Chapter 77: Incantations!
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Harry strode forward, over their barely moving bodies and shattered a pair of glass doors. On the other side was some kind of ballroom. Where the hell was Voldemort?
'If you were a dark lord,' began Harry, 'where would you hide?'
'I wouldn't hide. I would sit upon my throne, my guard surrounding me and wait for those who have dared to invade my kingdom come to face me.'
Harry snorted. 'The basement, then?'
He was torn from his detective work as a sound much louder than any of others shattered the night, a mix of a roar and an explosion, followed by a massive serpent of crimson fire ripping itself from the roof of the manor and illuminating the sky. And then it plunged back downwards.
Harry swallowed and stepped back into the courtyard. 'Think that might be Voldemort?'
'If it's one of his followers doing that, we are totally and utterly screwed.'
'Let's hope Dumbledore has something to match that.'
'Right. Think I should go over, or just stay here and watch the fireworks?'
'If our plan is to work, we should probably be near them.'
Harry sighed. 'I really don't want to get my hair burnt off—I just got it done.'
'You used a hair-cutting spell. Now go and watch the fight, you pansy.'
With no more resistance but a sigh, Harry rushed through the building. A Death Eater—this one alone, his partner probably already dead, judging by his bloodied robes—charged him, and found himself decapitated by Harry's sword.
The two others he faced were caught off-guard and thusly hurled into a wall at speeds more than fast enough to snap their necks and cave their skulls.
Weaving between corpses, almost-corpses, and soon-to-be corpses (if they got in his way) Harry made his way through the huge manor and out of the other side, passing the massive hole in the ceiling from which the fiery serpent had exploded.
His prediction had been correct: Dumbledore and Voldemort stood on the lawn, locked in mortal combat.
Voldemort's snake-like features were twisted into a vicious snarl. He held two wands, Harry's in his left hand and another in his right.
Blood stain his black robes, most of it not his own, yet there were a few bullet holes that had decidedly proven not to be too effective.
A few more crumpled bullets lied at his feet, and a few mangled corpses in black combat gear lied behind him; he had probably killed the poor bastards without even looking.
Dumbledore stood defiant, Voldemort's antithesis. He held his wand high and his eyes were filled with steely determination, his face slick with sweat.
No one stood between them; no one stood near them. No, they cowered at a distance, knew this wasn't a battle for mortal men.
If they had been nearby, they would've been killed ten times over: the ground around both opponents was blackened and cracked and marred with craters.
Neither man—if beings who wielded such power could be called men—gave any ground, or even moved.
They each stood still, but for the flicking of their wands. Each parried the other's attack without much difficulty.
When Voldemort's flaming serpent burst from his wooden wand, it met only massive watery shields, and when he flicked Harry's wand, the blizzards he summoned were decapitated almost immediately.
This was not the place for incantations, but for the most difficult of spells—the occasionally spat "Avada Kedavra!" from Voldemort, each lance of green light countered by mighty stones being dragged into their path, or a flick of Dumbledore's wand raising mighty golems from the ground to take the lethal curse upon their chest.
Glancing away from the battle for a moment, Harry muttered, "Infrigum Sanguo," and idly froze the blood of the Death Eater who had been trying to sneak up on him. He glanced to the other corpses littering the battlefield.
Other cries and yells and spells sounded throughout the rest of the manor, though they were almost drowned out by the constant explosions from the battle of the two titans before Harry.
He stood there, trying to decide what the hell he was going to do. His specialisation was catching people he was confident he could beat by surprise, and killing them before they had the chance to not underestimate him—fluking things tended to help as well. Something told him that his skillset might not apply well to this battle.
The fiery serpent burst from Voldemort's wand again, meeting a barrier of stone and earth that had just risen from the ground in an explosion of heat. And then Dumbledore staggered.
Harry spat out a curse; he had been correct about his prediction of Dumbledore not being in much of a state to fight.
All accounts of their past duels had said Dumbledore was a superior duellist. Now, he was losing.
It became clearer the more he looked. Every Killing Curse came an inch closer to ending Dumbledore's life, and Voldemort countered his attacks with ever-increasing ease.
If Dumbledore died, the mission would likely die with him. Harry was no match for Voldemort—not like this—and he doubted any one of Dumbledore's or Marco's troops could claim to be, either.
After scanning around for any attackers—he spotted two of Marco's troops through a smashed wall and hoped Marco was already doing what he was supposed to—Harry burst into motion.
He took off across the burnt earth at a sprint, heading straight for Lord Voldemort. He didn't doubt that Voldemort would notice him, so he yelled a spell anyway, as loud as he could.
"Stupefy!"
Voldemort brought one of his wands up behind him, flicking away the attack with contemptuous ease, while blocking one of Dumbledore's attacks at the same time.
He must've seen it was Harry, for he turned, glee in his eyes as he hissed, "Avada Kedavra."
Green light flashed, and at this range, Lord Voldemort could not miss. Harry crumpled to the floor, and Voldemort barked a laugh out.
Almost instantly, however, he was turning back to Dumbledore, so he didn't see as the illusion shimmered out of existence and the real Harry caught him around the legs in a vicious rugby tackle.
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If you want to read ahead by 10 chapters from her you can visit my Patre-on.
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