Ficlet: 7th Year AU Final Battle

[slowfox]

Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Man

"Y'know," observed Ron, as conversationally as his limited breath would allow, "and I'm not complaining or anything," he added quickly, "but considering we're supposed to be all about saving the wizarding world..." he paused, to rip a particularly tenacious cluster of brambles from his cloak's sleeve as they staggered vaguely in the direction of the castle, "...we seem to be setting an awful lot of it on fire."

"Inferi," was all Harry managed to utter as they finally stumbled free of the Forbidden Forest's embrace. Looking back, he could see the orange glow where the fire had taken hold around the Portkey's landing point.

"It's not Harry's fault that the school's burning," protested Ginny, on the Boy-Who-Lived's behalf.

Although grateful for the support, Harry wasn't slow to pick up on the fact that Ginny's carefully worded defence still let him open to accusations on the part of the Ministry. And Ollivander's. And the Leaky Cauldron. And Grimmauld Place. It had been quite a merry dance, all things considered, but he felt reassured that whatever had been done, had been done in good faith, and in a good cause. He'd consulted with the Voices of the Veil, he'd bathed in the Locked Room's aura. Avenged Sirius, neutralised the Carrows and, well... Borgin and Burkes got what had been coming to them.

But that was behind them, and this was now: smoke rolling across the grounds, thick and black as the castle burned in the distance, the blaze fierce, despite the drizzle that was soaking everything with its soft touch.

Harry swept damp hair away from his glasses, barely registering the sharp pain, the tattered sleeve, the traces of blood as he fixed his eyes on the middle distance, where a pool of black-robed figures were spilling out from the ruins of the Great Hall, fanning out across the sodden turf. At their centre, a tall, pale-skinned figure who, unbidden, suddenly turned in towards the Forbidden Forest, as though feeling the weight of the measured, hostile gaze upon him.

"C'mon," muttered Harry to his friends, "this is it..."

"Right," acknowledged Ron, from his left. The red-headed Gryffindor nodded once, water running off the end of his nose, before, as one, the four stepped away from the Forbidden Forest onto the battlefield proper, weary but resolved, knowing that as surely as all paths had led to this final confrontation, so surely must events reach their culmination on this damp, grey Tuesday.

"He's seen us. You-Know-Who," warned Hermione, unnecessarily. She was speaking from Ron's left; Ginny was on Harry's right, the arrangement instinctive, as it had been for much of the previous week's quest. There had been no time to enjoy the companionship, however - it had been a war of attrition, tracing down clues, following in the footsteps of The Dark Lord, knowing that his power only gained strength the longer this final contest was postponed.

"You know," observed Ginny, somewhat grumpily, "if we'd known that he was going to come to Hogwarts, we could've just stayed at school and waited for him."

The Death Eaters, their attention drawn by their leader to the four's presence as they marched purposefully across the earth, had fanned out in a defensive semi-circle, centred around Lord Voldemort, who stood stock-still, unmoving, a smile forming upon his razor thin lips as his quarry walked towards certain death.

Still the rain fell. Behind the Death Eaters, students were staggering out of the conflagration, dazed and confused, only to immediately be held by the Death Eaters. No sign of Snape, nor McGonagall. Not even Flitwick: the students were on their own here, and they knew it.

When they'd closed within about 30 feet, Harry indicated with a shrug of his shoulders that his companions were to wait behind, and he stepped a few paces forward. This was his battle, and Voldemort's battle. It wouldn't be necessary to drag innocent parties into things.

Voldemort sneered across the space between the two protagonists, wondering whether any lamb had so willingly walked to its slaughter before.

"Harry. Potter," he hissed, "welcome to your death."

Harry suppressed a mirthless chuckle: "I'm not afraid of death, and I'm not afraid of you." And it was true: he knew that these might be the last few minutes he would have on this Earth, but with his friends at his back, and the week's hard-fought campaign behind him, Harry felt that all things in his life had been leading him to this point. It was destiny, and he would not be found wanting at the final hurdle.

As if the elements themselves had taken heart from Harry's unspoken declaration of resolve, the drizzle eased up, and a shaft of sunlight ppierced the grey skies overhead to illuminate a tight circle not 15 feet to Harry's left. All the portent he needed, Harry slowly raised his wand.

A popping sound to his left distracted him somewhat, and he was acutely aware of both his and Voldemort's attention being drawn to a swirling flurry of forget-me-not blue.

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" called the voice, apologetically, seemingly unfazed by being the focus of not only the two principal protagonists, but the serried ranks of Death Eaters and Harry's own supplementary trio to his back.

"Nice work, Harry," thanked the new arrival, tipping a rogueish wink in the Boy Who Lived's direction, "I'll handle it from here...

"Ah!" he cried, eagerly, turning to face Voldemort, "The Dark Lord! Terribly sorry I'm late, old chap - there I was, signing autographs, and I must've just completely lost track of time...You know how it is, I'm sure."

"Who dares interrupt my moment of triumph?" whispered Voldemort in a sibilant hiss of a whisper that nonetheless was tinged with a hint of incredulity.

"Me? Gilderoy Lockhart!" explained the former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, executing a florid bow, the better to ensure that his robes caught the sunlight into which he'd Apparated to best effect. "Order of Merlin (Third Class), Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence Leauge and Five-Time Winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award."

He paused, briefly, to allow - as only fair - his opponent to digest this disarmingly accomplished curriculum vitae. The traitorous wind made the most of this interruption to blow Lockhart's hair back in dramatic fashion. "But I don't like to talk about that," he continued, self-deprecatingly, before turning serious: "I feel it is only fair to warn you, Dark Lord, that I've devoted my life to the eradication of Dark Forces, and, if you don't mind me saying, it's pretty obvious to an expert like me that you've strayed a long way from the path of light.

"As such," he lamented, with genuine sorrow and a sad shake of his head, "you give me no choice..."

Harry was aware that his jaw was hanging open, and did his best to close it, discreetly. He hoped that he'd only imagined what sounded like a distinctly girlish giggle emanating from his back.

"Imbecile..." hissed Voldemort, not impressed with this intrusion upon his carefully choreographed execution, yes, execution no less, of this fabled Boy Who Lived, and intending to dismiss this irritant before proceeding on to the Main Event.

Unfortunately for the Dark Lord, Lockhart was too quick for him: "Expelliarmus!" he intoned in a beautifully sonorous baritone, pitched just right to carry far and wide across the grounds.

Voldemort, caught unprepared for the strike was flung backwards with the spell's majestic force, his wand sailing in a near-perfect arc to land neatly in Lockhart's left hand.

Having worked so hard to clamp his jaw shut, Harry was powerless to stop it crashing open again, and was dimly aware that his arms, arms that had previously been held in a deliberate duelling posture, were now hanging limply by his side.

This couldn't be happening to him.

He was only dimly aware of clusters of Aurors apparating in around him as Lockhart proceeded to put Voldemort under the Full Body Bind. Some of the Aurors' robes were singed, and they were giving Harry dirty looks from soot-covered faces before heading off to round up the thoroughly chastened Death Eaters.

"... I just don't know, though," Lockhart's voice carried clearly across the grounds as he engaged an awestruck Kingsley Shacklebolt in conversation, "I was thinking Gilderoy Lockhart: Voldemort's Bane... or do you think that's too much? Maybe 'Defender of the Light', perhaps?"

Behind him, Harry heard an odd, dry sort of swallowing sound: "I think," ventured Ron, sounding as though he was talking through gritted teeth, "I'm going... to... be... sick."

"Are you sure you can hit him from this distance?" enquired Ginny, ever practical, and clearly appreciating that projectile vomiting was a subtle art.

"Well I think he did very well," countered Hermione's voice, a little indignantly.

There was some sort of incredulous gasp in response, and Harry registered Ginny's form crouching down before him before she straightened up once more. Small, slender fingers wrapped his around Ollivander's craftsmanship: "You dropped your wand, Harry," she said in a small, sad voice.

It barely registered.

Harry turned slowly around, the better not to see Lockhart at the centre of an ever-increasing crowd of adulant Aurors, nor hear his promises of heading up the Auror division at the Ministry (once that unfortunate business with the arson had been sorted out).

The Forbidden Forest was fully ablaze now - a violent inferno that was consuming everything it could find, the heat even from this distance enough to suck the air out of the lungs. Unseen dark creatures, trapped, screamed in pain as they were roasted alive - howls of torment perhaps due recompense for the pain and terror they'd inflicted upon their victims throughout their evil and malevolent lives.

Yeah, thought Harry, considering the forest in its state aflame; all things considered, heading back into the Forbidden Forest seemed downright appealing right at that moment.

Comments

[carolanne5]

OMG you have posted linkfest and fic and I have train to catch, GOD DAMN. I will be back!

[carolanne5]

* laughs*

I can safely say I did not see that coming! And hermione defended lockhart , giggles. Good to see you writing mojo is back.

Yours from the train courtsey of the dear oldiPhone

[slowfox]

I just wondered how much Harry would hate it if Lockhart ended up being the saviour of the Wizarding World. The answer is... he'd hate it a lot :-)

[cynthia_black]

Hee, excellent!!! :-D

Saviour!Lockhart - the swirling flurry of forgetmenot blue - (and Hermione sticking up for him) is just such a good thought - I can see why you ran with it!

You've made me smile on a Monday morning, which is no bad thing :-)

[slowfox]

Gilderoy Lockhart: Voldemort's Bane *beams dazzling smile*

It would've just made Harry's day, wouldn't it?

:D