Year 7-05: The Battle of London

A/N: Welcome to another pivotal chapter that has been planned for a long time, and will probably be pretty controversial. It is what it is. Enjoy!

Another explosion rattled the office, knocking all four down to the floor. Huge chunks of stone were being gouged from the ceiling of the Atrium, and a distant roar could now be heard from somewhere above them.

"Giants," Harry deduced, a pit forming in his stomach. "He's attacking us with everything he has."

"What do we do, Dad?" asked Dahlia fearfully.

James glanced from the crumbling ceiling, to Dahlia, to Harry. "Get your sister out of here," he ordered his son. "Take her to Grimmauld and wait for further instructions from there."

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked.

"Fight," said James, drawing his wand grimly. "I will not run from this. My people need to see that I will fight alongside them."

"Then I'm fighting, too," Harry said resolutely.

"Harry, please!" said James, grabbing his son by the shoulders. "Get Dahlia out of here. I can't bear to know that something will happen to her – to either of you – in the scramble."

Harry saw the desperation in his father's eyes, wishing for his children to be safe. "Alright," he nodded. "I'll get her out." And then I'm joining the fight, he left unsaid. Perhaps James could read his mind, because a look of fear crossed his expression before he nodded in grim acceptance.

"Come, 'Arry, we must hurry," said Fleur. She took Dahlia by the hand as Harry led the way out of the office and back into the administrative wing. It was pandemonium; employees were running for the exits, screaming and stumbling over one another. Harry led the way towards the lifts, but a fearful voice shouted after them.

"Harry, wait!"

He turned; Penelope Clearwater crawled out from beneath her desk, looking mortified. "What is happening?" she asked. "What do we do?"

Harry hesitated; helping more people would waste time, but he couldn't bear to let an innocent person get caught in the crossfire. "Come with us, Penny," he barked. He led the way down the hall, the three girls hurrying after him. They joined the throng of people scurrying for the exits; a large group gathered at the lift doors, but they were grated shut.

"Where are the damn lifts?" a panicked worker exclaimed.

"They must be in lockdown," Penelope murmured. When several curious eyes looked her way, she clarified, "The lifts don't work in case of emergency. We'll have to use the stairs."

"Where are the stairs?" Harry asked.

"At the end of the hall," said Penelope, pointing a shaky finger in that direction. Harry glanced – it was far, perhaps the length of a football stadium to the opposite end of the hall. Too far.

"Stand back," Harry ordered. He pushed his way to the front of the lift queue and drew his wand. He closed his eyes, focusing his senses on the magic before him. He could sense a block on the natural magic of the lift, and he disentangled it; a moment later, there was a distant rumbling as a lift car emerged from the darkness, and the grate opened to admit them.

"Quickly, now!" Harry shouted, as employees rushed onto the car. There were far too many of them for one lift, so Harry quickly cast an Expansion Charm to increase the capacity of the car so nobody would get trampled to death. He ushered Fleur, Dahlia and Penelope in last before squeezing in himself, and the grate slammed closed as the lift whisked them away.

Moments later, they emerged at the Atrium level, where chaos reigned. Employees were trying to muscle their way to the exits, while Aurors engaged with enemy fighters that were streaming in through the Floo and the public entrance. Additionally, a handful of Death Eaters on broomsticks had managed to slip through the widening hole in the ceiling, laughing and firing spells into the crowd.

One of the broom riders swooped down low to spew fire into the crowd. Harry summoned a lasso and hooked it around the man's torso; he yanked down, causing the rider to crash to the ground with a sickening crunch. Harry neither knew nor care if the man survived. He tried to do the same to the others, but they wised up and kept their distance, now focusing more on defending themselves from oncoming spellfire.

"Hold your positions!" a familiar voice barked. Mad-Eye Moody was in the thick of the scrum, firing curses left and right that felled the opposition. "Employees, draw your wands and defend yourselves!"

"Moody!" shouted Harry, pushing his way towards the man. "Where are the ICW troops?"

"Hell if I know!" Moody snarled, as he took down two broom riders at once with a bolt of lightning. "I sent the signal, but nobody responded!"

Harry had a sinking feeling about this. If the ICW forces didn't arrive soon to provide backup, the limited number of defenders in the Ministry would be quickly overwhelmed. "I'll go and fetch them," he promised.

"Best hurry, lad!" Moody shouted, as he turned to continue barraging the incoming wave of fighters. Harry returned to the outskirts of the Atrium, where Fleur stood bravely in front of Dahlia and Penelope, swatting away stray curses headed their way.

"Where do we go?" Fleur demanded. "The main entrance is blocked!"

"There's a secondary exit that way," said Harry, indicating a hallway branching off to their left. "We can get past the wards and Apparate away from there." He made his way in that direction, followed by Fleur and Penelope, but Dahlia hesitated, still rooted in place.

"Come along, Dahlia," Fleur urged her, extending her hand. But Dahlia's gaze was fixed on a Ministry employee nearby, crying out in agony on the ground. A massive chunk of rock, gouged out of the ceiling above, had landed atop her, pinning her in place from the waist down.

"Dahlia, no!" Harry shouted as she ran over towards the injured woman.

"She'll die if we don't help her!" Dahlia shouted back. She knelt beside the woman, waving her wand over her body and muttering incantations under her breath. Harry reluctantly ran over to watch his sister's back while the battle raged on all around them. Dahlia grimaced as red runes flashed in the air over the woman's body...even Harry knew that was a dire sign.

"We need to lift this boulder off her," said Dahlia. Harry pointed his wand at the large rock, and it slowly levitated off of the woman. He grimaced at the sight of the damage underneath: the woman's lower half was crushed and mangled by the force of the impact.

But Dahlia did not flinch at the grisly sight. She began waving her wand over the damaged area, and Harry watched in amazement as the shattered bones began to mend themselves and the bruised skin returned to its natural color. The woman's wails of pain began to subside as Dahlia did her best to repair the injuries.

"Harry!" a desperate voice called out. Harry wheeled around, wand at the ready, only to find Cedric Diggory running his direction. "Have you seen Tonks?"

"No," said Harry. "Where did you see her last?"

"She was on call tonight – I just got here," Cedric said breathlessly. "I can't find her anywhere."

"Talk to Moody," said Harry, pointing in the direction he'd last seen the man. "I'm sure she's nearby."

"Right," said Cedric, sprinting off across the battlefield while calling out after his lover. "DORA...DORA, I'M COMING!"

Harry turned his attention back to Dahlia, who was withdrawing a vial of red liquid from her robes. "Drink this," she ordered, uncorking the vial and tipping the contents into the injured woman's mouth. She dutifully swallowed the potion, before her head lolled back to the marble floor and she fell unconscious.

"You've done what you can for her," Harry said sternly, grabbing Dahlia by the arm. "Medics will find her and transport her to St. Mungo's."

"There are others!" Dahlia protested. All around the Atrium were more fallen individuals, some fighters, some employees, crying in pain and fear as they nursed severe injuries.

"We can't help all of them!" Harry shouted. "You heard Dad, we have to go—"

"To hell with Dad!" said Dahlia, wrenching her arm free. "I'm not letting them die."

"Dahlia, no!" Harry shouted, but Dahlia scurried off across the Atrium, head ducked low to avoid spellfire as she raced off to save more lives.

Harry was torn. He did not want to leave his sister unattended in the midst of battle, but he knew the battle would be lost if he did not fetch the ICW for backup. He looked to Fleur desperately, and she understood his dilemma.

"I will guard Dahlia with my life," she promised. "Go and get backup."

Harry nodded gratefully. He took Penelope by the hand and ran down the hall, leaving the sounds of vicious spellfire behind. They ran for what felt like ages under they reached the emergency exit; Harry felt the wards shift, and he twisted on the spot, Apparating the two of them out of the Ministry.

They reappeared half a mile away, just in front of the warehouse hosting the troops. Penelope bent over and dry-heaved violently; Harry could not tell if it was from the Apparation journey or the bloody scene they had just departed.

"Get yourself to safety," he urged her. "Get out of London as quick as you can. Better yet, get out of Britain entirely."

"What about my parents?" Penelope asked, terrified. "They live across town, not far from Diagon Alley!"

"Try to get them out too, then," said Harry. "I can't help you any further. Good luck, Penny." And he ran to the warehouse entrance, hoping that the Clearwaters would be alright.

Harry hastily erected his usual glamour, transforming himself into 'Lieutenant Prewett' before tapping his wand on the warehouse door. It swung open, and he sprinted inside, half-expected to see a battle raging with more of Voldemort's men. Instead, he found a large group of soldiers standing in a circle, bickering with one another.

Harry fired sparks into the air that emitted a large bang to get their attention. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. "Commander Moody sent the signal that the battle has begun...what are you all doing here?"

"Figuring out our best course of action," said an American, whom Harry recognized as one of the captains who had won his leadership position in a duel the week before. "We can't just rush in without a proper plan!"

"Like hell you can't!" Harry barked. "The Ministry is being invaded right now – what are you waiting for?"

"We sent scouts to assess the situation," said another American captain. "They'll report back with the best angle of attack. Until then, we don't risk walking into an ambush."

"Innocent people are dying as we speak!" Harry shouted hoarsely.

"And we'll be among them if we aren't careful," said another American, folding his arms stubbornly. "You might want to protect your own, redcoat, but so do we."

Harry stared around at the rest of the room in disbelief. Several other nations looked on from the outskirts; many looked conflicted, and he suspected they were of a different mind than the Americans.

"So you are refusing your commander's orders to join the fight?" Harry demanded.

"We didn't elect him as our commander," sneered another American. "And if we're not attacked first, we don't risk our necks going in blind."

Harry pondered the dilemma. He was itching to get back to the battle, but knew that returning without an army behind him would be suicide. But he couldn't not afford to wait for these scouts to return and the hot-headed Americans to make up their minds. He had to do something drastic to make up their minds for them.

You won't fight unless you are attacked first? Harry thought. Very well...that can be arranged.

Harry departed the warehouse and walked out onto the deserted street it bordered. In the distance he could hear the chaos of war happening downtown, but he forced himself to ignore it. Instead, he turned his back on the carnage and faced the warehouse, drawing his wand. If the soldiers would not leave the barracks voluntarily, he would force them out.

He fired several Concussive Blasts in the air, timed to explode directly above the warehouse roof. They went off in rapid succession, creating several near-deafening booms that he knew would rattle the entire barracks. But that wouldn't be enough. He unleashed a torrent of flame, setting fire to the roof and letting it burn. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

Moments later, the main door burst open, as well as several others down the length of the warehouse, and ICW soldiers streamed out to escape the burning building. "What the hell is going on?" one demanded, searching for the source of the attack.

"Look out!" Harry bellowed. A large, flaming projectile was hurtling through the air towards them; several soldiers ducked instinctively as it sailed overhead and crashed into the roof of the warehouse with a mighty BOOM.

"We're under attack!" someone shouted. Another projectile joined the first, crashing into the far side of the warehouse with another flaming explosion. Luckily, none of them recognized that the explosions weren't real – merely fiery illusions with loud noises attached to sell their authenticity. But even if they had noticed, Harry would begin throwing real projectiles if it spurned them into action quicker.

"Form up!" one of the American captains shouted. Several others followed his lead, shouting orders to their individual units. Harry stood off to the side, declining to interrupt their self-formations...he didn't care who was in charge, as long as they got their asses to the fight quicker.

"The attackers are centered around the central square that houses the public entrance to the Ministry," Harry shouted.

"Unit Seven!" barked one of the captains to his group. "Apparate three blocks north of the square, and we'll approach from there."

"We'll join you," another captain said. Other units fell into line behind them, assigning their troops to other points around the central square. Harry nodded in relief as the group began to Apparate to their designated attack points, and he spun on this spot himself, hoping their disjointed army could somehow overcome the odds.

He emerged on a small side road just west of the main square, not far from a unit comprised of mainly Australian and French soldiers. The sounds of battle were apparent now; spellfire cracked through the air like whips, and heavy booms indicated that the barrage on the Ministry was not yet complete.

"Forward!" Harry shouted, leading the way. They squeezed through narrow alleyways and vaulted over fallen rubble, the scent and sights of battle becoming clearer with every step. Harry remained on high alert, ready to defend himself at any moment. The alleyway finally cleared, granting them a glimpse at the city square where most of the fighting was taking place, and his breath hitched in his throat.

Three massive giants were rampaging around the square, stomping and flailing around while roaring angrily. One was on its knees, mercilessly pounding into the earth – undoubtedly the cause of the crumbling ceiling down within the Ministry. The others were swinging heavy clubs and attempting to flatten anything that moved below.

"Merde, they are massive!" a French fighter breathed behind him. Harry could not disagree...these giants were even larger than the ones he'd encountered in Switzerland. He supposed the Death Eaters had recruited the biggest and toughest of the lot, leaving only the weakest behind.

"Attack their legs!" Harry shouted, leading the way forward into the square. He knew giants were near-impossible to kill with traditional spellfire, and that was assuming a neutral scenario without any outside distractions to worry about. Now hundreds of black-cloaked enemies also filled the square, attempting to squeeze their way into the Ministry while avoiding being trampled by their own giants. They soon became aware of the new arrivals as ICW units poured into the square from all directions, and they turned to fight.

"Look out!" Harry shouted, twirling his wand to stop a boulder that was hurled at them by one of the giants. He sent it straight back to sender, pounding the giant in the face. It only served to enrage the giant further, as it turned to charge at them. This had the unintended bonus of sending it directly through a crowd of Voldemort's fighters, trampling many of them under its massive feet.

"Retreat!" shouted a unit captain, and the group quickly scurried back into the narrow alleyway as the giant charged. It slammed into a tall building above them, causing shattered glass and twisted steel to rain down on them from above. Harry erected two Shields, one to prevent the physical debris from cutting them to shreds, the other to halt the spellfire from the fighters on the ground.

"What do we do?" asked a fearful Australian.

"Focus on the ground troops," Harry instructed them. "I'll handle the giant."

"How?" another shouted, but Harry was already off. He hadn't worked that bit out yet, but he figured he could at least distract the thing long enough to give the ICW time to advance. He ducked between the giant's beefy legs and began launching Concussive Charms up at it, which exploded all around the giant's head to disorient it. It roared in displeasure, kicking out and barely missing him.

Harry began conjuring thick ropes, which wrapped themselves around the giant's feet and legs. The massive creature roared angrily as it realized its movement was constricted, clawing and shuffling around in an attempt to free itself. Unfortunately, Harry's ropes were not strong enough, and the giant tore right through them, resuming its stampede through the square.

I can handle the giant, the Elder Wand whispered in Harry's mind. Allow me to dispatch it for you.

Harry ignored the Wand, continuing with his original plan to lasso the giant to the ground. But it was increasingly difficult for the ropes to bind themselves as the giant kicked and stomped all around, threatening the lives of both enemies and allies.

The giant spotted Harry and recognized him as the source of the ropes. It roared and gave chase, raising its club as it charged towards him. Harry stumbled and fell to his back, scrambling to get out of the way as the giant brought its meaty arm forward to smash him to bits—

Alright, do it, Harry thought, urging the Elder Wand to act. Kill the giant.

Harry felt a flare of cold magic overtake his own, as a jet of brilliant purple light erupted from the Elder Wand, aimed directly at the giant's head. The massive creature roared angrily, a split second before the unknown spell pierced its brow and tore through its head like paper, continuing on into the smoky sky unabated. The giant fell lifelessly to the ground, landing in a heap atop dozens of Voldemort's men with a mighty crunch.

Harry stared at the Elder Wand in disbelief. He had no idea what spell it had cast or where it had learned it. Had a previous master used the spell, and the wand remembered? Or had it cast the spell of its own accord? But he could not stop to ponder this now. He had to continue the fight.

Harry joined up with another unit pouring into the square nearby. A crowd of Voldemort's men greeted them with spellfire, and Harry stood firm on the front lines, firing right back. He danced, ducked and blocked everything sent his way, feeling the unnatural speed and instinct the Wand granted him. He truly felt invincible, and understood now why Grindelwald was so feared in battle. None of these lowly soldiers could hope to stand up to Harry's might.

Slaughter them all, the Wand whispered in his ear. They are ants beneath your boot heel. Crush them. Show them what you are capable of.

Shut up, Harry thought, resisting the call of the Wand to lay waste to the battlefield before him. He knew how dangerous the Wand's influence was, and would not succumb to its bloodlust. Who knows how many of his own men would be caught in the destructive chaos the Wand could bring? Besides, killing enemies was not his primary aim. His only goal was to get back into the Ministry as quickly as possible to make sure his family was alright—

"What the hell is that?!" one of the Americans shouted. Harry could hear the raw fear in his voice, knowing that only one thing – or person – could elicit such a response. He turned to follow the young man's eyeline, and a shiver ran down his spine at the sight.

Lord Voldemort was in the midst of the chaos, throwing Avada Kedavra's around in a furious dance of death. It was like a maelstrom of raw magical power ripping through the battlefield with him at the center, leaving a trail of death dozens of feet wide in his wake. The other fighters froze at the sight, recognizing for the first time just how dangerous this Dark Lord truly was.

"Leave him to me," Harry snarled. He strode forward, the chaos of the battle around him quieting in his mind. Only Voldemort mattered now, and he carved a path through the carnage towards him to face off with him at last. It was a showdown he thought would happen much later in the war, with the horcruxes already destroyed, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Nobody else could stand up to the Dark Lord, so he had to try.

Voldemort saw him coming and fired a lazy green bolt in his direction. Harry neatly deflected it right back at its caster; Voldemort swiped it aside, a look of surprise on his face.

"You dare challenge me, stranger?" he demanded, not recognizing Harry beneath his glamour. "Don't be a fool. I will squash you like a bug."

Harry said nothing. He fired a rapid salvo of curses Voldemort's way, forcing him to erect a Shield Charm to absorb them all. Harry Apparated twenty feet to his left and continued the assault, but Voldemort too disappeared in a plume of black smoke. Harry looked around wildly for him, but the Elder Wand sensed him first, whipping Harry's arm around to bat aside another Killing Curse fired at his backside.

"You fight well, stranger," Voldemort sneered with a mocking bow. "Not many can say they have lasted this long against the mighty Lord Voldemort."

Still Harry said nothing. He put all his focus into the duel, as he and Voldemort traded barbs. He relied heavily on instinct, his mind entering a flow state of attack, parry, deflect, counter-attack. He did not recognize many of the curses Voldemort threw his way, but the Elder Wand did, producing the correct counter-curse to every obscure blow he tried to fell Harry with.

Voldemort snarled, recognizing that this was a true challenger that required his full attention. He increased the tempo and power behind his attacks, but Harry calmly defended himself from each, while throwing in a hex or two to keep Voldemort honest. He could sense Voldemort's growing frustration as the battle around them slowed to a halt, fighters on both sides pausing to watch the two advanced duelists at work.

"You cannot keep this up forever," Voldemort spat, his red eyes alight with fury. "All will fall beneath the might of Lord Voldemort."

Harry knew Voldemort was right. He was matching the Dark Lord's pace thus far, but making no ground himself. Besides, a draw would do him no good – Voldemort could not die, so the best Harry could hope for was to drive him off and live to fight another day. And he could see no way to gain the upper hand, to overwhelm the Dark Lord's defenses.

Let me have him, the Elder Wand whispered in his head. I can show you what I am capable of. Give me control.

Harry hesitated – there were a lot of people around, both friend and foe, and he feared what might happen if he gave the Deathstick too much power. Would he become Grindelwald, felling dozens around them in a mindless slaughter? Or would the dark influence of the wand overpower his mind completely, turning him into something he didn't want to become?

But he saw no other alternative. All he could do was pray that he was making the right decision – that perhaps this truly was 'the power the Dark Lord knows not'.

Alright, he thought. You take over from here.

Harry felt a surge of power course through him as the Elder Wand practically sang for joy at the development.

With pleasure.

Harry felt his body whip into action, spinning away from Voldemort's attacks and sending a barrage of spells back in return. His limbs moved faster than he dared believe possible; the spells that erupted from his wand were none that he'd ever studied in any textbook. Voldemort's eyes widened as he took in the raw destructive power of Harry's spells. The Dark Lord Apparated to safety, as Harry's magic crashed into a nearby wall and exploded with tremendous force.

Voldemort reappeared in midair, hovering some twenty feet over the heads of the crowd. Harry felt himself leap into the air, magic suspending him at the same height, not slowing in his assault. The Elder Wand gleefully spewed raw, powerful curses at the enemy, forcing Voldemort to dodge and spin away from them. Harry had no idea what was happening or how to control it. All he could do was hold on and hope the Wand knew what it was doing.

Voldemort was forced to abandon his offensive measures in favor of defending himself from the onslaught. His defensive work was immaculate, always selecting the correct option to stop Harry's assault. Shielding the minor curses, dodging the larger ones, and negating the few that could be handled wordlessly. But Harry could see the bewilderment and anger in his opponent's expression that someone could match his talent and power.

"Who are you?!" Voldemort roared, unbridled fury etched in the harsh lines of his skeletal face.

Harry felt his mouth open to speak, and the voice he spoke with was not his own. "I am Death," he rasped in a sepulchral tone. "And your soul will be mine, Tom Riddle."

He felt a current of hot energy course through him, and a beam of blinding white light erupted from the Elder Wand. Voldemort's eyes widened in sheer terror; he erected a thick shield of pure darkness to block the blow, but it shattered with a high, keening wail, causing Voldemort to nearly topple out of the air from the impact.

I don't believe it, Harry thought. I might actually stand a chance against him.

But Voldemort righted himself in the air, a dangerous look of retribution in his eyes. Harry prepared himself for a furious barrage of return fire that never came. Instead, Voldemort swiped his wand downward, before disappearing in a plume of black smoke and rushing away across the battlefield.

For a moment Harry thought nothing had happened. Then he heard a horrible creaking and grinding noise, turning around with absolute horror. A nearby skyscraper, some twenty stories tall, was toppling over on its side, collapsing directly down towards him. Worse still, many of the ICW forces lay directly in the path of the wreckage, ensuring massive casualties if it hit the ground.

Leave them to fend for themselves, the Elder Wand whispered in his ear. It's a distraction tactic. Go after the Dark Lord while he's weakened.

But Harry couldn't bring himself to allow such devastating loss of life. He wrenched control back from the Wand and pointed it at the oncoming building, slowing its rapid descent. His magic strained as he fought to prevent the building from laying waste to the streets below. Others realized what he was doing and rushed to his aid, helping to keep the mass of steel, glass and concrete from annihilating everyone from above.

The group managed to slow the building's collapse to a crawl, gently resting it on its side in the street with a dull thud. Harry could see Muggles through the windows, desperately looking for an exit from the carnage. He felt drained from the effort needed to keep the building upright, and the magic holding him in the air faltered, causing him to collapse to the ground.

He was caught by several ICW soldiers waiting beneath him, gently lowering him to the ground. "Drink this," one of the men barked, thrusting a vial towards him. Harry downed it in a single gulp; he felt the Stamina Potion coursing through him, though it would take a few minutes before he felt ready for action again.

"God damn, you actually stood up to him," another soldier said reverentially. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Practice," Harry deadpanned, laying his head back against the concrete. But then the temporary peace of the moment came to an end, as the ICW began to re-engage Voldemort's forces. The latter appeared to be retreating, but when Harry sat up to assess the situation, he saw that they were heading down into the ground, through the makeshift hole the giant had created. The hole that led directly into the Ministry.

"Hey, wait, you should rest—!" one of the soldiers protested as Harry lunged back to his feet. He was off again, running through the square towards the Ministry. A few stray spells were sent his way, but he effortlessly deflected them. He was of one mind now: making sure his family was safe. And where the hell had Voldemort gone…?

As Harry sprinted for the Ministry entrance, he heard another roar as a giant lumbered in his direction. He dove out of the way as it rampaged through the crowd, kicking and stomping both the ICW and Voldemort's forces indiscriminately. That's what you get for using giants, Harry thought, not feeling sorry for the enemies caught in the friendly fire.

Both parties scattered to avoid the carnage, leaving the makeshift hole temporarily unattended. Harry sprinted for it, sliding down into the rubble and out of reach of the giant. A tunnel had been bored down into the earth at a slight angle, and he could see light at the end of it, undoubtedly coming from the Atrium. He heard more shouting and spellfire ahead, which meant the battle continued to rage on inside the Ministry. He pushed ahead, terrified of what he might find.

As he reached the end of the tunnel, several figures emerged, heading up and out of the Atrium. Harry aimed his wand cautiously, but lowered it when he saw the white robes and red arm bands of St. Mungo's – Healers. "Quickly, now!" one of them shouted, and Harry saw that they were transporting several injured victims via floating stretchers out of the Atrium. "We're almost to the Apparation point!"

Harry passed by the wounded, taking in their gruesome injuries at a glance. He did a double-take as he passed the last stretcher, heart stopping as he reached out to stop their progress. "Fleur!"

Fleur Delacour was laid out on one of the stretchers, covered in scrapes and bruises. Her left leg was bleeding profusely through bandages, but she remained conscious, eyes swimming as they locked onto Harry's.

"I'm okay, 'Arry," she said weakly. "I will live."

"Where is Dahlia?" Harry asked. "Is she alright?"

"I do not know," Fleur muttered sadly. "I could not stop her...she continued to 'elp the injured...I am sorry, 'Arry, I lost her in the crowd—"

"We have to get her out of here before she bleeds out!" a Healer shouted, trying to push Harry aside.

"You did what you could," Harry reassured Fleur. "I'll find her." And he let the Healers continue evacuating her, instead heading deeper down the tunnel towards the Atrium, terrified of what he might find.

He emerged in what appeared to be the Floo lobby, but the fireplaces were all smashed to bits. Bodies littered the marble floor, and the victims appeared to come from all sides: ICW soldiers, Voldemort's fighters, Aurors, and innocent Ministry workers alike. A flash of bright pink caught his eye, and Harry's heart sank: Tonks, lying in a heap atop another dead body, eyes closed in a look of deathly serenity. I'm sorry, Cedric, Harry lamented, before moving on down the hall.

He emerged back in the Atrium, where pandemonium reigned. The air was choked with deadly magic as furious spellfire filled the space, fighters engaged in duels all across the room. Harry's eyes scanned the space, looking for that familiar mop of black hair amidst the chaos, but he could not see his sister anywhere.

In his desperation, Harry leapt atop the toppled security desk and dropped his glamour to survey the scene from a higher vantage point. "DAHLIA!" he screamed. "DAHLIA, WHERE ARE YOU?"

His voice caught the attention of several nearby fighters, including a group of Death Eaters. "It's the Potter boy!" one of them shouted. They turned to fire Killing Curses at him, but Harry neatly back-flipped away, flicking his wand at the desk to send it flying. It caught two of them in the chest and sent them crashing into the central fountain with a satisfying crunch; the other two spun away just in time, but were quickly felled by Harry's quick casting, leaving him unscathed and his enemies downed by the time he landed from his flip.

Harry surged forward into the fray, ducking past combatants and avoiding spellfire as he continued scanning the room for his sister. He saw wounded fighters crawling towards the edges of the room and figured Dahlia was likely there, on the outskirts, tending to the survivors. He began to follow the trails of blood smeared across the floor, but then something caught his eye from above, and his heart stopped at the sight.

High above the Atrium, the windows to the Minister's office had blown out, and through them Harry could see Voldemort, engaged in a furious duel with unseen combatants. He spun away from the window, and a moment later three more people came into view: Moody, James, and Lily, all fighting for their lives against the Dark Lord.

Please, no, Harry thought with horror. Just hang on a bit longer. He altered course and sprinted for the lifts, leaving the battle in the Atrium behind. He had to hope that Dahlia was safe wherever she was hiding. A more immediate threat had presented itself, and Harry could not waste a second to get there in time.

Harry nearly tripped over another body near the lifts, and he did a double-take when he caught a glimpse of the woman's face. His heart sank: it was Alessia, Remus' long-time partner and love of his life. Her face was deathly white, eyes glossy and staring blankly at the sky. No, Harry thought with despair. It can't be.

He wanted to stop, to pay his respects, to move his body somewhere safe. But he did not have the time. If he did not hurry, more of his family would be joining her shortly. So Harry pressed onward, suppressing the growing dread that it might already have happened.

Harry did not even wait for a lift car to arrive. He swiped his wand at the grate, blasting it open, and launched himself into the open shaft of the lift system. A gust of wind kept him airborne, shooting him up the shaft towards the top level of the Ministry. All the while his heart pounded with fear, wondering if he was too late, if his parents were about to be slain by Voldemort once more. He could not bear to lose them again. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Harry arrived at the administrative level, blasting the grating aside once more and rolling to a stop. When he righted himself, he saw several dozen Death Eaters standing between him and the Minister's office, scores of dead bodies strewn at their feet. They turned towards the source of the commotion, grinning at the sight of Harry.

Here goes nothing, Harry thought, raising his wand and preparing for the fight of his life. He doubted that even the Elder Wand could help him reach the office unscathed, much less defeat Voldemort once he got there. But he had to try. There was simply no other option.

The Death Eaters too raised their wands for battle, but before a spell could be fired, a voice boomed in their ears, amplified for the entire Ministry to hear. "The battle is over," Voldemort spoke to them all. "Lower your wands and cease the needless bloodshed. Our little presentation is about to begin."

The Death Eaters chuckled knowingly at this message. They lowered their wands, allowing Harry to sprint right past them en route to the office. Dread threatened to overwhelm him as he approached, knowing that the dire message could mean nothing good for the outcome of the battle. He crossed the destroyed administrative wing and reached James' office, bursting through the shattered door frame, fearing the worst—

"Stop right there!"

Harry froze, skidding to a halt in the doorway and taking in the scene. The office was filled with Death Eaters, all standing over their fallen enemies. Some, like Amelia Bones, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black were on their knees, a dozen wands trained upon them; others were not so lucky, lying dead on the ground, no longer paid any mind to. Harry's heart ached at the sight of the fallen: Mad-Eye Moody, Ted Tonks, John Dawlish, and half a dozen other Aurors and Order members he'd met over the years.

But Harry's eyes were trained at the far end of the office. Voldemort stood before the shattered windowsill, wand trained at two people kneeling before him: James and Lily, alive but bloodied, bruised and utterly defeated. Harry's heart ached at the look of resignation in his father's expression...he knew he had lost, and what would happen next.

"Ah, welcome, Harry!" Voldemort sneered at the new arrival. "How good of you to join us. You're just in time for our grand finale."

"Let them go," Harry said weakly. "You don't have to do this."

"Oh, I'm afraid that I do," said Voldemort with false lament. "Now, I suggest you drop your wand, or I will slaughter your loved ones this very instant."

Harry looked down at the wand in his hand. To his surprise, the Kneazle wand sat in his palm...it seemed the Elder Wand knew when to retreat as well as to make its presence known. Harry knew that trying to fight would be suicide, so he tossed the Kneazle wand aside, hoping he could talk his way out of this somehow.

Two Death Eaters grabbed Harry roughly and dragged him forward across the office. They forced him to his knees beside his parents, as Voldemort leered down at him with murderous red eyes.

"I warned you what would happen, Harry Potter," Voldemort snarled. "Leave Britain to me, or be exterminated. Your family made its choice. Now it will suffer the consequences."

Harry thought the situation could not get any worse. But then, a voice from outside the office shouted: "I've found her, my Lord!"

Peter Pettigrew shuffled into the office, escorting a bound and gagged Dahlia into the room. She was covered in blood (not her own, thankfully) but otherwise looked unharmed. Her eyes landed on her three family members, eyes widening in horror.

"She was tending to the wounded in the Atrium," Peter explained as he thrust Dahlia forward to join the rest of her family on the ground. "Put up quite a fight, but I got her here in the end." Harry noticed that Peter sported a black eye and scratches all over his face...if the situation wasn't so dire, he might take pride in his sister's fierce resistance against the man.

"Miss Potter!" Voldemort greeted her with false charm. "How sweet is this...a family reunion, amidst such violence? It must be soothing to know you will all die together."

"Please...let my children go," James pleaded hoarsely through what appeared to be a broken jaw. "Do whatever you want with me – just don't hurt Harry and Dahlia." Lily nodded fervently beside her husband.

"You are in no position to bargain, Minister Potter," Voldemort laughed. "You stood against me, and you lost. Once I have made an example out of you, I will attend to your loved ones and ensure that the Potter bloodline shall not continue."

A haunted look crossed over James' features, knowing this was not an empty threat. Harry, too, felt panic rising in his gut as he realized this could very well be the end. Of his life and that of everyone he loved. He had failed in his mission: Voldemort had won, and all his efforts over the past six years were for naught.

Voldemort dragged James forward by his hair to the edge of the windowsill, overlooking the Atrium. Harry heard the voices below go quiet, clearly recognizing that something was happening up above.

"Attention, fighters of the International Confederation of Warlocks!" shouted Voldemort. "You have fought valiantly, and Lord Voldemort respects those who fight with honor and bravery. Each of you has seen what I am capable of and what will happen to you if you oppose my will. No more magical blood needs to be spilled. Lay down your wands, or each and every one of you will be slaughtered where you stand, never to return home again."

Harry could not see what was happening beyond the window, but knew the fighters down below understood the gravity of the situation. There was a faint sound of wood clattering on tile as the ICW forces dropped their wands, one by one, giving up the fight officially.

Think, Harry, he thought, mind desperately searching for a way out. He could attempt to kill Voldemort with his concealed wand, but not even the Elder Wand could protect his entire family from the dozens of Death Eaters scrutinizing his every move. He had to try and talk his way out of this, but could see no easy way to do so. How could he convince Voldemort that the Potters should live?

"No one will stand against me in Britain ever again," Voldemort declared. "And Minister Potter here is going to demonstrate what becomes of those who defy my will." And Voldemort brandished his wand at the back of James' head, holding him aloft for everyone below to see.

"Wait!" Harry shouted desperately. He lurched forward, but dozens of wands followed his every move, preventing him from taking action. "You don't have to kill him!"

"Your father has been a thorn in my side for too long, Harry Potter," Voldemort growled impatiently. "He is too dangerous to be allowed to live."

"What if he is more dangerous to you dead than alive?"

Voldemort turned to glare at Harry at these words. "What foolish notion is this?" he demanded.

"You'll make him a martyr," Harry said, mind racing to find a way out of this impossible situation. "He is still beloved in Britain. People will rally around his name and rebel against you."

"Rebellions can be quashed," Voldemort said dismissively. "They will not succeed."

"But they will slow down your progress," said Harry. "Killing my father means more magical blood will be spilled. And Britain's wizarding population is precarious enough as it is."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Harry, considering his words. "Who among those remaining would be able to rally forces against me?" he demanded.

"Your foreign enemies," said Harry. "The ICW will view you as a bigger threat than ever once word of my father's death reaches them. They have thousands more reserves they can send in to fight you, and plenty of time to organize under a new commander."

"Let them come," Voldemort sneered. "I will slaughter the lot of them, and win again!"

"But at what cost?" asked Harry. "How many of your followers are you willing to lose? How many have you lost already tonight? What use would it be for you to rule Britain, if there is nobody left within it to rule over?"

Voldemort pondered this question thoughtfully. His red eyes darted around the room, taking in the many dead strewn about the office; several Death Eaters were among them, taken down by James and his forces before they were overwhelmed.

"Someone must be made an example of, Harry," said Voldemort. "What message would it send if I were to let your father go? Lord Voldemort does not show mercy."

"You don't have to let him go," said Harry. "Keep him here as Minister. Use him to do your bidding. That way, you can rule Britain in secret without anybody realizing you're the one in control."

"I am not a puppet," James growled defiantly. "I will not do as this monster says."

"See reason, Dad!" Harry pleaded with him. "We've lost. If you don't do what he says, he'll kill us all."

James looked deeply unhappy with this idea. Voldemort, on the other hand, looked intrigued.

"I had not considered the possibility," he mused. "James Potter is well-respected within Britain. Our policies will undoubtedly receive push back, but if they came with his endorsement, people might accept them more readily."

"I must advise against this, my Lord," a deep voice spoke up; Harry recognized it as Snape's. "Minister Potter is firmly on the side of the Light, and has a rebellious streak. He cannot be trusted to stay in line." Harry saw his mother's head snap around towards the voice, a look of shock in her expression.

"Silence, Severus!" Voldemort snapped. "Your childish feud with Potter clouds your judgment. He may have a renegade spirit, but do you doubt that I, Lord Voldemort, can control him?"

Snape said nothing, bowing his head deferentially. Harry wondered how much of that silence was due to the death glare he was receiving from Lily at that moment. He also saw the skepticism on the faces of several other gathered Death Eaters, and knew he had to drive the point home somehow, to convince Voldemort that this was the correct course of action, before someone convinced him otherwise.

"It's just like you told me in the graveyard two years ago," Harry offered. "You can show magical Britain how far the Potter name has fallen, by swaying a symbol of the Light to the Dark."

That seemed to make up Voldemort's mind. A devious grin spread across his face as the thought of corrupting the great James Potter overrode his previous plans of bloodshed.

"How about it then, Minister?" Voldemort demanded, yanking James' hair back so that he was looking straight up at the Dark Lord. "Are you ready to play puppet?"

Somehow, James looked even more despondent and defeated than he had when he thought his entire family would be killed. Harry knew how prideful his father was, how resistant to dark magic he was. This was the man's worst nightmare come to life: he would rather die for his country than play a part in its downfall. But it was not only his life on the line, and James knew it.

"Let my family live," he sighed. "And I will do as you ask."

Voldemort smirked evilly. He bent down to whisper something in James' ear. Harry watched as his father paled at the words, before nodding in grim resignation. James stumbled to his feet and approached the shattered window to address the Atrium below.

"Fighters of the ICW," he said in a clear voice. "The war has ended. As Minister of Magic for Britain, I, James Potter, hereby relieve you of your duties. Return to your home nations and inform them that your services are no longer needed, and that Britain no longer requires assistance."

A stunned silence followed this announcement. Then, Harry heard the shuffling of hundreds of bodies, as the ICW picked up their wands and headed for the exits. Harry knew enough about the soldiers by now to know that they wouldn't question such an order, nor would they raise a fuss about it when they returned home. They didn't care enough about defending Britain to begin with, and would be all too happy to leave it to its own devices.

The Atrium gradually grew quiet again at the allied forces departed. Eventually, Voldemort shoved James aside and rose to the window himself, raising his arms in victory. The crowd below, now comprised solely of his loyalists, roared in triumph and jubilation at the victory.

"Well done, Minister Potter," Voldemort appraised him. "As a reward for your obedience, I will offer you a choice."

"What kind of choice?" James grumbled unhappily.

"I will allow you to decide which of your loved ones to sacrifice," said Voldemort with a knowing smirk. "Your wife, your son, or your daughter."

James froze in fear. "I...I don't understand," he stammered. "I said I'll help you if you let my family live—"

"And they shall," said Voldemort. "But not all of them. Someone must pay for your transgressions...you did not think you wouldn't be punished for defying my orders to leave Britain, did you?"

James looked horrified. So too did Lily, glancing in fear at her two children, realizing what Voldemort was saying. He would not allow all four Potters to survive. One of them had to die.

"So how about it, Minister?" Voldemort demanded. "Which will be made an example of? Your Mudblood wife, perhaps?"

Dahlia whimpered in fear as Lily quivered under Voldemort's intense stare. Harry saw Snape shift uncomfortably nearby, and Voldemort noticed too.

"But, ahh...I had almost forgotten," Voldemort muttered. "I did promise to spare the Mudblood, did I not, Severus? Voldemort rewards those who serve him well, and you performed a great service for me at Hogwarts. I suppose I can allow you this one reward."

"Thank you, my Lord," Snape bowed. His gaze was cast downward, ignoring the look of utter betrayal on Lily's face.

"Perhaps the daughter, then?" Voldemort suggested, training his gaze upon Dahlia. "Shall we slaughter the innocent to prove our might?"

Dahlia was trembling so badly that she could not even respond. Harry prepared to speak up in her defense, to talk Voldemort out of it. But to his surprise, somebody else did so before he could speak.

"The Potter girl is a talented Healer, my Lord," said Peter Pettigrew. "I found her saving the lives of dozens of fighters on both sides earlier. We have many injured tonight – she can assist with tending to the wounded."

Voldemort's lip again curled in displeasure, as another target slipped through his fingers. His red eyes landed upon Harry, bloodlust still evident in his expression.

"That leaves you, Harry," he said with a sadistic smile. "You have volunteered yourself to die on behalf of your family's sins...a noble sacrifice."

"Don't hurt my son!" James shouted, eyes wide with fear. "Or I'll—"

"You'll do nothing, Minister Potter," Voldemort snapped. "Your son's life was forfeit the moment he stepped foot in this office. You will do nothing to stop me, or else the same will happen to your wife and daughter, and you will be forced to watch their slow, agonizing deaths."

James trembled with silent anger and despair. Silent tears ran down Lily and Dahlia's cheeks as Voldemort grabbed Harry roughly and dragged him forward. Harry knew there was no talking his way out of this one. He had somehow managed to spare his parents and sister, but Voldemort would not allow the Potters to emerge unscathed. He would have his pound of flesh, and Harry had drawn the short straw.

But deep down, Harry was at peace with the outcome. He could not bear to lose his parents again, or his sister...he'd much rather it be him. They could continue on the fight without him. Fleur knew about the horcruxes and could guide the Light to victory in his stead. Dahlia could tell his parents the truth about his past. He would accept his fate and wait for his loved ones on the other side. He was no stranger to Death...he'd faced it once before, and it wasn't such a bad fate in the end.

Voldemort dragged Harry to the edge of the shattered window and positioned him at the edge. Harry looked out across the sea of gleeful faces below, as he felt the Dark Lord's wand pressed against the back of his head.

"Any last words, Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked.

Harry turned to face his family one last time. "It's okay," he said with a cracked voice. "I love you." James and Lily stared back at their son with haunted eyes, despair in their expressions. Dahlia wept openly, staring despondently at the floor, unable to meet her brother's gaze.

Harry could not bear to look at them any longer. He closed his eyes, waiting for the killing blow to come and end his misery. I failed to avenge your sacrifice from my last timeline, he thought despondently. The least I can do is repay the favor.

Harry expected the next thing he heard to be those two fateful words, followed by a flash of green light and then nothingness. Instead, he heard a familiar voice speak up, interrupting the proceedings:

"Forgive me, my Lord, but perhaps there is a better way to make an example of the boy."

All heads turned as Snape strode forward, kneeling before Voldemort. The Dark Lord looked displeased by the interruption, but he briefly lowered his wand from the back of Harry's head.

"What is it now, Severus?" Voldemort snapped.

"The boy too can be used," said Snape. "The public outcry has been growing against him ever since Dumbledore's death. His death would be seen as justice, not punishment."

"Their opinion matters not," Voldemort scoffed. "Albus Dumbledore will be revered no longer in Britain. I will ensure that his reputation is tarnished for generations to come."

"And what better way to do that than to reward his killer?" Snape suggested. "Dumbledore was a radical dissident who plotted to overthrow your rule. And Harry Potter stopped him. Shouldn't we encourage such behavior, and show the public what becomes of those who oppose you?"

"You would have me uphold Harry Potter as a hero?" Voldemort said skeptically. "When he already has a reputation as Dumbledore's golden boy?"

"A reputation that Potter tarnished himself," Snape insisted. "You saw the protesters in the Atrium yourself when we arrived, my Lord...he is reviled by his peers. They will know what it means if you elevate him to such status once more. They will resent it."

Voldemort pondered this suggestion, looking somewhat bemused. Clearly the irony was not lost on him: just a year prior Harry had been uplifted as the 'hero of Hogwarts', elevated to a position of authority and respect within Britain. Now Voldemort had the opportunity to do the exact same thing, only this time, it would be as a symbol of control, forcing the nation to celebrate Harry for doing the very thing they despised him for.

The Dark Lord turned to face Harry once more, distrust in his expression. "Lord Voldemort does not often grant second chances, Harry," he said dangerously. "I offered you protection in exchange for your service just a month ago, and you declined. Will you join forces with me now? Or will you reject me once again, and forfeit your life?"

Harry knew what answer he wanted to give: he'd rather die than be forced to serve Voldemort. But he felt the pleading eyes of his family upon them, as they realized that there was a chance he might be spared.

"Harry, please," James hissed. "Don't throw your life away. If I can do this for your sake, you can do it for mine."

"Listen to your father, Harry," Voldemort said with a twisted grin. "Serve me, or die."

Harry knew that there truly was no choice. As much as he couldn't bear to lose his family, he knew they couldn't bear to lose him, either. He had to do as James had done: swallow his pride, accept the terms of defeat, and live to see another day.

"Alright," he muttered despondently. "I will do as you wish."

Harry was yanked backwards, away from the window, and tossing roughly back to the floor. James, Lily and Dahlia grabbed him tight, weeping and holding onto him for dear life. Voldemort glanced around the room at his followers, looking like he had received a gift beyond his wildest dreams.

"I admit, I did not anticipate such an outcome this evening," he said, glancing around the room. "I expected to be forced to raze Britain to the ground to bend it to my will. Instead, with only minimal magical blood being spilled, I have the entire nation eating out of my hand. And as a bonus, I have taken Britain's shining beacon of hope and twisted it for my own purposes."

The Death Eaters chuckled appreciatively at this notion. Harry felt a shiver as the words of Luna's prophecy came flooding back to him: 'A shining light shall be extinguished, while another is corrupted, casting shadows across the land.' Did that mean Dumbledore and James, respectively? One killed, the other used as a tool for evil? Or did the latter refer to Harry, forced to join Voldemort's ranks? He supposed it didn't matter much either way. Both were now forced to do the bidding of the Dark.

He was so lost in his swirling thoughts that he did not realize the Dark Lord had addressed him. "What?" he asked.

"Your arm, Harry," Voldemort repeated. He was brandishing his wand again, indicating towards Harry's left side.

Harry realized with a jolt what was about to happen next. But he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. He slowly rolled up his sleeve, baring his left arm to the room. Voldemort grabbed his wrist and turned it face-up, placing the tip of his yew wand to Harry's forearm.

"This might tickle a bit," Voldemort grinned. "Morsmordre."

Harry's mind exploded with pain. His arm radiated with malevolent energy, causing his entire body to tremble and quiver under the effects of the spell. It was ten times worse than the Cruciatus Curse, which preyed upon just his body; Harry's very soul felt under assault, as though Voldemort's wand was drawing upon his magical core to perform the permanent act of branding that would bind Harry to the Dark Lord forever.

Harry's eyes watered as he forced himself to watch the terrible process unfold. A serpent head seemed to emerge from deep within his arm, rising to the surface and wriggling between his veins to settle on the surface of his skin. Around it, the form of a skull began to take form, darkening bit by bit until it stood out starkly against the pale white of his arm around it, the snake head sliding smoothly through the opened jaw.

Voldemort finally withdrew his wand to admire his handiwork. Harry's body wanted to give out, to collapse to the floor, but Voldemort would not allow him to, holding his arm in place. James, Lily and Dahlia watched on with horror, quivering silently as Harry writhed in agony beneath the Dark Lord's grasp. Harry's eyes swam and blurred, but even through the haze of pain, the Dark Mark burned black and clear against his pale skin.

Voldemort leaned down close and tipped Harry's chin back, giving him a full glimpse at the malevolent look of triumph in his red eyes. "You belong to me now, Harry Potter," he said softly. "And don't you ever forget it."

He finally released Harry's arm, leaving him to fall to the cool floor in a heap. "Get him out of my sight," he heard a distant voice say, and the next thing he knew, two rough sets of hands lifted his limp form off the floor and dragged him out of the room. Harry knew not where he was being taken, but he blacked out from pain and exhaustion before he could ask.