6 All beginnings Have An End

4:59 - Great Hall, Hogwarts

'NO, NOT -- ON -- MY -- WATCH,' Each subsequent thought caused magic to be pulled from my core, churning, running down my arm and into my wand, a Shield Charm sent rushing through the air as I roared its incantation, desperately wishing to intercept the curse directed towards Mrs. Weasley.

"𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘨𝘰!"

A thick golden shield snapped into place, expanding in the middle of the Hall, stoping the curse with a reverberating gong, as Voldemort stared around for the source as I pulled off the Invisibility Cloak at last, it being instantly whisked away into my [Soul Dimension]...

...Only to be nearly deafened by the yell of shock, the cheers, the screams on every side of: "Harry!"

"HE'S ALIVE!" were stifled at once. The crowd was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Voldemort and I looked at each other, and began, at the same moment, to circle each other.

"I don't want anyone else to help," I said loudly, and in the total silence my voice carried like a trumpet call. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

Voldemort hissed.

"Potter doesn't mean that," he said, his red eyes wide. "This isn't how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?"

I let the memories and experiences of my predecessor, his pent up anger, his frustration, guide me, directing the words I was saying to Voldemort.

"Nobody," I said simply. "There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good...."

"One of us?" jeered Voldemort, and his whole body was taut and his red eyes stared, a snake that was about to strike. "You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?"

"Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?" I baited, as we were still moving sideways, both of us, in that perfect circle, maintaining the same distance from each other, and in my field of view, my perception, no face existed but Voldemort's. "Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn't defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?" I continued, recalling and remembering at the the same time.

"Accidents!" screamed Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and of the hundreds in the Hall, nobody seemed to breathe but us two. "Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and sniveled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!"

"You won't be killing anyone else tonight," I said, as if a decree, as we circled, and stared into each other's eyes, green into red. "You won't be able to kill any of them ever again. Don't you get it? I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people--"

'Harry was.'

"But you did not!" bellowed Voldemort vehemently.

"--I meant to, and that's what did it. I've done what my mother did. They're protected from you. Haven't you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You can't torture them. You can't touch them. You don't learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?"

"You dare"

"Yes, I dare," I shouted. "I know things you don't know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don't. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?"

Quickly, not wanting others to hear the information I was about to divulge, the Muffliato Charm rushed to me from Harry's memories, spreading out from my wand in a practised wave, amplified by its excited trill, gliding, as it settled over all the inhabitants of the great hall, ensnaring them to only hear buzzing when I spoke.

Voldemort did not give any reaction to the spell I cast, nor made an attempt at dispelling it, but continued prowling in a circle, and I knew that I kept him temporarily mesmerised, at bay, held back by the faintest possibility that I might indeed know a final secret....

"Is it love again?" said Voldemort, his snake's face jeering. "Dumbledore favorite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the tower and breaking like and old waxwork? Love, which did not prevent me stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter-- and nobody seems to love you enough to run forward this time and take my curse. So what will stop you dying now when I strike?"

"Just one thing," I stated confidently, as we still circled each other, wrapped in each other, held apart by nothing but the last secret.

"If it is not love that will save you this time," said Voldemort, "you must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?"

"I believe both," I said, as shock flit across the snakelike face, though it was instantly dispelled; Voldemort began to laugh, and the sound was more frightening than his screams; humorless and insane, it echoed around the silent Hall, buzzing to all but me.

"You think you know more magic than I do?" he said. "Than I, than Lord Voldemort, who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?"

"Oh he dreamed of it," I reminded, "but he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you've done."

"You mean he was weak!" screamed Voldemort. "Too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!"

"No, he was cleverer than you," I continued, "a better wizard, a better man."

"I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!"

"You thought you did," I said, a small smirk beginning to form at the edge of my mouth, "but you were wrong."

For the first time, the watching crowd stirred as the hundreds of people around the walls drew breath as one, albeit unable to hear anything, as if they could taste the tension rolling of our body in waves, taunt, and ready to strike at each other.

"Dumbledore is dead!" Voldemort hurled the words at me, as I remembered he had to Harry at Dumbledore's tomb, "I have seen it, Potter, and he will not return!"

"Yes, Dumbledore is dead," I replied calmly, "but you didn't have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant," I recalled, remembering all that happened from Snape's memories.

"What childish dream is this?" said Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and his red eyes did not waver from mine.

"Severus Snape wasn't yours," I said. "Snape was Dumbledore's. Dumbledore's from the moment you starting hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because of the thing you can't understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?"

Voldemort did not answer. We continued to circle each other like wolves about to tear each other apart.

"Snape's Patronus was a doe," I said, "the same as my mother's, because he loved her for nearly all of his life, from the time when they were children. You should have realized," he said as he saw Voldemort's nostrils flare, "he asked you to spare her life, didn't he?"

"He desired her, that was all," sneered Voldemort, "but when she had gone, he agreed that there were other women, and of purer blood, worthier of him--"

"Of course he told you that," I said, "but he was Dumbledore's spy from the moment you threatened her, and he's been working against you ever since! Dumbledore was already dying when Snape finished him!"

"It matters not!" shrieked Voldemort, who had followed every word with rapt attention, but now let out a cackle of mad laughter. "It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore's, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path! I crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape's supposed great love! Oh, but it all makes sense, Potter, and in ways that you do not understand!"

"Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me! He intended that Snape should be the true master of the wand! But I got there ahead of you, little boy-- I reached the wand before you could get your hands on it, I understood the truth before you caught up. I killed Severus Snape three hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore's last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, it did." I reminded with barely contained mirth. "You're right. But before you try to kill me, I'd advise you think what you've done.... Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle...."

"What is this?"

Of all the things that I had said to him, beyond any revelation or taunt, nothing had socked Voldemort like this. I saw his pupils contract to thin slits, saw the skin around his eyes whiten.

"It's your one last chance," I said, "it's all you've got left.... I've seen what you'll be otherwise.... Be a man... try...

Try for some remorse...."

"You dare--?" said Voldemort again.

"Yes, I dare," I stated calmly, "because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you, Riddle."

Voldemort's hand was trembling on the Elder Wand, its tendrils of magic already entering my body, establishing a connection with my core. The moment, I knew, was seconds away.

"That wand still isn't working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore."

"He killed--"

"Aren't you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore's death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die, undefeated, the wand's last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand's power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!"

"But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!" Voldemort's voice shook with malicious pleasure. "I stole the wand from its last master's tomb! I removed it against the last master's wishes! Its power is mine!"

"You still don't get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard... The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance..."

Voldemort's chest rose and fell rapidly, and I could feel the curse coming, feel it building inside the wand pointed at my face.

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

Blank shock showed in Voldemort's face for a moment, but then it was gone.

"But what does it matter?" he said softly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone... and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy..."

"But you're too late," I said. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him."

'But why do I still have Harry's wand, did it not break when Hermione's ricocheting curse hit it, almost severing in two.' I thought, some part of wondering if it had anything to do with my reincarnation, recalling the oddly affectionate feeling the wand gave off when I first grasped it. 'And, where is Draco's.'

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" I whispered. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does... I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

A red-glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above us, as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of our faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's was suddenly a flaming blur. My ears instantly picking up his high voice shriek as I too yelled, pointing my wand:

"𝘈𝘷𝘢𝘥𝘢 𝘒𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘷𝘳𝘢!"

"𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘴!"

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between us, at the dead center of the circle we had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. I saw Voldemort's green jet meet my own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And I, with the unerring skill of the Seeker ingrained in my body, caught the wand in my free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and I stood with two wands in my hands, staring down at his empty shell.