Destruction of his own making

Voldemort has himself created the very people that will bring him down. These are just a few examples. Characters belong to Rowling.

- - -

The full moon burnt on the night sky, illuminating the world and its small inhabitants, so very far away. The Dark Lord stood in the middle of the field with his faithful followers. On the opposite end of the field stood Harry Potter. The boy of the prophesy, with his loyal friends by his side. Only one can live...

- - -

Hermione and Ron stood by his side. They were both convinced that they would die this night. But still they stood, and would do so until the end, doing whatever was in their power to aid their friend. It is one of those things love can make people do.

- - -

The werewolves were in frenzy, howling and screaming their rage and excitement. Some of them started small fights of their own, but no one interfered. If the pack leader was challenged, that challenge would be to death. Remus Lupin, badly wounded, but fighting for every bad choice he had ever made, every wrong that had ever been done to him, every friend he had lost, sank his teeth in Fenrir's throat. He ripped the soft flesh apart and he ate it. He drank the blood, and before the old pack leader had even stopped twitching, he looked up, his burning eyes drilling into his fellow werewolves. They looked down. They laid down on the ground before him. They tucked their tails between their legs and showed their throat. The pack had changed leader.

Remus lifted his bloodstained nose towards the full moon, and howled. The werewolves howled with him. They were his now. This very night they would do everything he asked them to; which was just as well, since he would ask them something that even Fenrir would never have dared, even if he had wished to. He cried out to the moon, and the pack answered him, the name; the person that were to feel the wrath of the wolves. "Voldemort!"; he cried, and the pack moved to strike.

- - -

Ginny stood among her friends, but still she was alone. She didn't listen to the whispered orders from Hermione, to the small encouraging words from Ron. She had eyes for the Dark Lord only. A cruel smile was on her lips. How she had waited for this moment.

Do you remember me, Tom? Do you remember the innocent little girl who's mind you once entered and raped? Well, I remember, but I'm not that innocent anymore. You taught me a great deal about strength and power, and I have learned my lessons well. Come in Tom, enter my mind again if you dare. Let's dance again, like we did before...

She sought his eyes. She felt the power building in her.

- - -

Luna sat by a little pond, not very far from the battle. She was humming something under her breath and smiling faintly, seemingly obvious for the last, bitter struggle that took place. But there was blood on her hands. Lots and lots of blood. She turned her pale face towards the full moon, her protuberant eyes reflecting the light and giving it back, two small moons in the face of a big one. She took the small knife in her hand and spoke softly.

"Mum... You know, I really don't like Tom Riddle. He is making my friends sad, and he is hurting people. I think everyone would be a lot more happy if he died. I really think so. I do wish Tom Riddle dead."

And all around, the wind in the grass started to whisper. Wish him dead, wish him dead, wish him dead...

- - -

Draco Malfoy ran as fast as he could, but yet he feared that he would be too late. Too late. Hah! He had been too late most of his life. To think that he had willingly put the dark mark on his arm... Well, he was not blind anymore. He was not blind for the monster that had dictated so much of his life. The monster who right now was about to kill people who by right could have been his friends - Potter, Weasley... and Granger. He remember when Fenrir told him he was going after the muggleborn girl, how his blood had frozen and he in one single heartbeat had realized what he had to do. He had betrayed his lord then, warned the mudblood - even if she had no idea just who had slipped that piece of paper to her. She had suruvived, but his blood had still not unfrozen. If he didn't get to his "Lord" in time, she was surely dead. So he ran, with his wand in his hand. The wolves howled.

- - -

"I can't realize that we are doing this," Peter Pedigrew - he had dropped the mock name Wormtail some minutes back - moaned. Severus Snape arched an eyebrow.

"Is it that hard a concept to grasp? We are all dead, and we know it. We simply allow us the luxury to die in a way we choose ourselves."

"But it isn't necessary," Peter tried. "We can hide, we can wait. I'm good at that."

"No you are not," Severus snarled. "Not if the Dark Lord is after you. And not if Potter is after you. It's a lose-lose situation, as it always have been. The only choice left for us is which one of those two we hate most."

"Which isn't a very hard choice," Lucius Malfoy interrupted. They were among a little glade of trees, some distance away from the battle. "It is time to do it now, if we are to do it at all," he went on nervously.

"Why are we doing this?" Peter moaned again. Severus looked at him in disgust.

"You are doing this because this is the only chance you have to redeem yourself and to die as a Marauder rather than a traitor. Lucius is doing this because..."

"...because that half-blood has dared to threaten the heir of the Malfoys," Lucius filled in. He rolled up his sleeve and revealed the brightly burning Dark Mark. Severus and Peter quickly did the same.

"Oh..." Peter said, nodding to himself, accepting the reasons. "And what about you?"

"Me?" The old potion master said, raising his wand. He actually chuckled, a sound devoid of every trace of humour. "The force of habit, I suppose. I'm used to kill my masters."

And they all pointed their wands towards the mark, and through the channel it opened to their lord they forced all the magical power, all the pain and fear and despair they could muster. As servants to Lord Voldemort, they all had plenty to spare.

- - -

Bellatrix looked around, surprised and on her guard. A moment ago she had been with her lord, preparing for battle, preparing to finish the job she started when she killed her good-for-nothing cousin. But she was not in the moonlit meadow anymore. She was surrounded by bushes and trees, thorns and vines. How had she got her? She had dim memories of a charm coming over her, that she had tried to dispel, to no avail. She looked at the sky and saw the full moon looking down at her. No clues to where she might be. She decided to move a bit. Carefully she crept through the undergrowth. It was hard to get through. The thorns stung her, the vines snared her. She slashed at the growth with her wand, using that very convenient little knife-charm Severus had invented, and after some painstaking minutes she managed to make an opening out to a clearing...

...which turned out to be the very clearing she had just left. On the exact opposite side of where she emerged, were the place where she had left it. Bellatrix snarled in frustration. What was this? Suddenly she saw a man sitting on a small rock a little while away, seemingly busy with looking at the moon. Instantly alert, Bellatrix silently crawled towards him. It was a boy rather than a man, she saw as she came closer, and there was something hauntingly familiar with him. She was sure she had not made any sound, but when she was about five meters from him, he turned his face and looked at her with big, brown eyes.

"Hello Bellatrix," he said with quite, calm voice. He even smiled a bit tiredly.

"Who are..." she begun, but suddenly she realized who he was. "Longbottom!" she cried. He nodded.

"Welcome to the garden, Bellatrix," he said with the same, calm voice. He had his wand in his hand, but held it loosely, seemingly not very interested in it."

"So this is your doing," Bellatrix cried. "Very clever of you to trap me like this, Longbottom. A teleportation hex into a sealed magical area, I take it?"

"Something like it," he agreed. "My friend Hermione helped me with most of the framework. But I did the decoration myself. I thought you might enjoy it."

"You really think you have managed anything by this?" she sneered. "Do you really think you have the magic skill to trap a powerful witch with her wand intact in your petty schoolboy magic?" And without any further ado, she raised her wand and cried, "FINITE INCANTATION!". The trees rattled, as if by a sudden gust of wind, but nothing else happened. The boy didn't say anything. He just sat there, looking at her.

"This... is impossible," she gasped. "Where could you ever get hold of magical power enough for this?"

"My parents," he simply said. "They have not been doing magic for years, not since you attacked them, remember? That is an awfully lot of magic pent up. I don't think they would mind me using it in this fashion." He stood up from his stone.

"I will not kill you, Bellatrix, but I hope you realize that I could have. You will stay here, in the garden, until your lord is dead and the aurors come to take you back to Azkaban."

"Oh, yeah?" she sneered. "Well, I will at least have some fun with you, little cry-baby. Let's see if you last longer than your parents. CRUCIO!!!"

The boy didn't move. The spell didn't hit. A branch swung from a tree and almost knocked the wand from Bellatrix' hand. Longbottom shrugged.

"I didn't want to leave you here without occupation. Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare. It's deadly fun, and so on. Good bye, Bellatrix."

The boy disappeared, but before Bellatrix even had time to curse, the forest came alive. She fought for her life, trapped in a magic she herself had pent up so many years ago.

- - -

"They're there, all right," Pierce nervously whispered, lowering the IR-binoculars. "Just like you said, Big D. It's your cousin and a couple of other freaks... and there is this really creepy guy who looks like an alien or something." Dudley smirked in satisfaction.

"He's the one. He's the leader of the freaks. Don't care about Potter or the others - get the creepy one." He picked up one of the rifles they had brought with them in a crate on the motor cycles and made sure it was loaded. The other members of the gang silently did the same thing. But Pierce didn't.

"Er... listen, Big D," he said hesitantly. "I know they're freaks, all right, and I know they attacked you... but this is serious stuff. We can't just shoot people. We'll be thrown in jail." The others nodded, but Dudley snorted dismissingly.

"Getting cold feet, Pierce?" he whispered with dangerous voice. "Chickening out? Everything for the gang, remember?" He glared at the young man a little while, and then he went on with a much milder voice. "Hey, it's OK to be nervous. I'm scared as hell if you wanna know, but we can't let those freaks have their way. We are in war. That car crash at the M5, the bomb in Cambridge, those people they slaughtered in Blackpole? Remember what they did to me? How they sort of poked in my mind and brought out things to hurt me? You want them to do that to you?"

Pierce shook his head.

"Well, we'd better stop them then, because they aint going to stop by themselves. They call us muggles. They think we're animals... It's about time the freaks learn what happens if you fuss with the gang. Learn it for real..."

Pierce nodded and took his rifle. He wasn't happy for this, but sometimes you did what you was told. Falling out of the gang right now wasn't an option. Dudley waited until they were all in order before he spoke again.

"Besides," he smirked, "these freaks live outside the system. They aren't in any register. The police will never find their bodies; and if they do, they won't be able to identify them. We're safe... but don't overdo it. Everyone get a good aim, then we shoot one round of bullets and then we're hell out of here."

The gang took their aim in the full moon. They pulled their triggers. Six small metal pellets hurling through the air towards the Dark Lord. Each and everyone just as deadly as the Avada Kedavra curse.

- - -

"Well, Weasley, what is your decision?" Umbridge sneered. The young man behind the desk buried his face in his hand.

"I don't know..." he whined. "I have done so many mistakes."

"And not acting now would be yet another one, even more spectacular than the last," the former high inquisitor smiled, obviously enjoying herself. "Your beloved Barthy Crouch, had the strength to act in a situation like this, and that ended the last war. Will you be as strong as him, Weasley?"

"I don't know..."

"Do I have to remind you that your own pretty little baby sister right now is probably thorn to pieces by werewolves, or maybe..."


"So what will it be?"

For a moment the newly appointed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement hesitated, but then he sighed. A tired, yet determined look in his eyes.

"So be it!" he said. "The aurors may use unforgivables, both for pacifying and... interrogation purpose. I want prisoners to Azkaban immediately - not under dementor guard, mind you. We'll have to deal with their hearings afterwards when things calm down. I authorize unrestricted house searches. Just go out there and do whatever it takes to destroy those death eaters."

Umbridge smirked.

"You can trust me, 'Watherby'."

- - -

Igor Karkoff was at this moment anxiously waiting for news in a distant country under an assumed identity. He must have used at least two dozens of new names since the day he had faked his death; pollyjuiced that poor muggle into himself, killed him and put the dark mark over him. Since then he had been busy. He knew that he could not just slip away; that the Dark Lord would find him eventually. What hope he had of being saved now laid with Dumbledore's chosen boy. Therefore he had slipped the boy whatever information he could get his hands on - and as a former headmaster of Durmstrang, former deatheater and present master at the dark arts, that was quite some extensive information - about the subject Horcruxes. He only hoped his information would prove to have been enough.

- - -

Whisper in empty galleries, whispers among portraits. Albus Dumbledore - Order of Merlin, First Class, and Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Famous for discovering the 12 uses of dragon blood and for defeating the dark wizard Grindelwald - had his portrait painted and hung all over the wizarding world, and it whispered in the dark. It plotted - not Voldemort's downfall, because that was already secured - but the building of the world that were to follow.

- - -

They were mercenaries, the worst kind of scum of the wizarding world, caring nothing for principles or life; caring for nothing but their profit. They were purebloods, mudbloods, squibs, goblins, they even had a vampire in their ranks. Prejudicases were nothing; the ability to kill everything. Each and one of them had blood on their hands. They were armed with wands, shields and nasty little magical surprises. There were even a goblin among them who had a muggle gun in his hand. In their eyes were only determination and indifference. This was their war only to the extent of the money they had received - which was plenty. Their leader cleared his throat and looked at the woman who stood among them, dressed in pure and clean white, as a goddess of death. In her eyes was hatred.

"All right ma'm. You've spoken a name, you've paid in good gold. Aint much more to be said, I take it." The woman sneered.

"Yes there is. I have bought your loyalty. Now I wish to buy your... motivation." Some grunts from the crowd suggested that this was a highly insulting thing to suggest, but their leader silenced them with a gesture.

"You are going up against the most feared wizard of this age," the woman went on. "I have chosen you because you are the best, because you have killed the most dangerous foes. I don't care how you do it, I don't care who holds the wand, I don't care how many more dies; But if the Dark Lord is destroyed for good this night, another one hundred thousand galleons will be moved to your Switzerland vault."

The mercenaries nodded impressed. This was a client who knew to pay for their service. Their leader nodded grimly.

"For that kind of money, ma'm, we would kill Salazar Slytherin himself. Have no fear."

"Fear?" she frowned. "I have nothing of that kind. We will not see each other again. I have a reputation to maintain, after all."

The woman took a few steps away from them, towards her waiting portkey. The mercenaries relaxed and started with the last preparations. Their leader hesitated a moment, but then he hurried after the woman. She turned to look at him. Her blond hair looked almost like a halo in the light of the full moon. Like an angel of death.

"Sorry, ma'm," he hurriedly said. "It's not my business to ask questions, I know, but in my position I've got to know which way the wind is blowing. I've worked for your husband, both one and two times, you see, and I've always understood that your family are high in rank for the Dark Lord." She fixed him with her eyes for a few moments, then she smiled, a very thin, humourless smile.

"As for where the wind is blowing, my advice for you scum is to leave the country as soon as this is over. Things will be ugly for yet some time to come. As for my dealings with the Dark Lord, I don't intend to keep it secret that I hate him. He has betrayed the loyalty of my husband. He has tried to kill my son. He has played us foul, and its time that little maggot without family and name learns to respect the pure blood and the name of the family. If it will take every single uns of Malfoy gold to kill him, I will pay. He will learn just who he is dealing with." The leader for the mercenaries nodded.

"You've spoken a name ma'm, you've paid in good gold. Aint anything more to be said."

- - -

Harry Potter raised his wand and looked Voldemort in the face. There were no hatred in his eyes now, only sorrow at what he would have to do. But that didn't make him any bit less determined.

- - -

Voldemort - the Dark Lord - Tom Marvolo Riddle - fell into darkness, into the void, and suddenly he realized that he was dead. DEAD! No. It couldn't be. Surely there was at least one Horcrux left? Surely he had at least one more trick to try? But the darkness thickened around him and he knew that if he turned around he would see the terrible, terrible face of death. No! NO! Anything but death!

He crawled back towards the white light of the full moon - of the moon of the living world. Inch by inch, painfully, more so than anything he had ever done. He knew about these things. He knew how a wizard could become a ghost. It was a miserable existence, devoid of everything that made the life worth living, devoid of power or any chance of acquiring it; but it was better than death. Anything was.

Inch by inch he crawled, but the light of the moon was blocked. There was someone standing before him in the tunnel of light and darkness. A girl. Someone who's name he should remember.

"Tom..." she said playfully. "Have you come to see me? Have you come to keep me company?"

"Please..." he pleaded, because she blocked his way and prevented him to go further. And the black abyss of death tugged at him. He was so very scared.

"I really hoped you would come back one day..." she said, smiling at him. "I was so lonely, you see, and I thought that since you killed me, you actually owned it to me. But you never came." That face... that voice... he recognized her from somewhere. He knew her name...

"Myrtle," he cried, and she started to laugh. "You remember. You remember me, Tom! And now you're a ghost too. We can haunt my toilet together. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes..." he gasped. Anything. Anything at all to get away from the darkness. But the girl didn't move.

"I had a crush on you, did you know," she said and giggled, but somehow the giggle didn't sound right. "I used to steal glances at you in the great hall, or when you passed me in the corridors... you never looked back of course. But I still had this fantasy that you would one day see me and say that you secretly had always loved me... and then you killed me. I did blame Olive Hornby for that, isn't pathetic? So I came back to haunt her. I know everyone thought me a little sissyhead, but I'm a Slytherin like you, and I know my right to revenge. Isn't that right, Tom?"

"Myrtle, please help me..." he croaked, feeling the abyss tugging at him mercilessly. But she went on.

"Revenge. Not on a silly girl that teased me. Not on a snake that only did his master's bidding... I have saved my revenge for you, Tom." Myrtle's voice was made of steel now, and her eyes were burning. The darkness came closer.

She seized his hands, forced him backwards into the darkness. He fought, but she had been a ghost for fifty years and was immensely stronger than him. "Please..." he cried, desperately, but she shook her head.

"Good bye, Tom. You crushed my heart and took my life. It only feels fair to take something of you. Die, dark lord. Die and never come back to the world of the living again."

And Tom Marvalo Riddle - Lord Voldemort - The Dark Lord - died. Killed by the tools he himself had fashioned, by the hands he himself had set in motion. Only one can live...

- - -