Chapter 16
It took him far too long to realize Harry wasn't coming.
Stupid, really - why would he, when they were on two opposing sides of this war? When Harry had made it clear time and time again how he felt about him, how he could walk away and dismiss everything they had as if it were nothing, even when Tom never could.
But he would have come for Harry, always. He would never have let anyone else kill him or harm Harry because whether in love or violence or both (always both) he was his. Tom Riddle's, Voldemort's, his. He knew Harry viewed them as separate and in many ways they were, but not in that.
He twisted on the spot, wishing he wasn't so out of practice with his duelling. Harry was the formidable one on a battlefield nowadays, but just as Harry could still play politics Voldemort wasn't helpless.
White robes stained scarlet and crumpled like fallen pieces in a game of Wizard's chess. There were so many of them, as he spun in deadly arcs. Spells flashing, eyes burning, not about to let it end like this.
There was no sign of Black or Malfoy, no sign of anyone.
He was utterly alone.
Of course, he didn't need them, he was Lord Voldemort he didn't need anyone, not even Harry Potter.
Another body crumpled. A curse sliced through his arm, tearing his skin and his expensive Acromantula silk robes.
His breath hitched.
It took a second for the sting of pain to hit. He couldn't remember the last time he bled. He felt like he stared down at the blood dripping down his skin, as pale as the white hoods, forever. It was no longer than a heartbeat before he sent another of his attacker's flying.
He never imagined dying, had no intentions to settle for anything less than immortality...but if he should die, he always imagined it would be at Harry's hand. At his side.
Not like this, in some meaningless fight where he was overwhelmed more by sheer numbers than skill.
Harry was the only person in the world who could make death something beautiful.
He cursed back harder.
The air filled with screams, sobs, bodies strewn along his carefully mowed grass - but it was their fault for daring to stand against him. To think that press interviews and a charming smile could ever make him less than the Dark Lord he was.
Rowle tugged at his arm, eyes puffy with tears, trying to get him to stop the bloodshed. To put on a better PR show perhaps, and not slaughter his enemies without hesitation or remorse. He didn't hear a single word she said, but maybe it didn't matter what she said when horror dripped off every nuance of her expression. Clearly, all she really wanted to say was 'monster'.
It all felt rather far away compared to the blood lust searing through his bones, the rage at their audacity, the boiling hate that they would even try and take his empire away from him.
That Harry didn't come.
The ground grew wet with viscera, seeping through his dragonhide shoes. The festival goers scattered, fled, cowering from him as much as the terrorists.
His heart pounded in his ears.
Another fell, another curse slipped past his shields and grazed his stomach.
Each wave he drove back crashed forward again, firing from every side without Harry to watch his back.
Harry had betrayed him, hadn't he?
Again. He'd left him alone, again.
Had a sudden change of heart? As if it mattered!
The stunners hit him in the back.
Harry felt the world sway ominously, tinge black for a beat before he shook it off. Stumbled, lashed out, sending his attacker crumbling to the floor.
It took more than one stunner to bring him down after all of his training, after everything he'd endured on the battlefield. He panted for breath, chest heaving, barely waited to look at his attacker before he was sprinting to the battlefield.
"Tom!" the scream ripped out of him, beyond all control, as he watched the Dark Lord fall. Where the fuck were Abraxas and Alphard? If they weren't his friends, they should at least have watched out for their leader. It was Alphard's fucking job.
What if he stopped because Harry refused to go with him? What if he wanted Tom dead out of pure spite?
His heart felt like it could jump right out of his throat like vomit.
He lurched forward down the hill, before his own attacker was on him again.
He had enough time to watch Voldemort's body vanish before his own slammed into the dirt. They rolled, twisted, Harry's temper snapped. His magic howled around him.
He slammed his attacker down into the dirt, chest heaving, panting as he dug his wand warningly into their jugular neck. Then he paused.
"Alphard?"
Whatever he'd been expecting, somehow it hadn't been that. Had Voldemort ordered this? A filthy way of disposing him as the truce shattered to pieces around them? Or was Black acting on his own?
Harry dug his wand in harder, jaw clenching. "Start talking," he ordered.
No, he didn't have time for this. Tom was gone. Unless Alphard ordered that too? No, he wouldn't. More so, he bloody couldn't.
"You're not going to kill me, Harry," Alphard said. "You were never much good at that."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Death isn't the worst thing that could come to you, trust me. You have three seconds to start talking before I rip your mind open."
Sweat dripped down Alphard's face. For the first two seconds, he stared.
Harry tilted his head.
"Abraxas is planning to send a mercenary after you," Alphard muttered. "I couldn't - I-"
"So you were going to try and kidnap me if I didn't go with you willingly." Harry let go of him in disgust - he didn't have time for this! Where had they taken Tom?
Alphard's jaw clenched, and he shuddered, shakily his head mutely. "
"You were supposed to protect him," Harry spat, getting to his feet.
"Protect who?" The confusion on Alphard's face made Harry's fists clench, magic sparking with rage.
"Tom. Your Lord. Who was just fucking kidnapped while I wasted my time with you." Harry turned away, striding down the hill, thoughts racing, trying to figure this out.
The order had taken Voldemort. Why would they do that? The prophecy they believed in so desperately said Harry was the only one who could kill him, and he couldn't do that until the truce shattered. So what the hell was going on?
He apparated to their headquarters with a sinking unease.
Voldemort woke up groggy, head-throbbing, humiliated at the thought of being beaten even outnumbered.
His wand - he didn't have his wand -
The floor beneath him soaked cold through his tattered robes and the world had gone quiet. No more screams, no more blood though he could still smell the coppery stench of it.
His hands were bound - restrained with something muffling his magic -
Voldemort blinked slowly, once, twice, to clear his brain.
A woman swum into focus in front of him.
- It couldn't end like this, he itched for his wand -
"Miss Granger," he greeted, pleasantly enough.
Harry's resistance, he didn't know why it still hurt. He'd vowed, when Harry first walked away, that he'd never let anything Potter did hurt him again. Lord Voldemort was beyond such things.
She held her wand so tight that her knuckles turned white.
"Are you going to kill me?" As if she could.
"Your Horcruxes are gone," she said.
His stomach jolted, plunging to ice. How did she know? How did anyone know about them? How had this happened? Not even Harry knew, he'd known his lover would never approve. He felt utterly exposed, in a way he'd never anticipated feeling again. Stripped of his last defence.
"But no," she tilted her head forwards. "Murdering you isn't going to change anything, is it?"
He studied her closely, keeping his expression blank.
"It's not like Harry to send others to do his dirty work," he kept his voice light too. "How disappointing."
She pointed the wand in his direction, her voice firm. Cold. "I'm going to need you to overturn the legislation you've passed."
"Your leader made a truce, you can't harm me," he said. "Perhaps one of your terrorist organization can. Does Harry know that his resistance were behind the Paris Poisonings?" No, he wouldn't. Would he? Could he? Maybe he'd only taken the truce to cover for his order. Worked on corrupting his legacy from within, weakening him, making him doubt.
And he'd nearly been stupid enough to fall for it, to question.
Change of heart? No. Not anymore. Harry had betrayed him one time too many.
Everything in Voldemort's body turned to ice, shuttering away humanity or mercy.
"The truce will be broken soon enough," Hermione said. "I admit it took me some time to organize, but I told you to stay away from Harry. I told you not to hurt him. And I'm here for him, to offer you one last chance to do the right thing. To undo the damage you've caused without further bloodshed. You've always claimed to want to build a better world, and I know you're not stupid. Renounce blood purity and I'll make sure you and Harry leave together. No one will follow you."
Voldemort laughed, then.
It didn't last long.
Harry burst into the room at the sound of Voldemort's - Tom's - screams.
For a second, he could only stare. At Tom writhing the floor, blood frothing from his lips and - Hermione, stood over him, no tremor in her hand as she looked down at him.
A sick, clammy sensation crept up Harry's tried to find words but felt like he'd been gutted - more now than when he'd find out Hermione had kept the time travel a secret. He hadn't thought anyone would top that. He moved forwards, throwing himself protectively in front of Voldemort in a matter of steps as she deflected his disarming spell.
"You need to leave," Voldemort managed.
Harry ignored him. "You can't do this, there's a truce,"
"Not anymore. The order have taken care of it." Hermione's eyes were wet with tears she didn't shed, and she spoke before he could. Her voice was steady. "You need to leave, you're not safe here."
Why did they keep saying that?
Harry stared at her, mind reeling. "What the fuck do you mean I'm not safe? Last I checked the order needed me a lot more than I needed them!" As if he cared about safe. He had a mercenary lurking somewhere under Abraxas's employ, or perhaps an entire hit team on Voldemort's command. Nowhere was safe they were at war. "I'll leave if I get to take him with me." He jerked his head at Tom.
"Harry-" Tom began.
"Just killing him will do nothing," Hermione said. "I don't care what they say - you get rid of one head, and another one takes over. He has structures in place - laws -"
"You tortured him." Harry didn't recognize his own voice. His anger burned white hot, and vipers reared spitting venom in his chest. His fingertips had gone numb as he pointed his wand at Hermione.
"He's turned muggles into slaves, murdered hundreds of people including our friends, ensured that muggleborns will never have equal opportunities in his reign...and you think torture's a bit much?" Hermione snapped. "Killing him isn't going to do anything. It's not going to fix anything! And neither will vanishing, not anymore."
"And you think torturing him is? That's sinking to his level."
He couldn't place the painful expression on her face, some mix of horror and pity and desperation.
"Move out of my way, Harry," she said. "You don't have to have any part of that, I'd never ask that of you. But it's too late, we offered him a chance and he didn't take it. You need to get out, you don't understand-"
"I'm in charge of the resistance. And I'm ordering you to step down," Harry returned, not moving an inch.
She didn't move either. Gave no sign of lowering her wand, though nor did she curse. He supposed that was something at least.
Harry swallowed bile. "Hermione."
"We tried your method and it failed," she said, speaking fast, something odd in her tone. "He wouldn't overturn his legislation for you, would he? Not for peace, not for love, not for any goodness in the world." She took a step forward."All he understands is pain. Bloodshed. So go, leave it to me."
"Harry, untie me" Voldemort's voice cracked sharp.
"I'm not untying you so you can kill her," Harry growled. He kept his eyes on Hermione. "Just shut up alright, I'll handle this." This wasn't supposed to happen - it was supposed to a clean fight to the death. It was supposed to easy when the decision was finally made.
"I'm not letting you leave with him," Hermione said, her voice trembling. "I can't, nothing will change if we let him go. But you don't have to go down too."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry's eyes flashed. His stomach lurched again.
"It means you've both been treating this war more like your own personal lover's spat! As if the whole world revolves around you and now the rest of the world is catching up. If you kill him, there's still going to be dozens of laws against people like me. We need to use him to wrench the poison out by the roots first - he can give us names, unparalleled information, he can overturn his legislation-"
"He's never going to do that! Nothing you say or do is ever going to make him change his mind."
It hurt, but it was the truth. The terrible truth that he'd spent so long fighting against - that maybe one day, somehow, that Tom would have chosen him instead. Made the sacrifice for love that he always tried to demand off Harry, or that he could somehow find the right words or way to get Tom back. To vanquish Voldemort, to see him turn his back on his empire and blood purity.
But he wasn't going to turn anymore than Harry was. Death was the only way to end it.
There was a terrible pity on Hermione's face.
"That doesn't matter, they'll still try-" Voldemort started again.
"The world was never supposed to be like this!" she said. "This was not how history was supposed to go. The order doesn't just want him dead, they need to fix it before you kill him. Things have changed, we have new information." Hermione's hand began to shake, eyes wild and hair dishevelled. The bloody cut, the brand of 'mudblood seemed more vivid on her arm than ever. "Harry, please. You need to leave. Now. Just trust me."
Harry's chest ached. He took a step forward, softening, reaching for a hand. "I'll fix this, I promise. I'll undo everything he's done, we can do it together." It was his responsibility, fuck prophecy but it was. He should have stepped in the first time Tom started to change, first started acting ashamed of being halfblood. "I know his empire like the back of my hand. What do you mean new information? What's going on?"
"Torturing me does nothing. They now think I'll renounce my empire if they start torturing you."
Harry's heart stopped, stuttering a few beats. He turned to face Tom - Voldemort. Beaten, bruised and bloody, expression blank and body abruptly still. "But you wouldn't."
"Of course not," the Dark Lord said. "So go. Leave. Isn't that what you've always been good at? Why are you hesitating now?"
Harry heard footsteps beginning to thunder down the hall, the swell of voices.
And yet there was something on Tom's face, something he couldn't quite place.
His breathing quickened.
Change of heart?
"What was the new information?" he didn't take his eyes off Tom.
"We don't have time for this," Voldemort said, and the blankness splintered a little. "Untie me or go, just-"
"Hermione." Harry looked over at her, could hear the stupid plead in his own voice.
She hesitated, biting her lip.
Change of heart?
The door burst open.