with her tonight.

Harry was re-positioned so that he was facing the cauldron alongside Neville. Peter staggered back into view, shaking from Harry's brief torture but no less determined to fulfill his task. He carried the bundle of blankets containing Voldemort up to the cauldron and dumped him inside, causing a loud splash as the baby-like figure dropped in.

"Bone of the mother," Peter chanted, "unwillingly given to restore her son." The ground at Harry's feet split open, as a single bone levitated upwards and into the cauldron, which began to hiss and spit violently.

If I could somehow summon my wand… Harry thought, straining to use silent and wandless magic to retrieve his only tool. Or else Dumbledore will never figure out where we are…

"Blood of the enemy," Peter continued, stalking over towards the two boys, "forcibly taken."

As the hooded figure watched on menacingly, Peter knelt beside Neville and slashed his upper arm with a silver knife, causing the boy to groan in discomfort. Peter brought the knife back to the cauldron and flicked the blood into the mix, causing another violent stirring within.

"Flesh of the servant," Peter trembled, holding the knife aloft, "w-willingly sacrificed." Harry averted his eyes as Peter severed his own hand, howling in pain but nevertheless dropping his offering into the cauldron.

"And s-soul of the host," Peter whimpered, "reunited with the body to become whole again." Harry saw Peter retrieve the diadem of Ravenclaw from within his robes, shakily dropping it into the cauldron. He fell backwards, clutching his stump of an arm as the cauldron began to boil over, angry multi-colored bubbles foaming out of the top as it did its work.

Harry silently prayed that something would go wrong, that somehow Voldemort was mistaken as to the identity of the bones he'd taken. But he knew deep down that it would not. Soon the cauldron was engulfed in radiant flames, and when they subsided, a hunched figure remained in its place. Black smoke billowed around it, forming into robes as the figure stood upright. Harry gawked in horror at the visage of the Dark Lord standing before him, but not the one he expected.

Voldemort did not resemble the same pale, noseless, snakelike figure he had in Harry's last timeline. He much more closely resembled the memory of Tom Riddle from the diary, with wavy brown hair and smooth, handsome facial features. The man appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties – perhaps the age he'd been when the diadem Horcrux was created, Harry realized. But when Voldemort turned to face the two boys tied up at his feet, there was no mistaking those blood-red eyes, devoid of all semblance of humanity.

"My wand, Wormtail," Voldemort said. He no longer sounded high and reedy: he spoke with the eloquence and command of someone far younger, still in his prime. A quivering Peter reached back into his robes and withdrew the familiar bone-white wand, which Voldemort took and turned over in his palm contemplatively.

"Now, your arm," he demanded. Peter tried to proffer his injured arm, but Voldemort roughly grabbed the intact one, pulling down the sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark branded upon it. He pressed his wand to the mark, causing it to illuminate in dark black ink, summoning the other Death Eaters to join them.

As he waited for the new arrivals, Voldemort stalked over towards Harry and Neville, examining them both curiously. "How kind of you to join us this evening, boys," he said with a mocking smile. "We had a last-minute change of venue, of course...I know not how Dumbledore discovered my plans and sabotaged my father's grave, but fortunately, I had a spare parent to work with."

I should have just left Riddle's bones alone, Harry thought miserably. We would be in Little Hangleton right now. Dumbledore and the Aurors are probably there right now, wondering where we are.

"Though I do wonder how it is that you managed to find yourself here, Harry Potter," Voldemort continued. "I was not expecting you to reach the Portkey."

He flicked his wand to release Harry from his Body-Bind Curse, allowing him to speak through his bindings. "I have a habit of showing up where I'm not wanted," Harry growled.

"So I have heard," Voldemort mused. "I admit I was not terribly surprised that you survived the three Tasks, though I had hoped otherwise. I often wondered, after our first meeting three years ago, if you could have truly been the one after all."

"The one?" Harry frowned.

"But then, Dumbledore did not tell you?" Voldemort laughed in surprise. "The great fool has kept the truth from you all these years? The reason your fate has been linked to Longbottom's from birth?"

The prophecy, Harry realized with a jolt. So he was a part of it after all. Did Voldemort know its contents? Would he share it with Harry if prompted?

"Erm...I don't know what you're talking about," Harry lied.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Harry, as though sensing he knew more than he was letting on. "Hmph," Voldemort muttered. "Perhaps you do know after all. You would not seek trouble so readily otherwise. If you believed a meeting such as this to be inevitable…"

"Inevitable?" Harry repeated, heart hammering.

"It matters not now," said Voldemort. "I have you both here, and you shall both die tonight. Ah, and here come our distinguished guests."

The moonlit sky was darkened by the arrival of smoky figures, resolving themselves into the form of Death Eaters as they landed in the graveyard. To Harry's horror, there were far, far more present here than in the last timeline – rather than seven or eight faithful servants, there were nearly three dozen of them, forming a layered semi-circle around the Dark Lord. Even Voldemort seemed surprised by the number.

"Well, this is many more than I had called for," Voldemort mused. "What is the meaning of this?"

"My Lord," drawled a familiar voice, as a hooded Lucius Malfoy shuffled forward and dropped to one knee. "I have taken the initiative to begin recruiting. When I learned of your impending return, I began reaching out to interested parties. They are here on my invitation, to commit themselves to your cause."

When the hell did this happen? an alarmed Harry wondered. The Lucius he knew from the previous timeline had been a pathetic coward of a man, abandoning his Lord the second he could. But now he was showing true dedication?

"And how did you come to know I would return?" Voldemort asked, sounding a bit suspicious himself.

"There were signs, my Lord," Lucius said. "There were whispers...James Potter attempting to sway the Minister, to convince him of your rising threat level...his son, claiming to have encountered you at Hogwarts...but Fudge never knew, never suspected the truth…"

"And so it shall remain," Voldemort nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. "You have done well, Lucius. Your new recruits shall be Marked and initiated this very evening, if I deem them worthy."

The other hooded figures shuffled in apparent excitement at this. Harry felt his stomach drop, realizing that his proactive measures to combat Voldemort's return may have inadvertently boosted the Dark Lord's recruiting numbers.

"For those of you who are new here," Voldemort proclaimed, addressing the sizable crowd before him, "behold: I am Lord Voldemort. In the flesh, despite false rumors of my death. If you came only to assuage your doubts of my existence, be assured that I have returned to full strength. If any of you wishes to leave, now would be the time, but I would not recommend turning your back against me."

Several masked figures shuffled uncomfortably at this thinly-veiled threat. Not a soul moved.

"Very good," Voldemort smiled. "Tonight marks the beginning of a new era for magical Britain. The scourge of impure bloodlines taking control of our great nation, under the tyranny of Muggle-lover Albus Dumbledore, will soon come to an end. With your help, I will purge this nation of its filth, and return power to those who truly deserve it."

There were excited murmurs throughout the crowd, no doubt mainly comprised of pure-bloods. Harry wondered bitterly how many of them were secretly hiding Muggle-born relatives in their family trees, or perhaps even had Muggle parentage of their own.

"Lord Voldemort rewards those who are most faithful to him," Voldemort continued. "I first wish to acknowledge the great wizard Peter Pettigrew."

There were muffled scoffs and guffaws of laughter as Peter shakily stood to join Voldemort. "Do not laugh!" Voldemort shouted, and a fearful silence fell over the onlookers. "You think this man weak? You think him not great? None of you underwent the trials and tribulations this man did. He broke out of Azkaban Prison, stole riches from Hogwarts Castle from right under Dumbledore's nose, and brought me back to full strength. Show him the respect he is due!"

Hesitantly, the onlooking Death Eaters dropped to one knee as a show of submission. Peter looked pleased by the praise, and Harry knew from the previous year just how susceptible the man was to positive affirmation. And the man looked even more pleased when Voldemort waved his wand, conjuring a silver hand to replace the bloody stump left behind by the ritual.

"I also wish to acknowledge another," Voldemort continued as he beckoned for Peter to return to the circle. "A new recruit, one who has served at my side faithfully for the past year – though he might interpret that statement somewhat differently."

"My Lord," said the mysterious hooded figure, striding forward and dropping to one knee.

"I am told that our new recruit wishes to discard his old name and adopt another," said Voldemort. "Have you decided on your new moniker?"

"Yes, my Lord," said the man. "I wish to be known as the Reaver."

Voldemort chuckled appreciatively at this. "How apt," he said. "Very well, Reaver. Are you prepared to complete the final task I have set for you?"

"I am, my Lord."

"Good," said Voldemort. "The castle should be free and clear for you to do as you need, with everyone else distracted with the Third Task. Retrieve what I seek and return to me...and this time, do not bother maintaining appearances if you are discovered. Your subterfuge will no longer be needed after tonight."

"As you wish, my Lord," said the man now known as 'Reaver'. He reached into his robes and rummaged around his neckline for something, and Harry's heart plummeted when he saw his own stolen Time-Turner, gleaming on its golden chain. The man turned the hourglass over three times, and promptly disappeared into the past. Harry imagined him reappearing and informing Pettigrew of the ritual's success in this exact same spot, several hours prior.

"And finally, some unfinished business!" Voldemort announced, returning all attention to himself. "As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we are joined by two guests this evening. I assume most of you know who they are: Harry Potter, son of the Auror James Potter, and Neville Longbottom, the so-called 'Boy Who Lived'."

The Death Eaters, now noticing the two teens tied to the headstone for the first time, jeered and laughed openly at the boys' plight.

"There are still those who believe Longbottom is somehow more powerful than I, the greatest wizard of all time!" Voldemort scoffed. "I hope that tonight will dispel any such rumors, as I will see to it that nobody ever mistakes the boy's luck for skill ever again." The Death Eaters snickered at the morbid implications of that statement.

"First, however, I wish to make the acquaintance of our other young friend," said Voldemort. He flicked his wand again, releasing Harry from his binds. "Stand up, Mr. Potter, so everyone can see you properly."

Harry shakily did so, looking around subtly for any kind of escape. He had no wand, but he could make a run for the exit somehow. But as he looked for a way out, the Death Eaters began to spread out in a wide circle around them, ensuring that he had no clear path to run to.

"Let me kill the boy, my Lord," Lucius Malfoy spat. "He and his father have caused me much grief these past few years."

"You will have your opportunity, Lucius," Voldemort dismissed him. "First, I must offer the boy a choice."

"What kind of choice?" Harry demanded, forcing himself to not sound afraid.

"A simple one," Voldemort smiled. "Join me, or die."

Harry blinked; he had not expected this. "Why would you want me to join you?" he demanded.

"You are talented, there is no doubt," said Voldemort. "I could mold you into a powerful wizard, more powerful than any besides myself. And more importantly, I would be able to show magical Britain how the mighty Potter name has fallen – how even the son of the leader of the Light can be swayed by the Dark."

Harry heard the appreciative chuckles of the Death Eaters around him. He could see the logic in it: James Potter would be a major source of inspiration in the coming war, and for the public to see his own son turned against him would be a crippling blow to his reputation.

"I choose neither," Harry said defiantly. "I want nothing to do with you."

"Neutrality is not an option, Harry Potter!" Voldemort spat. "Choose, or I will hunt your family down and flay them all alive – even your pretty little sister."

Harry weighed his options. He had no desire to join Voldemort, but he wondered if he could buy himself enough time for someone to come and rescue them. Perhaps Dumbledore would be able to figure out their location with time? Would he have known where Voldemort's mother was buried, if he traveled to Little Hangleton and found the graveyard there deserted? It was worth a try.

"What would I have to do to join you?" Harry asked.

The Death Eaters scoffed in disbelief at this. "Surely he jests!" a voice rang out. "The Potters are your biggest enemies. He is lying, my Lord."

"I am well aware of his father's allegiances," Voldemort said evenly. "But I am also aware that we are not our fathers, are we not? Merlin knows I have nothing in common with my own. So what about it, Harry? Would you pledge your allegiance to me?"

"Let Neville go and I'll do it," Harry said boldly.

The Death Eaters laughed even harder at his bravado. "You have no bargaining power here, Harry," Voldemort chided him. "You will submit to me and take my Mark, or die alongside your little friend. Decide now."

Harry looked at Neville. The boy was staring at him, horrified...whether from the Dark Lord or from Harry actually considering the offer, he couldn't be sure.

"I propose an alternative," said Harry. "A duel, one on one. You and me."

The Death Eaters murmured in disbelief at his audacious request. Even Voldemort seemed momentarily stunned, before his face broke out in a malevolent grin.

"You wish to challenge me?" Voldemort chuckled. "A fourteen year old boy, up against the most fearsome Dark Wizard alive?"

"That's right," Harry nodded. "If I win, I get to walk away."

Harry hoped that he could goad Voldemort into a fight by appealing to the man's ego. And by the thoughtful look on Voldemort's face, he seemed to actually consider the offer. Harry knew he stood little chance against the Dark Lord, but he could see no other alternative. He had to buy time somehow...to stall Voldemort long enough for help to arrive…

"Very well, Harry Potter," Voldemort eventually said. "I accept your terms. A duel for your life."

"My Lord," Lucius breathed, shuffling forward nervously. "I must advise against this. The Potter boy is more skilled than you realize—"

"More skilled than I, Lucius?" Voldemort demanded, eyes flashing dangerously at the remark. "More skilled than the most dangerous wizard of all time? I think not. I have heard of your failures at the World Cup at Mr. Potter's hand, but do not mistake his luck for talent."

Lucius bowed, looking cowed, and silently retreated back into the circle of followers. Peter stepped forward into the clearing, and at Voldemort's urging, he handed Harry his wand back before retreating as well.

"Whenever you are ready, Mr. Potter," Voldemort smiled, dropping into a mocking bow and preparing for a fight.

Harry twirled his wand between his fingers, steeling himself for the worst. There was no running, no Disapparating away...he would simply have to fight, and hope for the best.

He held nothing back, firing the most powerful spells he could muster at Voldemort. The Dark Lord did not even flinch at the display of dangerous magic, simply absorbing them all with a shimmering silver Shield Charm, an advanced one that Harry did not even recognize.

Harry did not remain idle, firing another flurry of curses while also flicking his wand upwards. Chunks of earth were gauged out of the ground, which Harry sent flying at Voldemort before transfiguring them into molten lava. Voldemort actually laughed as he calmly pointed his wand at the red-hot material, hardening it and allowing it to fall harmlessly to his feet with a dull thud.

"I see your father's influence in your fighting style," Voldemort remarked. "He is a Transfiguration specialist, is he not? He is lucky I was interrupted before being able to kill him in the last war."

"Do not mistake his talent for luck," Harry retorted, throwing Voldemort's words back at him. The Dark Lord sneered, but merely readied himself for the duel to resume.

Harry threw another bout of dangerous curses his enemy's way, looking for any sort of opening. But Voldemort's defenses were air-tight; his Shields and parries were precise and impeccably-timed, as were his deft movements to avoid the select spells he couldn't easily block.

Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Voldemort was just toying with him. He made no effort to return fire, simply allowing Harry to unload his arsenal against him. He was simply watching, assessing, judging. Getting the measure for the young man Harry had become. And it was disconcerting just how easily he was able to neutralize everything Harry threw his way.

"Homunculi speculo!" Harry shouted, splitting his consciousness between three bodies. There were murmurs of surprise from the Death Eaters at this advanced display, but Voldemort was unmoved.

"I do wonder who taught you illusory magic," Voldemort mused, eyeing the three Harry Potters before him. "Although I hear the Auror Moody has taken a Metamorphmagus as his latest protegee? Perhaps you've spent time training with her."

Harry ignored him. He flitted his consciousness between each of the three bodies, firing spells from each in turn. Voldemort stepped to and fro, dodging and blocking the onslaught coming from three different sources. But he still wore a broad smile, as if enjoying the fight, rather than treating it as a serious matter of life or death.

Eventually, the Dark Lord reacted, waiting for a pause in Harry's attacks to unleash a torrent of black smoke at all three of the copies at once. Harry wasn't sure what it was, but he knew he didn't want it to hit him. He released his hold on two of the copies of himself and focused on defending himself within the third, summoning a blast of wind to dissipate the smoke and keep it away from himself, forcing Voldemort to cancel the spell before it could hit his own followers.

"I am not so easily fooled, Harry Potter," Voldemort scoffed. "You must be better than that if you hope to best me!"

Harry knew he had to try something desperate, something Voldemort wouldn't expect. He tried a high/low combination Moody had taught him, diverting the enemy's attention to two separate threats while leaving a potential opening for a third. Voldemort Shielded the lower one while ducking beneath the higher one, leaving Harry with a brief window to slip something through:

"Imperio!"

For the briefest of moments, Harry was granted a glimpse of the dark, twisted inner workings of the Dark Lord's mind as his own attempted to overpower it. Then Voldemort's Occlumency shields slammed back into place and Harry was forced backwards, physically and mentally, as the two glared at one another from across the clearing.

"An Unforgivable Curse, Harry?" Voldemort asked, and he actually looked angry this time. "Has Moody been teaching you how to fight dirty to get what you want?"

"I've picked up a few things of my own," Harry countered. "Are you the sum of every teacher you've ever had, Tom?"

Voldemort's nostrils flared dangerously, but he did not argue the point. "Enough games, Potter," he snarled. "Time to show you what magic can truly be capable of."

Now it was Voldemort's turn to go on the offensive. Harry's eyes widened at the ominous, crackling bolts of light sent his way, forced to dodge the majority he didn't recognize while only Shielding and blocking the ones he couldn't afford to. The Dark Lord's wand was a blur in the night, launching curses with speed and power Harry hadn't imagined possible. Voldemort was truly superhuman – whatever rituals he'd performed on himself gave him unreal reaction speeds and spell-casting capabilities few men could ever dream of.

Harry quickly realized it was a lost cause. He was already winded, his magical power waning fast under the onslaught of powerful magic. He fought valiantly, despite knowing the end was near. It was only a matter of time before his defenses faltered.

Finally, they did. Harry batted aside a Blood-Boiling Curse, only to be faced with an ominous blast of jet-black energy directly at his head. Harry flattened himself to the ground to avoid it, twisting desperately to raise his wand to deflect the next curse, but the follow-up Bone-Breaker Curse hit him in the left upper arm, causing him to cry out in pain and drop his wand.

He desperately tried to pick it up again, but he was granted no reprieve as he heard Voldemort's triumphant voice shout out into the night: "Crucio!"

Harry's body exploded with pain. It was a slow death by a thousand tiny knives, stabbing him repeatedly from all sides, inside and out. He didn't know how long he was held under the torture, but by the time Voldemort lifted the curse, his voice was gone and his mouth gaped open in a noiseless scream of pure agony.

Harry fought to maintain consciousness, twitching helplessly and gasping for air. He heard the appreciative laughter of the gathered Death Eaters, and the soft footfalls in the grass as the Dark Lord approached his fallen foe.

"You fought well, Mr. Potter," Voldemort appraised the teen, towering over him with a mocking smile. "Lord Voldemort respects talent, and you have it in spades. You may have surpassed even your own father one day, if not for me."

Harry could not muster a response. He merely glared balefully up at the Dark Lord, refusing to show fear in what would surely be his last moments.

"Farewell, Harry Potter," Voldemort sighed, almost sounding disappointed as he aimed his wand between Harry's eyes. "As a reward for your efforts, I will make your death quick and painless. Avada—"

"Wait!"

Voldemort paused, the green glow of his wand tip extinguishing as he turned towards the disruption: Neville was struggling against his bonds. "I wish to bargain as well. A duel for a life."

"I will be happy to grant you the same chance that Mr. Potter had," Voldemort said evenly, "as soon as I have finished with—"

"Not for my own life," Neville interrupted. "For Harry's life."

Both Harry and Voldemort narrowed their eyes in confusion at this statement. "You wish to test yourself against me...to save your friend?" Voldemort repeated.

"That's right."

"Don't bother, Neville," Harry rasped through gritted teeth. "I'm dead already."

"It's my fault you're in this mess to begin with!" Neville protested. "I'm the one that should die, not you. If I win, Harry walks free...I won't flee either way."

Voldemort remained silent in the face of this proposal. The crowd of Death Eaters began to whisper all around them at this new development. That seemed to make up the Dark Lord's mind – tonight was clearly about theatrics for him, and he wasn't going to show weakness in front of an audience.

"Very well, Neville," said Voldemort. "A duel for your friend's life. Honorable, but foolish."

Voldemort strode away from Harry and flicked his wand to free Neville from his bindings. Harry saw the boy shakily stand, eyes still squinting against the obvious pain in his scar, and shuffle forward into the clearing. Noble prick, Harry thought – he couldn't even bring himself to be angry with the boy now, who had clearly seen the error in his ways.

Peter came forth and handed Neville his wand. Harry watched as the teen nervously flicked the holly wand between his fingers. The twin cores, Harry realized...Neville was the one with the phoenix feather wand in this timeline. Would that protect him once more? Would he have the strength to overpower Voldemort if their wands connected?

Harry, along with the gathered Death Eaters, could only watch on with bated breath as Neville squared off across from Voldemort. "Whenever you're ready, young Longbottom," Voldemort smiled, giving Neville a mocking bow. Harry saw the dangerous glint in his eyes that told him the Dark Lord would not be playing games this time – he sought to kill.

Neville eyed his arch nemesis warily for a moment. Then, a look of determination – or was it resignation? – crossed over his features, as he and Voldemort both shouted into the night:

"Stupefy!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

The red and green bolts of light met in the center of the clearing, and immediately erupted into a golden beam of light, connecting the two wands together. Both Neville and Voldemort looked shocked by this development, but neither broke the connection.

"What is this magic?!" Voldemort snarled.

"Don't let go, Neville!" Harry shouted hoarsely. The boy briefly jerked his head in confusion towards Harry, but quickly returned his attention to the matter at hand, placing both hands on his wand in a desperate attempt to hold on.

A brilliant glow rose up above the two combatants, as a large golden dome of light appeared over their heads. The gathered Death Eaters shouted in fear and confusion as both Neville and Voldemort disappeared within the opaque dome, with none able to see what was transpiring within.

"Do nothing!" Voldemort shouted to his gathered followers. "He's mine to finish! Mine alone!"

Come on, Neville, Harry thought desperately, nursing his broken arm as he began to slowly inch his way over to his wand. Just keep holding on. If he could reach the spot where he wand lay, he might be able to pull off one last desperate stunt to get them out of this mess. He could send another Patronus to Dumbledore...perhaps re-activate the Portkey and escape…

Harry was forced to avert his eyes as a blinding flash of light flared up, illuminating his entire vision. At first he thought it was a side-effect of the golden dome erected around Voldemort and Neville. But when Harry opened his eyes once more, his heart soared when he saw Albus Dumbledore appear in the center of the courtyard, Fawkes the phoenix on his shoulder, looking absolutely furious.

The Death Eaters clearly noticed him too. "It's Dumbledore!" one of them shrieked in terror. Several of them tried to Apparate away, but were unable to due to the wards. Several were struck down immediately as Dumbledore began to rain down spells upon the hooded figures.

"Harry!" Dumbledore shouted over his shoulder. "Where is Neville?"

"In the dome, with Voldemort!" Harry shouted back. Dumbledore cast a worried look at the golden dome before resuming his assault, forcing the Death Eaters to scatter around the graveyard.

More people were rushing into the graveyard now, causing Harry's heart to leap: his father, James, followed soon after by Moody, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and numerous other Aurors. They immediately began to engage with the Death Eaters, who found themselves with no choice but to fight back. Soon the darkened space was illuminated not only by the golden dome, but the flurry of spellfire being exchanged.

Harry dove to his left and grabbed his wand, just as his father appeared beside him. "Harry, you need to get out of here!" James said as he ducked underneath a Blood-Boiling Curse. "Get yourself back to the castle!"

"What about Neville?" Harry asked as his father helped him to his feet.

"Let us handle that," said James. "Now go!"

Harry's arm instinctively lashed out, batting aside a smoking yellow curse aimed at his father's head. He joined James in returning fire, causing the offending Death Eater to howl in pain from Harry's Bone-Breaker to the elbow before James' Stunner silenced him.

"They're escaping!" a gruff voice called out from Harry's left. He turned; a group of Death Eaters were sprinting for the gate, presumably to bypass the wards and Apparate away to freedom. Harry twirled his wand over his head like a lasso, latching onto the retreating figures and yanking them backwards. They were forced to resume the fight, Aurors raining down spells upon them.

"Nice one, kid!" the same voice appraised him. Harry turned to see Rufus Scrimgeour, a senior Auror he knew to be James' boss, grinning at him. He returned the gesture.

Then Harry gasped in horror as Scrimgeour took a sickly orange curse directly to the head, causing him to crumple to the ground and move no more.

Harry turned to engage the offender: Lucius Malfoy, his hood having slipped in the heat of battle. They glared at one another for a moment, then began to duel in earnest. Harry realized at once that he was the superior fighter; Lucius possessed a dangerous arsenal of spells, but was clearly out of shape and out of practice, his movements slow and erratic.

Harry transfigured a nearby headstone into stone daggers, launching them at Lucius from all sides. The silver-haired man raised a sloppy Shield Charm that the sharp objects nearly penetrated, then quickly retreated, seeking safety in numbers amongst his other hooded comrades.

"Fight me like a man, Malfoy!" Harry shouted angrily at the man. "I thought you wanted to kill me, or do you only hunt defenseless prey?"

But before Harry could re-engage with the man, there was a deafening crack as the golden dome at the center of the graveyard shattered, a shower of sparks raining down from above. Voldemort stood in plain view now, causing the collected Aurors to gasp in fear and awe. "He's real," muttered a dumb-founded Tonks to his right.

The tide of the battle shifted quite suddenly, as the Aurors now found themselves on the back foot with Voldemort entering the fray. His wand danced elegantly through the night, green bolts of death shooting out to seek more victims. Dumbledore was forced to focus on deflecting the Killing Curses to protect his allies, rather than engage the Dark Lord directly.

There was suddenly a high keening noise in the air, and Harry felt the magic in the air shift abruptly. "The wards are down!" a Death Eater shouted. At once hooded figures began to Disapparate from the graveyard, making their escape. Surely it's almost over now, Harry thought. Voldemort will retreat at any minute, and we'll be safe—

Then Harry was forced to duck as a fiery serpent dipped low overhead, nipping at his hair in a blaze of searing heat. Harry watched on in terror as Voldemort commanded a multi-headed serpent of Fiendfyre, lashing out against the various Aurors gathered around him. Dumbledore was attempting to counter with the same water serpent he'd used in the Room of Requirement the year before, though it was a tall task in containing the many heads of his opponent.

"Harry, go!" James roared as he rushed forward to aid Dumbledore in countering the Fiendfyre. "Get yourself to safety!"

Harry nodded, and prepared himself to Apparate back to Hogwarts. He felt a double sense of urgency now: not only did he need to escape Voldemort, he knew the mystery man, the 'Reaver', would have a clear path to his goal at the school with no Aurors or Dumbledore to stop him. Whatever he was after, Harry was the only person who could raise the alarm and attempt to get in his way.

Then Harry spotted a figure cowering behind a headstone: Neville, just a few meters away from the Dark Lord, spells and fiery debris raining down all around him. He looked utterly lost and defenseless, and would certainly become collateral damage if this destructive fight continued for much longer.

Neville had attempted to lay down his life for Harry's tonight. No matter the consequences, Harry couldn't let that deed go unrecognized.

He changed course, sprinting directly into the heart of the action instead of away from it. "NO, HARRY!" James shouted. This got Voldemort's attention, who turned to see Harry running directly towards him. Harry's stomach dropped as the handsome Dark Lord grinned and directed his wand towards Harry—

Harry dove at the same moment a fiery serpent head lunged directly at him. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the Fiendfyre approached, maw opened wide to consume him in a fiery death. But with the skill of a Seeker, Harry twisted in midair, hand catching hold of Neville's arm just before he Disapparated, leaving the heat of the graveyard behind as the two boys vanished into the crushing darkness.

A/N: Final predictions about the impostor/mystery man/'Reaver'? Who is he, what is he after, and how has he gone undetected for so long? The answers are coming next chapter, and I can't wait to drop the bombshell!