Year 5-18: Back to the Veil

A/N: We have arrived at another chapter I've been building towards for a long time. In fact, it was one of the first ideas I had when I came up with the concept for this fic, and the ending has been written for over a year now. Enjoy!

"Where did they go?" a shaky voice asked. "They were just here!"

"Did Longbottom say something about a portkey?" another student wondered aloud.

Harry turned to Professor McGonagall, who was gaping in shock at the spot Neville and the others had just disappeared from. "Professor, what just happened?" he demanded. "Aren't portkeys and Apparation disabled within Hogwarts grounds?"

"I…" McGonagall stammered. "The portkey wards have been lowered temporarily. It's standard procedure in a medical emergency, in case students needed to be transported quickly to St. Mungo's—"

Harry began to pace, mind racing. Neville had said something about Dahlia being taken. But he'd just seen Dahlia, not even ten minutes ago, in this very room! Where could she have gone? Had she been whisked away via a separate portkey, by the impostor Anna Watson? But why would Voldemort bother? Harry wondered. He could have just shown Neville a false memory, to make him believe she'd been taken rather than go through the actual trouble—

Because Neville's been training to keep Voldemort's false visions out, Harry realized. His bleeding scar was testament enough to the difficulty the Dark Lord had in forcing through their connection. And Voldemort undoubtedly knew that Neville would immediately check, would ensure Dahlia's safety before rushing off somewhere. With the added time constraint imposed by Voldemort, he would not have time to properly raise the alarm before running off after her.

And Harry knew precisely where Neville and the others had been taken.

Harry sprinted from the Great Hall and out the door onto the grounds. He was forced to slow down to avoid running right into Cornelius Fudge, who was marching up the steps, flanked by a small team of Aurors.

"Potter!" Fudge snarled. "What in blazes are you doing here?"

"Out of my way," Harry huffed, moving to push past the Minister, but the portly man stopped him.

"You are trespassing on private property, young man!" Fudge insisted. "You are not welcome on these grounds anymore, or did you not hear me clearly the last time we spoke?"

"What's going on here?" demanded James, as he and Dumbledore walked up from the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

"Oh, and this just gets better!" Fudge groaned when he saw James. "Why can't you keep your nose out of official Ministry business, Potter? My sources informed me you were in France this morning, stirring up more trouble, and now this?"

"Unhand my son, Cornelius," James said firmly.

"I think not!" Fudge laughed. "You and your boy are in a heap of trouble, and you're not going anywhere until we figure out what the hell is going on here."

"Dad!" Harry said urgently. "Dahlia's been taken to the Ministry! And Neville and a group of others have gone after her!"

James looked stricken by this news. "We have to go, now," he said, turning to Dumbledore. "We'll need as many Aurors as we can spare. If you can send word to the Order—"

"Aha, so there is a secret Order plotting against me!" Fudge said triumphantly. "I suppose you had something to do with today's incident as well, Potter? Loosing werewolves upon innocent students to create new customers for your wife's little potion company?"

"How dare you…?" James said, aghast.

"I've had enough of your shenanigans, Potter!" Fudge said adamantly. "Shacklebolt, arrest this piece of filth, and he can rot away in Azkaban until we decide what to do with—uff!"

There was a satisfying crunch as James reared back and punched Fudge directly in the face. The Minister fell backwards, out cold before he hit the grass with a dull thump.

"Kingsley, how many Aurors can you spare?" asked James.

"Maybe four or five," Kingsley said without missing a beat. "The rest will need to secure the castle grounds before providing backup."

"We can fill in the rest with whatever Order members respond to the call," said James, turning to Dumbledore, who nodded in confirmation. "In the meantime, we have to go now."

"What are you doing, Shacklebolt?" asked a nervous John Dawlish. "Can't you see what Potter has just done?!"

"Stay out of this one, Dawlish, if you know what's good for you," said Kingsley, stepping over Fudge's prone form and approaching James. "What's the plan?"

"We need to get to the Ministry of Magic," said James. "A group of students were just taken there. How many, Harry?"

"Seven," he replied. And he rattled off the names of the students that had been portkeyed away, including Dahlia.

"I can get us into the Atrium," said Dumbledore, reaching into his robes. He withdrew a small locket on a golden chain, then set it on the ground at their feet. "Portus." The chain glowed a brilliant blue for a moment before settling back to its natural state.

"That is an illegal portkey—!" Dawlish spluttered in protest, but no one paid him any mind.

"Tonks, Proudfoot, Savage, with me," Kingsley ordered. The three Aurors stepped forward and circled around the portkey. Harry stepped forward as well, but James tried to stop him.

"It's too dangerous, Harry," he said. "Stay back with the other students."

"Hell no," said Harry. "Dahlia's been kidnapped. I'm going after her."

"We don't have time for this, James," Kingsley warned. James eventually relented, and he and Harry joined the circle, preparing for the journey.

"On three," said Dumbledore. "One, two, three—"

Everyone bent down and placed a finger to the golden chain. Harry felt the familiar tug behind the navel as they were whisked away, out of Hogwarts grounds to their next destination.

They touched down in the Atrium of the British Ministry of Magic. As expected, the place was deserted, due to the weekend and the incident at Hogwarts. The eerie silence was unnerving – Neville and the group must have already descended into the Department of Mysteries. How far had they gotten? Had they reached the Hall of Prophecy yet? And what would happen to Dahlia once they got there? Harry tried to push the thought from his mind.

"They're on level nine," James said firmly, leading the way to the lifts. "We need to get into the Department of Mysteries and find the children before anyone else does."

The Aurors followed close behind James, jogging across the smooth tiled floors in close, practiced formation. Harry made to follow, but he paused, turning to take in the magic of the Atrium. Something wasn't right here. He sensed a malignant presence nearby, one that reminded him far too much of the locket and the ring he had destroyed. To Harry's left, Dumbledore had also paused, as though deep in thought.

"He's here," Harry muttered as the lift carried the Aurors away. "Voldemort's nearby."

"I sense him too," Dumbledore muttered; his wand was already out, scanning the Atrium. Then, he called out: "Tom? Enough of this subterfuge. Show yourself."

"As you wish, Dumbledore," came the high-pitched voice, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. Voldemort strode out into the open from behind the fountain, leering at the two of them.

Harry noticed two things straight away. One, Voldemort looked different from the last time they'd met in the graveyard; his skin appeared waxier, his nose closer to the snakelike slits they'd been in his original timeline. And two – to Harry's horror – he was clutching a small body in front of him as a human shield: Dahlia, whimpering and looking fearfully at them.

"Dahlia!" Harry cried out. "Don't you hurt her, you bastard!"

"Your sister is perfectly safe, Harry Potter," Voldemort sneered, his creepily-long fingers caressing the top of her head. "She will be released in due course. But not until Neville Longbottom has retrieved what I desire."

"Let the girl go, Tom," said Dumbledore placatingly. "She poses no threat to you or anyone else."

"You would have me give up my only leverage?" Voldemort sneered. "I don't think so. Besides, I went to such trouble in collecting her! It's much easier to be persuasive with a real memory than a false one, you see."

Harry was quivering with rage. Not only at Voldemort, who clearly knew how much Dahlia meant to him, but also at Dumbledore. Yet another member of Harry's family was now in mortal danger because of him, because of his stupid insistence on keeping the prophecy a secret. But it would do no good to lose his temper now. Every move he made now was crucial; any misstep could cost him his sister.

"I know the prophecy," Harry shouted at Voldemort. "Let my sister go and I'll tell it to you – every word."

"Harry, I would advise against—" Dumbledore muttered.

"Oh, shut up!" Harry snarled, turning to the Headmaster, who looked stunned by the rebuke. "You've done quite enough damage to my family by now, haven't you? Stay out of this!"

Voldemort, for his part, looked bemused by this interaction. "You would disobey your Headmaster's orders?" he asked Harry softly. "You would give me what I seek?"

"Dumbledore is not my Headmaster," said Harry flatly. "And yes, I will tell you."

"Out with it then, boy!" Voldemort said eagerly, eyes wide with anticipation.

"After you let Dahlia go."

"No, no. Prophecy first," Voldemort tutted, pointing his wand menacingly at Dahlia's temple. "Once I am satisfied you are telling the truth, you can have her."

Harry groaned...was he really about to trust Voldemort's word? He didn't have much choice in the matter either way. So he sighed and cleared his throat.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches," said Harry, reciting the words he'd been mulling over for the past year. "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

Silence lingered across the Atrium as Voldemort pondered these words. Harry felt a brush of Legilimency across his mind, sensing that Voldemort was gauging the veracity of his words. Eventually the sensation retreated, as the Dark Lord appeared satisfied that he was telling the truth.

"I see," Voldemort eventually said softly. "Dumbledore was wise to keep this from me. The ambiguity is clear now...Longbottom must be the one the prophecy refers to. He is the one I marked all those years ago. He is the one whose magic overpowered mine in the graveyard."

"So you know now that I am no threat to you," Harry said, trying to sound as confident as possible. "My family need not be harmed, as I am not the boy of the prophecy."

"True as that may be, Harry," Voldemort said, "you are partially incorrect. Your family remains a great threat to me – your father is a rising voice against me within our world, your mother continues to threaten my base of support with the werewolves, and you yourself will be a fearsome fighter one day. It would be unwise for me to allow you all to live."

"I gave over the prophecy willingly!" Harry protested, panic rising in his voice as he recognized the cool murderous glare in Voldemort's expression. "We...we had a deal!"

"I thank you for your service tonight, Harry Potter," said Voldemort with a derisive sneer, tightening his grip on Dahlia's hair. "But the Potters remain too dangerous to keep alive. Now, look into your sister's eyes and say goodb—unghh!"

Dahlia abruptly lurched forwards, her heel coming up hard and connecting with Voldemort's midsection. He stumbled, releasing her as he bent over from the sudden hard impact. Dahlia tumbled to the cool marble floor, scrambling to get away—

Harry and Voldemort reacted at the same time. Harry aimed his wand at his sister and yanked hard, pulling Dahlia rapidly through the air towards him. Voldemort fired an angry-looking purple curse at her back, but the shield necklace around her neck glowing a brilliant yellow and absorbed the blow, protecting her from harm. Harry caught Dahlia, causing them both to tumble to the ground, as Dumbledore stepped between them and the Dark Lord.

The two older wizards stared each other down for a moment. Then, they began to duel.

Harry grabbed Dahlia and dragged her behind a nearby pillar as Voldemort and Dumbledore fought in earnest. It was magic the likes of which Harry had never seen: the air itself seemed to thrum and ripple with power, as powerful spells rent the space between them. Deafening cracks and bangs signaled the raw power of each curse, each impact. Dahlia screamed as the cacophony built to a near-unbearable pitch, curses screaming across the Atrium all round them…

"Stay down!" Harry shouted in Dahlia's ear over the maelstrom. He summoned a stone barrier for her to hide behind, then crept around it to see if he could help Dumbledore in any way. But this was magic far beyond his comprehension. Dumbledore and Voldemort were not merely casting spells at each other: they were manipulating the fabric of magic itself, warping the space around one another, seeking any advantage they could find.

And it was at that moment Harry realized he would never be ready to fight the Dark Lord. Dumbledore had a century's worth of knowledge on him, and his command of magic was unlike anything Harry had ever dreamed possible. Voldemort too was wielding dark magic in a violent and arcane manner – the product of centuries' worth of research, lost to time and forcibly unearthed for his own nefarious gain.

Harry would never be capable of achieving that level. He was neither as clever as Dumbledore nor as ruthless as Voldemort. Raw power and talent would never be enough. He would always be inferior.

"Stay back, Harry!" Dumbledore ordered, sensing that he was approaching from behind. Voldemort noticed this too, for he began firing stray spells in Harry's direction, forcing Dumbledore to alternate between defending himself and his former student. Harry retreated behind the barrier once more, knowing he could do nothing to affect the outcome of this clash of titans. He could only root Dumbledore on from afar.

Through the chaos and blinding speed with which the two archmages fought one another, Harry began to analyze their fighting styles. Dumbledore used a balanced, defensive approach, mixing all branches of magic with a slight tendency towards Transfiguration, much like James. Voldemort, not unlike Moody, favored curses and powerful offensive spells, requiring precise counters in order to avoid succumbing to the Dark magic. But Dumbledore effortlessly negated everything Voldemort threw at him, barely breaking a sweat in doing so.

Voldemort seemed to grow increasingly frustrated as the fight dragged on. The ground between them was cracked and smoldering, but still Dumbledore held firm, slowly but surely backing Tom Riddle into a corner. The Dark Lord began firing Killing Curses indiscriminately out of desperation, but each one was neatly intercepted by a chunk of marble torn from the ground or walls.

Dumbledore was winning. And Voldemort knew it. But Harry knew a wounded animal was at its most dangerous when cornered.

With a shout of pure rage, Voldemort jabbed his wand skyward, conjuring what looked like thousands of smoky tendrils that wriggled through the air. But Harry knew these were not as benign as the ones a sixteen-year-old Tom's apparition had cast in the Chamber of Secrets – he could feel the malicious magic radiating from the tendrils, and knew he must avoid them at all costs.

Which is why his stomach dropped when they lunged forward at once towards their target. Not at Dumbledore, but Harry.

Harry threw himself on top of Dahlia and closed his eyes, fearing the worst. Then, through his eyelids came a brilliant, blinding light, and a great heat that made his neck hairs stand on end. There came the sound of thousands of dying voices, screaming in agony before being abruptly extinguished. Harry cracked open his eyes to see a great golden dome erected over him and Dahlia, with the tendrils trying and failing to penetrate it before being consumed by the dazzling light.

Then, there came a grunt of pain, and the shield vanished, along with the dark tendrils. Dumbledore, who had been maintaining the shield nearby, slumped to his knees. Harry rushed forward, wand drawn, but Voldemort had vanished, fleeing from the Ministry. And now Harry could see why.

Ministry officials were flooding back into the Atrium from the fireplaces, and they were murmuring nervously amongst themselves. "That was You-Know-Who!" "He's really back?!" "Was Fudge lying to us all along?" "Is that Dumbledore?"

Harry turned his attention back to Dumbledore. The Headmaster was slumped to his knees, clutching his forearm. "Professor?" Harry asked uncertainly. "Are you alright?"

Dumbledore held out his arm, and to Harry's horror, he saw one of the black tendrils wrapped around the Headmaster's left wrist. It seemed to be burrowing into his skin, and his veins were slowly turning black, working their way up his forearm towards his elbow.

"Headmaster, what is that?" asked Dahlia, who had crawled over to examine the man for herself.

"Miss Potter," Dumbledore asked weakly, looking to Harry's sister. "Are you well-versed in Healing magic?"

"Er—I'm still in training," Dahlia stammered. "Madam Pomfrey's been teaching me—"

"Can you cauterize wounds?" Dumbledore demanded.

"I...yes," said Dahlia, "but why would I need to—?"

Dumbledore picked up his wand and aimed it at his left arm. Harry realized what was about to happen a split second too late.

"Sir, don't—!" he protested, but Dumbledore slashed his wand, severing his own arm above the elbow. The Headmaster gave a grunt of extreme pain as the severed limb fell to the floor, succumbing to the black tendrils and seemingly eating itself from the inside out.

"Quickly, Dahlia!" Dumbledore cried weakly. Hands shaking, Dahlia approached Dumbledore's injury and began muttering the incantations under her breath. The bleeding slowly lessened as the wound sealed itself shut, a shimmering seal forming over the stump of what was once the man's left arm.

"Is he going to make it?" Harry asked his sister, as Dumbledore's eyes struggled to stay open.

"I-I don't know!" Dahlia said frantically. "He needs a Healer straight away, but—"

Dahlia was cut off by a distant boom, followed by low rumbling from deep underground. Harry and Dumbledore's eyes met...they both know what that meant. Voldemort may be gone, but the battle in the Department of Mysteries raged on.

"Go," said Dumbledore resolutely. "Find Neville. Protect him."

"I will, sir," Harry promised. Dumbledore nodded weakly, then slumped backwards again, his breathing shallow, eyelids fluttering open and shut. Harry felt a surge of guilt – for all of his differences with his former Headmaster, for all the harsh words they'd exchanged in the past twenty-four hours, the man had just saved his life, possibly at the expense of his own.

But there was no time to ponder it now. Harry gave the terrified Dahlia a reassuring nod and stood shakily, ignoring the many curious eyes watching him from afar and running towards the lifts. There were still six students in mortal danger, along with his father, the Aurors and whoever else had been summoned to help.

Harry jumped into a lift car and smashed the button for Level Nine. It was an excruciatingly long wait, but he soon found himself back at the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. Harry sprinted ahead, heart hammering, worried about what state he might find his friends and family in.

The door to the Department was open, and Harry wasted no time in barging through the hallway within. He leapt down a flight of stairs and emerged in the circular door room. The exit slammed shut behind him, and the walls began to spin.

As Harry waited for the spinning to stop, he suddenly remembered the non-lethal traps that Saul had mentioned preparing to deal with intruders. He wondered what form they might take: magical snares of some variety, to hold them in place? Phantasmal guards to attack and subdue anyone who doesn't belong? He had no choice but to barge on ahead and hope to deal with whatever traps he found.

The room slowed to a stop, leaving him with twelve doors to choose from. Harry glanced around, mentally determining which one he should take.

But he never got the option.

A door to Harry's left burst open, and Harry was suddenly yanked off his feet and thrust unceremoniously through the frame. He skidded across the floor, crashing painfully against the opposite wall as the door slammed shut behind him.

"What the hell—?" Harry groaned as he got to his feet. His shoulder was sore from the rough impact, but he was otherwise unharmed. Was that part of the trap? Was the Department charmed to throw people through doors in an attempt to injure them? He would have to tread more carefully and stay alert for anything else out of place.

Harry looked around; he appeared to be in the planetarium room. But it was in shambles; the hanging planets were ripped to shreds and strewn about, a large crater in the center of the room. Was this the source of the explosion earlier? Was it triggered by a fight, or by another trap laid by Saul? Harry had no way of knowing.

After determining that the room was empty, Harry turned back the way he came. He planned to use Hermione's old trial-and-error method of marking incorrect doors until he found the correct one leading to the Hall of Prophecy. He reached for the handle and pulled open the door leading back to the circular door room.

Except that wasn't what happened. As soon as his hand touched the handle, Harry felt like gravity was flipped upside-down, and he was yanked through the door as though it was immaterial. He once again found himself skidding hard across the ground and smashing into a wall. This time his head took the brunt of the impact, causing him to see stars.

Alright, noted, Harry thought as he massaged the bump slowly growing on his temple. Doors don't behave the way they're supposed to. He could only imagine the chaos raging elsewhere in the Department, if Death Eaters, Aurors and students were all trying to locate one another and getting teleported randomly from room to room. He could only hope the Unspeakables would be notified soon to come down and rectify the situation—

A door slammed open elsewhere in the room, and Harry heard three bodies come skidding in. He scrambled beneath a table, staying quiet in case they weren't friendly. He appeared to be in the brain room; he could see a shimmering tank in the center of the space, through which he made out three shadowy figures slowly getting to their feet.

"This is a bloody nightmare," groaned one of them, and Harry realized with a jolt that it was Barty Crouch, Jr. "How do we get out of this damn place?"

One of the other figures giggled girlishly, and Harry's stomach dropped further. "Come now, Barty, isn't this fun?" Bellatrix Lestrange laughed. Then she called out: "Ittle bitty Longbottom, where are you hiding? Come to Auntie Bella!"

Harry kept himself very quiet as the three Death Eaters crossed the room towards him. He considered getting the jump on them, striking from behind when they weren't prepared, but it would be near-suicide to attempt against such dangerous foes.

"I'm glad you can see the humor in the situation," said the third figure with a disgruntled tone – Harry recognized it as Gilderoy Lockhart's. "I'm starting to think the Dark Lord is punishing us with this task."

"Speak for yourself!" Barty snapped. "I'm not the one who failed to figure out how to disable the traps—"

"The Dark Lord knows it was an impossible mission he gave me!" Lockhart protested. "The protections on Croaker's mind were too strong to break through."

"Keep telling yourself that," Barty snapped. "I would never have failed my master like that—"

"Oh, enough!" Lockhart huffed. "Let's try another door. With any luck, we'll run into Lucius and the others to form a plan."

"Or maybe wittle Neville and his friends!" Bellatrix said gleefully. "I'm just dying to have some fun with them."

Harry stayed perfectly still and quiet as the three Death Eaters paused at the door. "Cushioning Charms!" Barty announced, and they quickly spelled themselves to not get injured on their journey. Then there was a small pop as they touched the handle and disappeared from sight – no doubt transported elsewhere within the Department.

Harry slipped out from under the desk and got carefully to his feet. It was good to know that the Death Eaters were just as disorganized and unprepared as he was. But it also meant that they had at least two groups searching for Neville and company, making them twice as likely to find him first. Harry had to keep moving and hope to get lucky.

He moved towards the door the Death Eaters had just disappeared through. He paused and cast a Cushioning Charm on himself, readying himself for anything as he hovered his hand over the handle. Would it take him to the same room as the trio that had just left? Or did it always take him somewhere different, somewhere random? Only one way to find out, Harry thought as he grabbed the handle.

He once again felt the odd sensation of the world flipping upside-down as he was launched into another room. Thankfully the Cushioning Charm held, and he bounced harmlessly off another wall and skidded to a stop. He jumped back to his feet and looked around; he was in the time room, the cabinet of Time-Turners lining the wall in front of him.

No sooner had he gotten his bearings than yet another door slammed open across the room. Once again three people rocketed into view and leapt to their feet. Harry froze, searching for a place to hide, not seeing anywhere convenient—

"Harry!"

"Cedric?" Harry exclaimed with relief, as the tall Hufflepuff walked forward. "Bloody hell, is it good to see you! Are you lot alright?"

"More or less," grimaced Mark Davis behind him, as Damian helped to support his weight. "Broke my ankle the first time we got launched through those stupid doors."

"Let me see," said Harry, helping Damian to lower the Slytherin to the ground. Mark pulled up his robes, and Harry winced at the sight: his ankle was twice its normal size and a dark shade of purple.

"Me and Ced are rubbish at Healing spells," said Damian.

"I'll do what I can," said Harry, hovering his wand over the swollen area. "Talusreponere."

A white light emanated from his wand, and Mark's ankle began to slowly shrink back to its usual size. The purple skin began to pale, until the ankle was mostly back to normal, with only a slight discoloring indicating that anything was awry.

Mark gingerly got to his feet and put weight on the injured ankle. "It's not perfect," he winced, "but I think I can keep myself upright."

"We'll get you to a proper Healer once we're out of this mess," said Harry. "Where's Neville and the others?"

"We got separated in the room with all those glass orbs," said Cedric. "We were ambushed by Death Eaters as soon as Neville grabbed the one with his name on it off the shelf. He ran one way with Ron and Hermione and we ran the other."

"We'd better get moving and try to find them before the Death Eaters, then," said Harry. "Let's stick together and—"

But before they could go anywhere, yet another group shot into the room from a side door. This group seemed more experienced with the odd form of travel and jumped straight to their feet. Harry knew at once that they were not friendly.

"Look out!" he shouted, shoving Damian to the ground as a trio of curses came their way. Cedric and Mark returned fire, forcing the three Death Eaters to scatter across the room.

Harry leapt back to his feet and engaged the nearest one in combat. The man wielded a deadly arsenal of hexes and curses, but he was no James Potter, and Harry knew at once that the Death Eater was no match for him. He waited for an opening before whipping his wand at the man's feet like a lasso, causing him to trip and fall flat on his back, where a simple Stunning Spell was enough to finish him.

Harry turned to help the others, but it turned out they didn't need it. Mark and Cedric backed another masked man into a corner and overwhelmed him quickly, nailing him with a pair of Stunners. Damian charged headlong at the other Death Eater, holding his left hand in front of him like a physical shield; to Harry's astonishment, the bracelet on his wrist glowed yellow as it absorbed three hexes sent his way. Damian tackled the man at full speed, sending them both into the wall – and through the cabinet of time-turners in front of it.

The tiny hourglasses began to fall and shatter on the ground, before reversing time and jumping back into full repair on the wall again. Harry pointed his wand at Damian and pulled him out of the infinite loop, as the poor Death Eater he'd tackled was forced to endlessly crash into the wall and fall amidst the shattered glass to the floor, before reliving it over and over again.

"Nice thinking with the bracelet, Damian," said Harry.

"Thanks," Damian grinned. "This thing has saved me multiple times tonight."

"Don't rely on it too much," Harry warned. "You've probably used up most of the charges by now." He reached down to help Damian back to his feet, as they turned to rejoin the others.

"This one's Dolohov, I think," Cedric called from across the room; he and Mark had unmasked their Death Eater, who lay unconscious and propped up against the wall. "That one in the cabinet might be Rookwood; I heard them addressing him earlier."

Harry approached the third man and flicked his wand to remove his mask. His blood boiled when he saw the prone form of Lucius Malfoy lying on the ground.

"You son of a bitch," Harry growled. The man had caused endless trouble for his family over the past year – the past four years, in fact. And he would no doubt find a way to wriggle out of trouble this time as well. "I told you I would end you if we ever met in battle again, Lucius. I'm a man of my word." And he aimed his wand at the man's chest.

"Harry, no!" said Damian, rushing over to stop him. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure this bastard can't hurt my family ever again."

"We should let the Aurors deal with him!" said Mark. "It's not right, killing a defenseless man."

"He wasn't defenseless thirty seconds ago—"

"All the same!"

"Harry, listen," said Cedric, in a tone that was clearly meant to calm him down. "We should get going, right? Neville's still out there somewhere."

"Right. Yeah," Harry muttered, still glaring at the man lying at his feet. He gave Lucius a good kick in the side, before summoning thick ropes to bind him in place. "Let's go."

Harry, Cedric, Damian and Mark approached the nearest door. "Cushioning Charms," Cedric recommended. "And we should link arms, so we aren't separated."

"Right," said Harry. The four boys cast their charms and linked arms at the elbow, as Harry reached for the door handle. "One, two, three—"

He grasped the handle, and once again they were thrust through the door into another random room. Harry recognized the large, cathedral-like space at once as the Hall of Prophecy, but to his shock, it was in ruins. The high shelves were all toppled over, and broken glass marred the ground as far as the eye could see.

"Was a right mess escaping the Death Eaters in here," Mark muttered. "Damian had the idea to break the shelves."

"Harry said in our defense meetings to use distractions whenever possible to get away," Damian shrugged. "Didn't you?"

"Yes, I suppose I did," Harry muttered. He'd meant it more like kicking up dirt or knocking over furniture, not destroying centuries' worth of valuable prophetic research, but it seemed to have done the job. "Hello? Anyone in here?"

"Who goes there?" a deep baritone voice sounded from across the cavernous space. Harry felt a surge of relief when Kingsley walked into view from around the broken shelves, followed by Proudfoot and Savage.

"Kingsley!" Harry exclaimed, running up to the man. "Boy is it good to see you."

"Likewise," the Head Auror nodded at him. "Are you boys alright?"

"As well as can be expected," said Cedric. "Would love to get out of here, though."

"That makes all of us," Kingsley grimaced.

"Where's Tonks?" Harry asked. "And my dad?"

"Tonks ran off after Bellatrix," Kingsley sighed. "Family business, I suppose. Your father ran after her through the door – I'm not sure where they ended up."

"We'd better get moving, then," Harry suggested. "Together?"

"Absolutely," Kingsley agreed. Everyone linked arms and re-applied their Cushioning Charms, as Harry turned back to the door they'd come from. He grasped the handle, and they once again were sent tumbling through Saul's trap and into another random room.

Harry knew at once where they'd landed before he got up. He felt the cold chill emanating from the center of the room; heard the whispers calling to him from the Great Beyond. He stood and found himself mere feet from the Veil of Death, its tattered curtains fluttering softly towards him, as though beckoning him within.

"Haarrrryyyy Ppooottteerrrrr…"

It almost felt like Death was laughing at him, watching from the other side. Was Death mocking Harry's failure to affect positive change? Was there lingering doubt that Harry could actually accomplish what he'd set out to do? Or was it morbidly funny that Harry even tried at all?

Harry did not have long to ponder these questions, because he heard several small pops, and then all hell broke loose.

He caught a glimpse of three bodies rocketing into the space from a door high above: Neville, Ron, and Hermione, bouncing down the stone steps towards the center plinth. They instantly sprung to their feet, on high alert, and it was quickly apparent why: they were not alone.

Six Death Eaters emerged from the same door, recovering more quickly and immediately opening fire from the upper levels. Harry's stomach dropped when he realized that they were the same six he'd already encountered, only now reunited and working in tandem. Bellatrix's group must have come across Lucius' group and revived them before resuming the hunt.

But there was no time for Harry to reconsider his actions, as he and the Aurors launched their own offensive against the attackers. Both groups scattered and sought cover across the open space. Harry scrambled over to Neville's group, who were taking shelter on the opposite side of the Veil.

"Harry!" Neville exclaimed; he was clutching a tiny glass orb in his palm. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, naturally," said Harry grimly. "You three alright?"

"Yes, but we have to get out of here, fast!" said Neville urgently. "I have to deliver this to Voldemort, or he's gonna kill—"

"Dahlia's safe," Harry reassured him. "Dumbledore and I rescued her. The prophecy is worthless now."

Neville stared down at the orb in his palm in shock. "So all of this was for nothing?" he muttered.

"I did tell you not to come," Harry groaned. "Just next time, try asking for help before you—"

But Harry's words were cut off by a string of dangerous curses fired their way. Neville, Ron and Hermione ducked, while Harry sprung to his feet to engage the attacker, heart skipping a beat when he realized who it was.

"Ooohh, hello again, dear Harry!" giggled Bellatrix with glee, giving him a little mock curtsy from across the dais.

"I don't believe we've met, Miss Lestrange," Harry said, staying on high alert as he circled around her.

"Oh, but we have!" Bellatrix said excitedly. "Earlier today, in fact! It was so kind of you to carry me into the Great Hall, and deliver me straight to the person I was ordered to find."

Harry's stomach dropped. "You were disguised as Anna Watson?" he said. "You took my sister away?"

"Yes, and I was very disappointed not to get to know her better," Bellatrix pouted. "My master insisted I follow Longbottom after delivering her to him. But no matter – I look forward to breaking little Dahlia until her little lungs can't scream any more, just like her filthy Muggle grandparents."

Enraged, Harry engaged Bellatrix in a duel, determined to make her suffer. Bellatrix laughed maniacally as she elegantly danced and wove around his curses like they were nothing. This was all a game to her, and she made it look easy as she switched from defense to offense, putting Harry on the back foot with her own battery of curses.

"What's wrong, wittle Harry?" Bellatrix mocked as Harry was forced to take shelter behind the Veil to avoid her curses. "Scared for your precious sister?"

"You'll never touch her again," Harry snarled. "You'll be in Azkaban before the night is through."

"You think Azkaban can hold me?" Bellatrix laughed. "My master will simply come to rescue me again! And then I will make it my mission to break your family, one by one." And she began to attack him in earnest, forcing Harry to stay on the move to avoid her deadly salvo.

Harry looked for an opening to counter-attack, but Bellatrix was too fast, too strong. James was right: she was too far above his skill level, and this fight could not end well for him. Even fifteen years in Azkaban seemed not to have dulled her prowess as a fighter. Harry looked for a way out, Shielding and dodging madly, knowing she could overpower him at any second—

Then another pop heralded new arrivals to the room, and to Harry's relief, James, Sirius, and Remus rolled into sight to join the fray. The three Marauders saw what was happening and sprang forward to engage Bellatrix, freeing Harry from her relentless assault.

"We'll take it from here, Harry!" James shouted. More Order members were filtering into the space now, joining the fight, which had grown into massive all-out fight across the room.

"Wotcher, Harry!" came a familiar voice, as Tonks backed into view, fending off a volley from Augustus Rookwood.

"Evening, Nymphadora," Harry quipped as he joined her in the attack. Rookwood quickly fell under their combined pressure, taking a Stunner to the chin and falling limp to the ground.

"You dare use my first name?!" Tonks said with a mock gasp, though the twinkle in her eye spoke of her amusement. "I ought to smack you for that!"

"Don't threaten me with a good time," Harry smirked.

Tonks grinned back and opened her mouth to retort with a cheeky quip of her own. But then she saw something over Harry's shoulder, and her eyes went wide. "Look out!"

Harry turned, just in time to see a Death Eater fire a smoky blue bolt of energy in their direction. Harry did not recognize the curse, but knew it could mean nothing good. He flattened himself to the ground, just as Tonks raised a Shield Charm to block it. Harry glanced up just as the curse made contact with her shield.

And he shouted in horror as it passed straight through like it was nothing, and hit Tonks directly in the face.

"No!" Harry cried out as Tonks crumpled to the ground. But there was no time to check on her. He angrily fired a quick volley at the offending Death Eater, who spun neatly out of the way. The hood slipped, and Harry found himself face to face with Gilderoy Lockhart – the 'Reaver of Memories'.

"Hello again, Professor Lockhart," said Harry, stepping forward to continue his assault.

"It has been many decades since I briefly taught you, Potter," Lockhart spat as he continued to deftly evade Harry's onslaught. "For you it may have been only a couple of years, but it seems like a lifetime ago for me. Time and memory are fickle things, aren't they? Luckily, I've managed to master both."

Lockhart began his own attack, firing curses that Harry had never seen before. He didn't even bother trying to Shield the ones he didn't recognize, like the smoky blue spell that had felled Tonks. He danced and dodged madly as the man cast with inhuman speed, giving Harry no respite whatsoever.

He's undergone several blood rituals, Harry realized as he analyzed the man's fighting style. He was far too quick for it to be natural, and his spells betrayed a hidden well of magical power that the old Lockhart could never have been capable of. This was not the same man that had faked his way to success – this was a deadly fighter, perhaps one of the most dangerous men alive after his decades of self-study under Voldemort's tutelage.

Harry knew he would have to get in close to have any chance. He must fight dirty and employ Muggle tactics to overpower the man. He fired at Lockhart's feet, forcing him to focus on his balance on the uneven terrain as he made his way closer. Harry did not stop, did not slow down, firing spells as he zigzagged his way towards Lockhart, looking for an opening to strike, to utilize his own athleticism to overpower the stronger wizard—

But Harry tripped, stumbling down the stone steps as his wand slipped from his grasp, clattering just out of reach. He scrambled after it, but then he heard Lockhart shout the dreaded words: "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry lunged for his wand to defend himself, but somebody else beat him to it: "Avis!"

A flock of birds exploded into being over Harry's head, diving in front of the green jet of light; it struck one of the birds, which fell dead to the ground at his feet. Harry spun around to see his mother striding forward towards Lockhart, murder in her eyes.

"Oppugno!" Lily shouted. The flock of birds reformed itself and charged at Lockhart, attacking his arms and face. The man irritably fired Cutting Curses at the birds, before eventually summoning a wave of flames around himself to incinerate the tiny winged creatures.

But Lily did not slow in her assault. Harry had heard of her prowess with charms, but now saw just how proficient she truly was with them. She wielded simple third-year spells in ways Harry never imagined, cleverly attacking Lockhart on multiple fronts he clearly wasn't expecting.

"No one else will lay a hand on my children tonight!" Lily snarled. She fired a succession of Stunners at Lockhart's right side, while summoning a gust of wind towards his left. Lockhart just laughed, side-stepping the Stunners and allowing the gust of wind to blow right past him.

But he failed to notice the twinkling pricks of light in the wind, indicating that it was not merely air. His eyes widened as he realized his mistake too late, then he crumpled to the ground, out cold from the Sleeping Charm that Lily had woven into her gust.

"Are you alright, dear?" asked Lily, turning to Harry.

"Fine," said Harry, allowing her to help him back to his feet. "Thank you."

They were forced to duck from a nearby spray of shrapnel, as James dove out of the way of a Blasting Curse courtesy of Barty Crouch Junior. Lily growled angrily and rushed forward to assist her husband.

Harry quickly returned to Tonks' side, fearing the worst. But to his astonishment, she was still alive – in fact, she was awake and fully alert, staring around the room with wide eyes.

"Tonks!" he shouted, dropping to his knees to examine her. "Are you alright? What were you hit with?"

Tonks did not respond. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, struggling to lock onto his face. Harry could not see any evidence of a curse impact, but a trickle of blood was leaking from her eyes and ears, sending a shiver down his spine. Whatever Lockhart had hit her with, it couldn't be good.

A stray curse whizzed overhead, forcing Harry to duck low. I need to get her out of here, he thought. He spotted a toppled bench on a nearby dais, and quickly grabbed Tonks under the arms and dragged her to the more secluded spot. He tucked her between the bench and the wall, ensuring that she was out of the way of the fight and wouldn't easily be spotted.

There was nothing more to be done for her now. Harry shifted the bench as close to the wall as he could and stood to rejoin the fight.

But it appeared that the battle was winding down. With the Aurors and Order members joining forces, the remaining Death Eaters were quickly being overwhelmed. Neville, Ron and Hermione had rejoined Cedric, Mark and Damian, and were huddled together in a corner, wands poised to defend themselves from any oncoming attacks that were not forthcoming. The battle was all but won.

Then, Harry saw it.

Like a scene straight out of his nightmares, replaying itself before his eyes. His godfather Sirius, laughing maniacally as he engaged Dolohov in a duel. Only this time, his best friend was there with him: James, flush with the excitement and energy of the hunt. Neither of them saw the true threat perched above them.

Bellatrix Lestrange had appeared atop a rocky outcropping, wand at the ready. Harry saw the excited gleam in Bellatrix's eye as she spotted James, the thorn in her master's side, and prepared to strike.

Time slowed, just as it had at the end of his previous timeline, and Harry watched on in horror as history began to repeat itself. He would not get there in time.

Please, no, Harry thought desperately. Not like this. Not again…

Bellatrix aimed her wand, chest heaving as she reared back to unleash her deadly blow—

"Avada Kedavra!"

The jet of green light seemed to draw every eye as it careened across the room. Death Eaters and Order members alike paused in their tracks, their duels briefly forgotten, watching the deadly curse fly through the air towards its target. James' eyes went wide, and so too did Bellatrix's, as she realized what had happened a moment too late.

The Killing Curse hit Bellatrix squarely in the chest, and she toppled off of her perch, lifeless before she hit the ground. All eyes followed the spell's trajectory back to its caster, and Harry stood there, chest heaving, his wand pointed at the spot she'd just fallen from.

The world seemed to stand still for the briefest moment in time. Harry felt the shocked stares of the entire room upon him: his former classmates, the Order members, and even the Death Eaters, aghast at what they'd just seen him do.

Then, someone shouted, "Aurors!" All eyes turned to the top of the room, where indeed, backup Aurors were streaming into the space. The remaining Death Eaters scrambled to escape, but they were quickly felled and re-captured, the battle all but over in seconds.

"Harry…" breathed James, rushing over to his son. "What have you done?"

Harry said nothing, continuing to stare blankly ahead. His wand arm had fallen to his side, and he was still staring at the spot where Bellatrix had fallen. He could see her legs sticking out from behind the plinth she'd toppled from, half-expecting her to get up, to rejoin the fight. But she moved no more.

"Do you know where you are right now, Harry?" James asked cautiously. "Do you know what just happened? How do you feel?"

Good question, Harry thought. How DO I feel? After all, he had just committed a grave act in taking the life of another. An act that he'd been taught was an irrevocable act of evil. But right now, Harry just felt numb and empty.

"I don't know," he said candidly, staring down at the wand he was holding, as though expecting it to be smoking like a fired gun. But it just sat dormant in his palm, as though it had performed no magic out of the ordinary.

A great clamor of voices could be heard from somewhere above them, growing louder by the second. "Ministry officials are on their way!" exclaimed Remus, hurrying up to James. "We need to get Harry out of here, quickly, before he is seen."

"I need to find Dahlia first," said James.

"She's safe," Harry said automatically. "She's upstairs, with Dumbledore."

"James, it's now or never!" said Remus as the oncoming voices grew louder. "They're going to check everybody's wands once they find the body."

James took a moment to respond, still surveying his son carefully. But he nodded his assent, as Remus and the Order members turned to delay the men and women hurrying into the Department of Mysteries.

James rummaged through his cloak until he retrieved a small silver coin. He held it out in his palm, inviting Harry to place his hand atop it. "Godric's Hollow," James whispered, and the Portkey activated, whisking the two of them out of the Department of Mysteries.

They touched down in the darkened living room of the Potter home, which James lit up with a flick of his wand. He then grabbed Harry by the shoulders and looked directly into his eyes.

"I have to go back and help clean this mess up," he told his son. "Do not leave the ward perimeter, do not send any owls, and do not answer any Floo calls. If any Ministry officials come, do not surrender your wand. Do you understand me?"

Harry saw the intense worry in his father's expression, and could do nothing but nod silently in agreement. James exhaled shakily and pulled Harry in for a brief but tight hug.

"It'll be alright," he said. "We'll smooth this over somehow. Just try to get some rest." And James grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the mantle, stepping into the fireplace and disappearing in a blaze of green light.

Harry was at a loss for what to do. Adrenaline still coursed through him, ensuring he would not sleep a wink that night. But his mind was curiously blank, his composure cool and clear. He sank gently into the sofa, placing his wand delicately on the coffee table and staring blankly at it, lost in thought.

He had killed someone tonight. Bellatrix Lestrange was no more, thanks to him. He had committed the most Unforgivable Curse of them all: the irreversible act of taking another's life. His soul would forever be tainted by such an act – he knew that instinctively. There was no going back from what he had done tonight.

But one emotion was slowly taking over the emptiness that had enveloped him. A burning sensation from deep within what could only be called his soul, damaged as it was. He fed the feeling, stoked its flames, until it filled him with its satisfying warmth and allowed him to sit in peaceful silence.

Righteous justice.

Bellatrix Lestrange would never again harm a member of his family. And Harry didn't feel the least bit bad about it.