“No!” Harry shouted. He ran feverishly towards his friends as the Dark Lord aimed his wand directly at them.
Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle stood behind the three targets, and thinking only of themselves, quickly dove out of sight in fear of being hit with Voldemort’s curse. No longer able to rely upon Draco’s body for support, Ginny sagged to her knees. Her tremulous hands, once steady and confident, lay outstretched on the ground before her. Wearily, they bore the limp weight of her torso and braced her from falling headfirst into the dirt.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry bellowed, and he leapt in front of his friends just as the Dark Lord cried “Avada Kedavra.”
A jet of red light blasted forth from the tip of Harry’s wand and collided with the jet of green issued forth from Voldemort’s. The two streams met once more in mid-air and the wands in their hands shook violently. Harry knew all too well what was happening. It was the exact same thing he had experienced that night in the cemetery when he and Voldemort first dueled. But that night, thought Harry, he had only needed to worry about himself. Now, there were Ron, Hermione and Ginny to consider. He didn’t dare break the connection just yet.
Harry felt his feet leave the ground. Both he and Voldemort rose into the air. A thread of glistening golden light appeared, connecting them and they drifted away from Harry’s friends. The three cowards, who had been their captors, lay speechless and watched from their place on the ground. Hermione ” having enough presence of mind ” quickly grabbed her dejected wand and stupefied them. She joined Ron at Ginny’s side.
Settling down a few feet away, the gleaming thread connecting Harry and Voldemort began to fragment. The beams curved high above their heads and intertwined until they found themselves within the same familiar dome-shaped web as before. Next, came the sound of the phoenix song that had once comforted Harry so. He felt his wand shake more aggressively and watched as the golden beam metamorphosed once again into large beads of light that slid erratically between them.
Harry fixed his eyes upon the beads. He concentrated as hard as he could. In earnest, he watched as they once again quivered and slid towards Voldemort. Harry glimpsed the Dark Lord, who struggled to keep his own wand steady under the stress of the connection. Catching Voldemort's eye, Harry suddenly saw him smile and a look of blatant confidence crossed over the Dark Lord’s evil face.
“Hoping for a repeat performance, are we Harry?” Voldemort spewed.
Harry tightened his grip and focused harder upon the beads that teetered precariously between them.
“Feeling quite confident aren’t we?” the Dark Lord coaxed with a bit more ease.
Ignore him, Harry told himself. He’s only trying to break your concentration.
“I meant to tell you, Harry,” Voldemort continued, “I was most impressed with the way you sought out and destroyed the Horcruxes.”
Yeah, I bet you were, Harry thought and he stared at the beads a little more furiously.
“All the hard work you did,” added the Dark Lord in mock admiration, “hunting them down, one by one, like that. It really was quite remarkable.”
Good of you to notice, Harry quipped silently to himself, his sarcasm finally getting the better of him.
“But I feel inclined to share with you,” the Dark Lord stated with ill sincerity, “that you made one ” fatal ” error.”
Sure I did, Harry mocked, and he steadied himself.
“You see, while I admit to being quite fond of Nagini,” persisted Voldemort, “I never actually used her as a Horcrux.”
On the verge of spouting off another glib remark, Harry paused. His gaze wandered slowly from the beads to Lord Voldemort, who stared back at him with no hint of humor or amusement in his sadistic red eyes. In that moment Harry realized, much to his own horror and dismay, that Voldemort was serious.
The wood quivered uncontrollably in Harry’s hands, and for a moment he was sure that it was going to explode, taking him right along with it. Harry watched, stunned, as the beads of light shuddered and slid slowly towards the tip of his own wand. Desperately he tried to focus, almost willing the beads to move in the opposite direction, but they did not. Instead, they continued to edge towards Harry; the scariest thing being that he didn’t know what would happen if they connected. Who or what would drift out of his wand? Harry frantically tried to think…surely, nothing quite as grotesque as Voldemort’s. But still… The last time they met, Harry benefitted from the beads reaching the Dark Lord’s tip first. Who’s to say, thought Harry, that it won’t be Voldemort who benefits this time.
Harry doubled his grip. He felt his concentration weaken as the beads moved closer…and closer…and closer. Ever so slightly, they touched the tip of his own wand. An instant backlash of light sprayed forth from it and Harry's body sprang backwards. The light struck the Dark Lord hard in the chest and face. Voldemort staggered sideways, dropped his wand and the connection between them broke. Harry watched in utter amazement as the Dark Lord clutched at his chest, astounded and gasping heavily for air. A clear, thick liquid gushed forth from Voldemort’s wounds where blood should have been; Harry could only assume this occurred naturally in a body possessing a severed soul.
Diligently, Harry tried to recall what possible curse could have produced such results from his wand. With a fleeting glance, he looked at the Dark Lord and then to his friends. They remained huddled together on the ground only a few feet away. Ron’s eyes, wide with surprise, were fixed upon Voldemort and his mouth was gaped open in such a way that it reminded Harry of the perfectly round hoops that his best friend once so proudly protected on the Quidditch Pitch. Ginny remained bent over on her hands and knees, her brother’s hand still upon her shoulder to steady her. She too stared at the Dark Lord, her blazing red hair having fallen randomly in her face. It eclipsed her once sallow complexion, revealing in a peek-a-boo fashion only one of her eyes. Harry could tell by its steely glare that Ginny was regaining her fortitude. He quickly eyed Hermione, who shot him a mystified look as if to say what in the name of Merlin, was that? At a loss for words, Harry shrugged his shoulders and allowed the puzzled look upon his face to answer for him. His mind raced. Harry knew that even with all that had transpired since Dumbledore’s death, he had never inflicted this kind of anguish on anyone. At least, not on purpose, anyway.
And suddenly, Harry understood why the ghastly site in front of him seemed so familiar. It was the same as that day in the bathroom with Malfoy when Harry had inflicted, with little forethought, a curse that he learned from the Half Blood Prince.
Sectumsempra. It was the only Dark Magic Harry had ever purposely used on another human being.
The Dark Lord cried out, his face and body contorted in obvious pain. Pain. The word stirred within Harry, awakening in him the subtle realization of what exactly it meant. Voldemort could feel pain, thought Harry and his heart leapt. He knew that if the Dark Lord could feel pain than surely that meant that all of the Horcruxes were destroyed. …and if they were, reasoned Harry, then Voldemort could die.
Harry steadied himself, raised his wand, and aimed it directly at Lord Voldemort’s heart. Prepared to cast the curse that the Dark Lord had exacted with pride and brutality on so many before him, Harry suddenly felt an abrupt stir in the air. A gust of wind rose up beneath their feet. It cycloned around them, causing the trees to bend and twist more violently than Harry was sure any Whomping Willow ever could. Harry raised the back of his hand to his face. Woefully, he attempted to shield his eyes from the dust and debris swirling all around them. His friends, crouching closely together, did the same. Harry tried to remain upright against the rolling wind. He knew better than to take his eyes off of Voldemort but he faltered slightly and fell to his knees. Eye to eye with the Dark Lord, Harry watched as Voldemort reached out for him ” either in a vain attempt to stop Harry from what he was about to surely do or perhaps to beg and plead for what was left of his miserable life ” Harry didn’t really care to know which.
And suddenly, the Dark Lord jerked as though something had nicked him. It was similar, Harry couldn’t help but think, to the way the ice had nicked his own face that cold, blustery day high above the Quidditch Pitch a few years ago when he encountered a swarm of Dementors while chasing after the Golden Snitch. It sliced deeply into the Dark Lord’s face, exposing a gaping wound where more of the same viscous substance poured forth. The flap of skin that was Voldemort’s cheek wilted down the side of his face and without warning, the wind slowly began to peel away at it. Piece by piece, it chipped at the Dark Lord’s frame and carried him off like tiny scraps of paper mache in a wind tunnel. Voldemort let out the most horrendously agonizing scream…and was gone.
Footnote:
**Priori Incantatem scene based upon pages 663-665, Goblet of Fire