Chapter 275: "Fire and Fury"

The graveyard had turned into a scene of devastation, with fire raging all around. As the last Death Eater fell, only two figures remained standing amidst the inferno—Harry and Voldemort. The once-silent graveyard had become a nightmare of roaring flames, with the Fiendfyres Harry and Voldemort had conjured still battling in the air above them. The tombstones were now blackened ruins, the earth scorched and cracking under the intense heat.

Voldemort's red eyes blazed with fury as he surveyed his decimated forces. "You've killed them all," he said softly, dangerously. "My faithful followers..."

"Faithful?" Harry laughed, the sound sharp and cold. "Is that what you call those who abandoned you for thirteen years? Who denied you, betrayed you, claimed Imperio when caught?" He gestured at the burning corpses around them. "I'd say I did you a favor, Tom. Cleaned house, so to speak."

At the casual use of his birth name, Voldemort's face contorted with rage. His red eyes blazed as he stepped closer. "You dare—"

"Say your name? Yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle, I dare." Harry's smile was predatory, daring the Dark Lord to attack. "And there's something else you should know - your pet snake, Nagini is dead. I found her too annoying as I was waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack, so discarded her the first chance I got."

Harry watched with satisfaction as the Dark Lord processed the news. Let Voldemort believe Nagini's death was mere circumstance rather than the destruction of his final Horcrux. The Dark Lord's false sense of immortality would make him less desperate, less careful - and ultimately, more vulnerable.

"Who are you, boy?" Voldemort's voice was filled with a barely controlled fury that made it tremble. Harry met his gaze, calm and defiant.

"Just another victim of your pointless war, Tom," Harry said. "And now, your end."

Voldemort sneered, his voice dripping with scorn. "Was the Quidditch World Cup your doing as well?"

Harry let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "No, but I met those people afterward. We became fast friends, all with the same target. They would've loved to be here today, but, well, things happened too quickly." He kept his tone light, enjoying the fact that Voldemort was growing more uncertain. Another lie, of course. The attack on the World Cup had been Harry's doing, but it amused him to watch the confusion and doubt flicker in the Dark Lord's expression.

"Confused?" Harry taunted. "You should be. But you were always like that, weren't you? Even the war you started years ago made no sense whatsoever."

"No sense?" Voldemort snarled. "I fight for the purity of our world! To preserve magical heritage-"

"That's rich," Harry cut him off, "coming from a half-blood."

Voldemort's eyes widened. "How do you know-"

"Are you serious?" Harry asked incredulously. "Did you not just give us all a detailed monologue about your birth and childhood? Not even five minutes ago?" He shook his head in mock concern. "Is there something wrong with your mind, Tom? That would explain all the foolish decisions in your life."

"My decisions-" Voldemort began, but Harry pressed on relentlessly.

"Let's review, shall we?" Harry's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You claim to fight for pureblood supremacy, yet you're the son of a witch or squib, I'm not sure which, and a Muggle. You preach about magical heritage while trying to kill off the oldest magical families. You brand your followers like cattle while preaching about wizard pride. Brilliant strategy there, really."

"You understand nothing!" Voldemort spat. "The weak must be culled-"

"Like your father's family?" Harry asked innocently. "The ones you murdered in this very graveyard? Or perhaps like your mother's family - the Gaunts, one of the oldest pureblood lines, who you also wiped out?"

For the first time, real uncertainty crept into Voldemort's expression. "How could you possibly-"

"Know all this? Maybe I'm just better informed than your so-called faithful followers. Or maybe," Harry's smile turned vicious, "you're not as clever as you think you are, Tom."

"ENOUGH!" Voldemort roared, his composure finally shattering. The Fiendfyre serpent behind him writhed in response to his rage. "I will not be mocked by some upstart child!"

"No," Harry agreed, his own two Fiendfyre thunderbirds spreading their wings wider, "you'll be destroyed by one instead."

The battle of magical flames intensified as Harry commanded his thunderbirds forward, inch by inch. The heat was overwhelming, but Harry maintained his psychological assault even as they fought.

"You know what I find most amusing, Tom?" he called out over the roar of magical flames. "You spent years gathering followers, building this image of the all-powerful Dark Lord, and for what? To be standing here, alone, fighting a 'child' you can't even identify."

"I am LORD VOLDEMORT!" the Dark Lord roared, pouring more power into his Fiendfyre. The serpent grew larger, its flames turning from orange to blue. "I am the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

"Greatest?" Harry scoffed, directing his thunderbirds in a complex attack pattern. "You couldn't even kill a baby properly. Had to be defeated by a grandmother's love sacrifice. Not very impressive for the 'greatest sorcerer', is it?"

Voldemort's fury was almost palpable. His concentration slipped for just a second, and Harry's thunderbirds tore into his serpent's coils, their fiery talons rending it apart. The Dark Lord staggered back, his face showing the first signs of real fear.

Harry didn't let up. He pressed the advantage, his voice as cutting as the Fiendfyre. "Look at yourself. Your so-called loyal followers are gone. Your snake is dead. You're fighting a stranger you can't even place, all for a cause that's meaningless. You're pathetic, Tom."

"SILENCE!" Voldemort's voice cracked with fury. His Fiendfyre serpent rallied, coiling protectively around him. "You think you understand me? You think you know Lord Voldemort?"

"I know Tom Riddle," Harry replied with deadly calm. "The orphan who never understood love, who mistook fear for respect, who's always afraid of death."

"How dare you-"

"How dare I what? Speak the truth? Point out your hypocrisy? Or maybe..." Harry's smile turned glacial, "remind you that you're just as human as the rest of us?"

Something in Voldemort snapped. Harry's words had stripped away too many layers of his carefully constructed persona. His red eyes blazed with a mixture of fury and primal fear.

"HUMAN?" he shrieked, his voice losing all pretense of cold control. "I am beyond human! I am immortal! I am-"

"A half-blood with daddy issues," Harry interrupted smoothly. "And you're getting repetitive, Tom. Though I suppose near-death experiences can do that to one's mind. Speaking of which, how many times have you almost died now? I'm losing count."

The Dark Lord's response was explosive - literally. With a snarl of pure rage, he thrust his wand forward, detonating his own Fiendfyre. The controlled inferno exploded outward with catastrophic force, catching even Harry off guard.

"Protego Maxima!" Harry's shield barely materialized in time. The shockwave sent him staggering backward, his thunderbirds writhing as they struggled to maintain form against the chaos.

Through the maelstrom of flame and smoke, Voldemort's voice carried, tinged with fear and grudging respect. "You've accomplished what no other has dared. You've made Lord Voldemort feel fear... and doubt. Remember that victory..." his voice hardened, "for it will be your last!"

As the fire roared, Harry caught a glimpse of Voldemort's form twisting into smoke, his body turning dark and insubstantial as he tried to escape. Harry wanted to chase him, to finish it once and for all, but the chaos around him demanded his attention. The explosion had caused the Fiendfyre to spiral out of control, threatening to consume not just the graveyard but the entire town of Little Hangleton.

"Running away again, Tom?" Harry called out, even as his wands moved in complex patterns to contain the chaos. "It's becoming quite the habit, isn't it? First from a baby, then from Dumbledore, now from me?"

The dark smoke that was Voldemort paused momentarily. "We will meet again, boy. And next time... next time I won't make the mistake of underestimating you. I will learn your identity, your weaknesses, and then..." the smoke seemed to coalesce briefly into a face, "then you will beg for death."

"Bold words from someone fleeing like a scared rabbit," Harry retorted, but Voldemort was already gone, streaking away into the night sky.

With Voldemort gone, Harry turned his attention to the raging fires. The Fiendfyres had become corrupted by Voldemort's desperate magic, and they were spreading fast. Harry couldn't let them destroy everything. Summoning all his strength, he created a shield around himself and concentrated on gaining control over the rogue fires.

Slowly but steadily, Harry forced his magic into the Fiendfyres, shaping and containing the wild flames. It was a little difficult but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop—not until every last ember was extinguished.

Finally, the last of the flames flickered out, leaving behind only charred remains. The graveyard was unrecognizable, the tombstones reduced to rubble, the ground scorched black. The air still shimmered with residual heat, and a thick silence hung over the scene.

Harry knew he couldn't chase after Voldemort now. The Dark Lord was likely long gone, and with his skills, he would be difficult to trace.

"Not quite how I intended things to go," Harry spoke to the empty night. "But not a bad evening's work, all things considered. Just when I thought Voldemort had no escape, he miraculously does. Was it my negligence or some powerful force like the world's will in action? Who knows? At least I'm still happy I got rid of his most faithful followers. Voldemort won't be much trouble without them."

Indeed, while Voldemort had escaped, the night had brought significant victories. The Dark Lord's inner circle lay dead, his confidence shaken, and most importantly, he had no idea about the destruction of his Horcruxes. He would continue to operate under the belief that he was still immortal, never realizing that his next death would be his last.

After clearing his traces from the battlefield, Harry rushed back to Hogwarts. With Voldemort's escape, he needed to get back to Hogwarts—quickly. He couldn't afford for anyone to discover his involvement. Not yet. He didn't want to put a target on his loved ones, and he knew Voldemort would be desperate for revenge.