Disclaimer: I own nothing.


AN: This is my first work of fiction so I would ask of you to review!

15 year-old Harry Potter was running as fast as his legs could carry him, quite a feat, given how soundly his body had been trashed while fighting a group of Death Eaters in the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries, with bruises and cuts all over, and completely out of breath.

He was chasing the sound of an insane laughter and ignoring the cries for him to stop coming from behind, his breathing ragged, his body drenched in sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, limbs heavy and with a curious pain you might feel if stabbed on the side. Harry noticed none of these things.

"I killed Sirius Black! I killed Sirius Black!" the singsong voice came from somewhere in front of him, and he looked up, and found himself staring at the retreating back of his merrily skipping target, his godfather's murderer, cousin and soon-to-be victim of his wrath, barely registering the fact that they were back in the Atrium headed towards the main exit of the Ministry.

Lifting his arm and aiming wildly he yelled the one curse in his mind, "Crucio!" .The beam of light shot out of his wand and connected with the woman's back, sending her crashing to the floor with a surprised yelp of pain. However, the shrieks of pain and agonized spasms Harry hoped for didn't come, only a muffled curse as her face hit the floor.

Paying no mind to anything around him but the woman he wanted dead in front of him, he walked over until she was lying at his feet. With his wand still trained on the back of her head, he asked coldly "Why aren´t you screaming?"

The woman turned around before replying, and Harry was pleased to see a small rivulet of blood running from her nose and down to her chin; he only wished there was more.

With a really annoying, if not a bit taunting voice, Bellatrix Lestrange responded "Has the great Harry Potter never cast an unforgivable curse before?" Her tone dropped all playfulness and an insane light filled her eyes, "You have to mean it boy! Get angry! You have to feel the desire to cause pain!" putting an adoring emphasis on the word desire.

"Can´t be that hard" he muttered. A smirk slowly forming in his face, he lifted his wand, but lowered it again, "Just one more thing before we continue"

And with that, he lifted his foot and rammed it into the madwoman´s face.

She was left dizzy and disoriented as her head was crushed between the boy´s foot and the hard floor beneath her, again and again and again… and again.

Blood splattered around him and on him, but he kept going, ignoring the strangled and half formed pleas for him to stop coming from Bellatrix with blinding hatred in his eyes. She would probably be dead by now if not for the fact that he was exhausted and could not get that much strength into his legs, between which he had been switching whenever one felt too tired to continue.

When he could barely keep standing, he tried to resort to his fist. He pulled back for a moment, but a moment was all the Death Eater needed, as she rolled over, her face a mask of blood and insanity, and faster than Harry could react sent a blast of magic in his direction.

In his worn out state and such close quarters, he had no chance of dodging. He felt like he had collided with a moving vehicle and was thrown into the air.

He somehow landed on his legs, which promptly gave out below him and sent him rolling backwards. He looked up to see that Bellatrix was already up and trying to regain her bearings, shaking her head experimentally and throwing more spells his way.

All were poorly aimed and gave Harry a chance to pick himself up and respond with some attacks of his own.

Unable to so much as drop out of the way, it was a testament to her devotion that she continued to fight even as the first disarmer sent her wand and her body flying in opposite directions, rolling onto her feet and sprinting, stumbling more than a few times in the general direction of her wand, which also happened to be his direction.

Harry continued to send more spells her way, desperate to stop her from reaching her wand, and failing rather soundly as she grew steadily more balanced and raced for it.

Realizing it was a lost cause, he pushed all thoughts of fatigue aside and began running at the wooden stick halfway from the demented witch with the really bad attitude.

She reached it an instant before him, throwing herself on her knees and sliding till she caught it in her hand. Harry tried to stop running and level his wand at her, but his momentum drove him onward and he crashed into his kneeling opponent, again sending her wand spinning through the air.

Before he got up, Bellatrix jumped onto his back, and tried to wrestle his own wand from his hand, Harry held onto it firmly as her fingernails clawed at his face, and tried to roll over.

He felt her chin on the back of his head and used his elbows for support as he thrust it upward, connecting hard with her face, and made the most of her momentary weakness by throwing her off of him and rolling away, bringing his wand up.

He saw the hatred in her eyes, matched only by that reflected in his, before screaming out, "CRUCIO!"

The curse seemed to catch her in the eye, which turned as red as it could possibly go, and the screaming began.

Harry did not bother to get up, he was only concentrated on the fact that he had managed to pull off an Unforgivable on the only person he believed he would never regret it.

Of course, he was forgetting about someone at the moment, someone who was content to watch from the shadows as the events unfolded before him until he decided to intervene.

Harry´s curse stopped as his concentration was ripped from him by an intense pain exploding from the lightning shaped scar on his forehead and filling his body the moment Lord Voldemort dropped the complex array of concealing magic he had cast on himself.

With a wave of his wand, he sent his most loyal follower into one of the many fireplaces around the Atrium and her wand following after her before the woman disappeared in a flash of emerald fire.

Harry slowly recovered his awareness as the pain became tolerable and was left looking into the eyes of the madman responsible for his parents´ deaths. He was smiling down at him, in what some could mistake for pride.

He went speechless, much like every other encounter between them, he would wait for him to speak, respond, get his ass handed to him in a silver platter, and lastly, both would escape, no one wins, no one dies.

That's just the way we roll.

In a most pleasantly unexpected turn of events, however, before much else could happen, a couple of blinks and a ragged intake of breath at most, a spear of yellow light crashed into a red hexagon of light Harry did not even see Voldemort conjure, a mighty thunderclap tearing through the silent air.

Voldemort vanished from his vision just as it was filled with enough beams of light for him to think armies of witches and wizards were waging war all around him.

He turned and tried to look for the Voldemort's attacker, but explosions and flashes all over the place kept him far too distracted to concentrate on anything but himself. Harry crawled to the sides in order to get clear of the crossfire. He kept to hugging the ground for half the trip, getting up when an orange bolt missed his face by less than an inch and melted its way through the left lens of his glasses, and running for it.

Before reaching the walls, a massive explosion rocked the building, and sent pieces of debris easily bigger than him crashing everywhere. The shockwave throwing him down to all hands and knees before he could get up again and throw himself into the second nearest fireplace, the first was now housing a huge boulder.

Once he believed he was safe, he looked in the direction of Voldemort's attacker, searching for whoever was helping him cause such chaos.

It was with a great relief that he spotted Dumbledore on the opposite side of the Atrium, moving with an agility Harry found surprising for a man his age. The old man's robes flowing a few steps behind him, showing where he had been standing seconds ago, he did not even stop firing when he was spinning or maintaining a shield.

Harry ducked into his cover again to avoid a sizzling purple goo on the wall that was corroding its way towards his hiding place.

He could see Voldemort from his vantage point, and it was in that instant that he realized how Voldemort had come to be such a feared wizard.

He was a cruel, sadistic, plain evil son of a bitch, and the temperature seemed to seriously drop a few degrees whenever the man walked in the room.

Everybody knew that.

But Harry doubted many had ever seen Lord Voldemort fight like he was currently doing.

The hexagon that had blocked the first attack against him was still there, only larger, moving faster than Harry's glass assisted eye could follow, blocking everything Dumbledore sent at him, whether it be magic or a golden house elf, which was turned into as flurry of spikes and sent back for the Headmaster to dodge.

But Voldemort was far from pressed into the defensive, unleashing torrents of flame that moved and looked like they had a life of their own, and spells that tore whatever they touched out of existence in so many terrible ways.

Merely playing with the old warlock as they dueled across the Ministry's Atrium.

Taking seat once again, leaning against the wall behind his back, Harry began thinking what to do. Some stray spells still hit his cover sporadically, and he knew he could not stay in there forever.

Some in Harry's situation would not think twice before using the Floo he was already in to escape to the relative safety of their homes, some others would.

But probably none other than Harry Potter would jump out of cover and engage the seemingly indestructible wizard in combat.

That exactly is the reason Harry lifted himself from the ground and took off in a mad dash for the opposite end of the room, towards the telephone booth exit, casting a shield on himself to stop the concrete and crystal shrapnel from tearing him to pieces.

The air was filled with dust by now, but not so much that he couldn't see, so he continued on, probably unnoticed by Voldemort if the fact that he wasn't attacking him was anything to go by.

He reached the red cabin and hid behind it, taking a moment to gain his strength, before jumping away from it as if burned and firing at it.


The spell bounced on the cabin's polished surface and exploded against the wall behind him.

Satisfied with his discovery, he quickly went inside it and left the door half-way open, took aim carefully, and began firing as many curses and hexes as fast as he possibly could, which wasn't that fast.

Voldemort sensed the attack coming from behind him moments before the first curse reached him, and leapt to the side.

For a moment, everyone was silent, Dumbledore, on the far side of the battlefield, stared at Harry, concerned and perhaps a bit reproachful, Harry stared at Voldemort, ignoring the pain on his forehead as the snake-like man stared right back into his eyes.

They all stood still for a moment, after a while, Harry begun to wonder why no one had come out of the golden elevators in such a long time to help them.

The blue arrow left a deep gash on Harry's cheek before cracking one of the glass panels behind him.

That man was FAST.

Before another attack came, Harry shut the door he was holding open and let the crescent moon-like green thing tore a deep cut into metal and crystal, before it started automatically repairing.

A small part of his mind mused over why his spell had not even left a mark when Voldemort's attacks could do such damage; the bigger part was concentrating on the enormous crack that now ran horizontally on the wall behind him, interrupted in the middle by his cover.

Shaking his head clear, he pushed the door open and began throwing cutters, bludgeoners and piercing charms at his opponent. Everything he knew and thought could kill someone, or something, in sufficient amounts.

The older wizards continued their duel, property damage increasing exponentially, as Harry took every chance he got to blast anything nasty he had ever learned at Voldemort, who seemed to find him more of an irking factor rather than an opponent worth his attention.

The only progress the made, was to discover that apparently Voldemort could not maintain more than one of his bright red hexagons, and was forced to move around more often.

It took Harry about a minute to realize his attempts to hit the Dark Lord were a bit more than useless, at which point he started to shoot more bombardas around his opponent, making the ground he was now being forced to move on all the more difficult to tread.

This seemed to work, as the Dark Lord seemed to have a bit of trouble to move around to attack both of his opponents and avoid their responses, nothing he couldn't handle of course, but he was evidently growing annoyed at a fast rate.

A few seconds later Harry, in a stroke of brilliance, reopened the door enough for him to stick his wand out and yell, "Aguamenti!"

He waved his wand in no logical pattern, splashing a great area around Voldemort, and getting quite a few drops to sprinkle on his flowing dark robes. His rival, gone impatient by frustration, paid no mind to him, not thinking ahead to see the possibilities that being covered and surrounded by a liquid gave his enemies.

Harry, of course, did.

Once he was satisfied, he dropped the spell, the stream coming from his wand leaving a trail from his position to the enormous puddle that held Voldemort at its center.

Bringing his wand down so it touched the hard tiles beneath the water, he cast a charm he had not practiced since a Charms class a couple of years ago, "Gelios!"

At once, the water around his wand's tip began to turn into ice, gaining speed at a steady rate untill it was shooting its way towards the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore had not been standing still throughout the battle, and was now perched on one of the many pillar-like spikes transfigured from walls or floor that Voldemort had tried to stab him with. He realized what Harry was planning to do, and redouble his efforts to keep Voldemort's attention focused on himself. His wand a blur as he moved at such speeds that the beams of light bursting forth from his wands tip could be confused with a single, continuous tendril of magic slashing and striking at that persistent little geometric shield.

He really needed to know how to conjure that thing.

The ice was slowly gaining speed, moving at a slow crawl at first, but steadily accelerating as Harry pumped more magic into his charm. Turning the air in immediate contact with the water on the floor into a thick white mist.

Voldemort did not notice the attack coming until he almost lost his footing as the hem of his robes was frozen, effectively pinning him down. He let out an insane scream as he almost fell over and Dumbledore's onslaught continued to pound his shields.

Harry was spared a moment of triumph as he believed the Dark Lord defeated, he was being stupid, of course, as if a wizard like that could be brought down with something you learned in third grade charms class.

His eyes flashed bright crimson and with an earsplitting shriek, the Dark Lord rose to his full height, ice and glass shattering as far as anyone could see.

Harry threw himself to the ground, landing on his side, and covered his face with his arms as every panel around his burst into deadly shards and were directed at him, the larger ones being blocked by his hastily conjured shield, the smaller ones driving themselves into his flesh.

Pain seared through his body, blood from God knows how many little wounds slowly crawled to soak his entire form, and the most evil and feared wizard he had ever heard of blasted the Headmaster further away and turned to point his wand at him.

Bottom line, it didn't look that good for him.

Harry pulled some of the more painful crystals from him, his arms felt as if they were on fire as he pushed himself up, only to stare at the Dark Lord's face.

Gone was the cold smirk he usually wore to battle, replaced by a look that promised nothing but a most painful demise to anyone it was directed at.

Fire began to slowly pour down to the ground from his wand's tip as it was raised at him, boiling the once neat and elegant floor, and Harry reacted an instant before he knew what was going to happen.

The small glass squares of the phone cabin were already fully repaired, but somehow Harry doubted they would be enough to stop Voldemort's next attack; he properly raised a shield and focused with all the mental strength he could muster to separate the flow of magic sustaining it from his wand so that he cast something else before it came crashing down.

He slammed the door shut and cried out "Aguamenti!", he felt his shield disappear as the water burst hit the roof of his small shelter.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, and almost panicking as he glimpsed the small mass of hell the Dark Lord had already conjured, he raised his shield once more and desperately focused on what he believed to be the key to multiple-casting.

A moment passed before Voldemort became satisfied with his magic and with one last look at the boy's face, threw the most powerful spell he had cast on someone since returning to his body, contemplating for a second or two how the fire looked more like orange and yellow goo than actual fire.

It was a nightmare being in that compact little space while struggling for your life as the glass around Harry began to melt and the unbelievable heat suffocated him.

Moments went by until the Dark Lord deemed his assault sufficient, the lava like substance disappearing and leaving behind the crumpled form of Harry Potter surrounded in a cage of half-liquefied metal bars.

He was quite surprised there had been anything left after that kind of magic, at least it looked like the once red telephone booth had finally been put down for good, he could almost feel the spark of magic in it die as every charm and ward placed on it was exhausted out of existence. Almost.

He was outright shocked as the boy flew up fast as a bullet and threw a spell straight at his face.

Not shocked enough as to not react however.

Harry knew he had been defeated as his last stunner was deflected and he was pulled onward and upward by a scorching hot whip that embedded itself right in the middle of his chest.

His glasses had been lost somewhere during the fight after Dumbledore had been last pushed back, but he did not need them to know he had been flying through almost the full length of the Atrium before landing in excruciating pain on the base of the golden statues, most of which were missing. Casualties from the battle, he believed.

Then there was silence, and Harry wasn't sure why. The only sounds were his accelerated breathing and his heart hammering against his chest.

He tried shaking his head clear, but all he accomplished was to make himself dizzy. He tried to roll over in order to get to his feet; but only managed the first part, sprawled facedown.

There was a throb just behind his eyes, it was making it even harder for him to concentrate, and his back was killing him as payback for landing on it.

Slowly his bearings returned to him, and the whole wrongness of the situation came along for the ride.

He never really had a chance against Voldemort. He was just a kid, trying to play with the grown-ups.

He really should have dropped the dream of having a normal life, back when he had a chance, concentrated on getting ready for the moment that had started a few minutes ago and was about to come to an end, his end. But hadn't the whole point of the DA been just that? Getting ready for the time they had to go up against someone who was really trying to kill them?


Maybe it hadn't been enough.

Still, he could not give up, throw himself to the ground and pray for a quick death. Sirius would never let him forget it, not to mention it would be a straightforward insult for his parents. No, if he was going down, he would at least go down in style. It's what Sirius or his father would do.

He grabbed on to the golden horse-part of the centaur to steady himself and get to his feet. Noticing on the way up that the creature's arms were missing.

An invisible force pulled him up by the ankle, he hit his head on the ground and dropped his wand as the world spun before his eyes and ended up being upside down.

He was a bit disoriented by the blow to the head, not as bad as it could have been, but still very unpleasant. Blood rushed to his head, and that was never exactly an enjoyable experience.

"Harry, Harry, Harry…" the cold voice cleared his mind faster than a bucket of water could ever hope to do. "An interesting performance to be sure, but like all good things it must now come to an end." He looked up, technically down but Harry was too busy at the moment to ponder for long, the man standing upside down in front of him was getting impatient, and if he wanted to survive this, he was going to have to get creative.

He spotted the centaur's bow and arrow lying on the floor a few feet behind Voldemort, and a plan immediately began formulating in his mind.

Only one of his ankles was being held in place by whatever magic Voldemort had used on him. His other leg was just dangling there, ready and waiting. His fingertips were brushing the dust off the floor, his wand an inch from them. All he had to do now was wait for the right moment, then move as fast as he could imagine moving.

The moment came as Voldemort closed his eyes to shake his head condescendingly before starting another small speech.

He swung his leg downwards, aimed at the Dark Lord and in another quick motion grabbed his wand, pointed it at the centaur's weapons and yelled "Accio!"

Voldemort sidestepped the kick to his head, blasted the speeding arrow away from him, and sent a Cruciatus his way before Harry was even through with his motions.

The pain was unbelievable, it it vanished all trace of thought from his brain and coupled with his dizziness, made him forget which way was up or down, where was he standing, and all else but who he was.

It ended, as soon as it had started, and he was left like a dying fish, weak spasms racking through his aching body every second or two.

Voldemort wasted no more time in, he had an irritated expression his face, probably because he wasn't going to get time to brag before killing him. Because he was going to kill him.

That truth hit Harry deeply, he was about to die; Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, and he was out of ideas. Not to mention far too tired to actually carry any one of them out.

Where the hell was Dumbledore?

It had been a while since he had last seen the Headmaster, was the old man getting a cup of coffee or what?

Apparently he was alone, but not for long. Soon he would get reunited with his parents, and Sirius. Someone else could take care of Voldemort for him, right? He had done much more than many who had dedicated their lives to fighting evil, and he had finally earned his vacation.

He wondered what the afterlife was like, he hoped it would be somewhere sunny, out in the country, where he could see the stars at night. His family would be there, where else could they go after all. Sounded like a nice place. Suddenly he was longing for it, and hating Voldemort even more for making him wait.

He opened his eyes again, not remembering when had he closed them,.

The world was right side up again, and he was looking at the Dark Lord, who had his wand trained on him, making him float a few feet from the ground. He could hear the faint flip-flap his blood was making as drops slipped from his fingers, and landed in the small puddles forming below.

He was still thinking about his parents, and what an emotional reunion it would be when they met up with Sirius and him. He did not care about the green glow that emanated from the wand pointed at his face. He didn't care about toe Dark Lord's muttered 'goodbye Harry Potter'.

He closed his eyes again, and became more than a bit confused when the world exploded in pain around him with an eardrum-shattering metallic clang.