Above the chamber, in the study where Dumbledore fought for his life, Fawkes and Sybill appeared in a brilliant flash of light, illuminating the darkened room for an instant brighter than day. Dumbledore groaned and his eyelids fluttered. First one eye, then the other, opened. He struggled to move, but he was so weak, his life force drained to nearly nothing. He had tried to find the Garden again, wandering the mists calling for Ariana, but she never came. Nor did Lily. Instead a glowing being had appeared, winged and burning with celestial fire. It had held up a hand and said sternly, “You may not pass, Albus Wulfric Brian Percival Dumbledore! Your time is not yet done.”

“But . . .I am dead . . .I gave up my life and my magic . . .”

“So you did, but only part of your sacrifice was accepted.”

“Why?”

“That is not for me to know.” The shining being said. “I am but the messenger and Guardian of the Ways. Heed me now. Your life hangs by a thread, but that thread shall not be broken. You must go back. The final hour is not yet upon you.”

“My sacrifice . . .was it all for naught then?” Dumbledore asked, feeling overwhelming loss sweep through him.

The shining one shook its head and said gently, “Child, no sacrifice is ever made in vain. But there is always a price for victory. Go now, Albus Dumbledore. Your time is not yet done. Farewell, child, and walk ye always in the Light.”

Then the celestial guardian made a brief shooing motion with one hand and Albus found himself blown backwards, off the pathway and down into his dying body.

He opene his eyes and found Sybill, whom he loved like a daughter, standing over him, her eyes focused determinedly upon him, one hand pressed to the side of his neck, counting his pulse. “Fawkes, he’s alive. I feel his heart still beating.”

The phoenix flew down and perched lightly upon his wizard, crooning worriedly. He bent and examined the old magus, and moisture gathered in glittering drops in his eyes. Fawkes wept, the healing tears of renewal, and they fell upon Dumbledore’s upturned face and then the phoenix moved and wept over his arm, where the athame had cut him. The gash sealed itself in a moment and Fawkes began to sing, calling Dumbledore back from the cusp of life and death.

After swallowing some of the healing tears, Dumbledore found he was able to speak again, and he said, “Sybill, my child, what are you doing here?”

“Saving your life, as you once did mine, by giving me a home when my own kin had cast me out for being a failure,” she answered, gently helping him to sit up. “You musn’t die! Please! I could not bear it. You are the father I always wanted.” Tears streaked her cheeks.

Albus smiled sweetly at her. “Don’t cry, daughter. I have it on good authority that I am not dying. Although I feel weak as a newborn babe.”

“Well, being almost dead will do that to you,” Sybill remarked, then she hugged him, laughing and crying.

Fawkes’ song soared into a crescendo, the notes sparkling in the air, joy made tangible.

“Here. Perhaps these will help,” the Seer said, removing her potions kit from her pocket. “Merlin knows I’m no Poppy, nor Severus either, but I’m not a total dunce.”

“Of course you’re not. You never were,” Dumbledore patted her hand.

She handed him a Pain Reliever, a Blood Replenisher, and would also have given him a Magical Restorative Cordial, but that one he waved away. “Not that one. I have no need for that any longer.”

“I . . .don’t understand. Surely after what they did to you, your magical core needs replenishing.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I will explain later. Have you any Strengthening Elixir?”

“Yes.” Sybill rummaged about and found the correct vial. She wanted to dance for joy that her mentor was alive, but she restrained herself. Time enough for that later, when they had escaped this dank room.

Dumbledore drank all the potions and then lay quietly, waiting for them to work. He dozed and Sybill and Fawkes watched him closely. The color came back into his cheeks and he seemed to be breathing easier and was not in so much pain as before.

It was then that the wall exploded and Bellatrix LeStrange came flying through it. She landed in a heap of red velvet upon the floor on the opposite side of the desk from Sybill, who was speechless with shock and fear. The Seer had never met any of the Death Eaters before, but she knew of them by reputation and from the news and recognized Bellatrix from her picture.

“Merlin have mercy!” she gasped. “Bellatrix LeStrange!”

Bellatrix groaned, sitting up and clutching her head, feeling blood trickle down her face. “Damn you, Sirius!” she cried. “I should have killed you when I got the chance before! Ooh, my aching head!” She staunched the blood from her cut eyebrow with her sleeve and looked about. “Where am I?”

She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the myriad aches and pains shooting through her body. She leaned upon the edge of the desk, her hand inches from Dumbledore, who twitched in his sleep. Bellatrix blinked and rubbed a hand across her eyes. She could have sworn the dead wizard’s chest had moved.

“Can it be? Have you managed to cheat death too, like my beloved Tom?” she peered hard at the slumbering old man. Then she threw back her head and laughed. “Yes! But no matter! I shall simply have to kill you again and make you a gift to my lord. Perhaps even . . .a wedding gift.” She brought up her wand.

“Don’t you touch him, you foul creature!” Sybill cried, her wand in her hand.

“What? Oh, it’s you,” the dark witch sneered. “The Seer who can’t see past the end of her own nose. Come to make another prediction, Trelawney? What did you see in your tea leaves? Did you see, perhaps, the Grim? Did you see the death of your pathetic Headmaster? Hmmm?” Bellatrix laughed again, a high wild sound that sent shivers down Trelawney’s spine.

She is mad. Mad as a hatter. The Seer thought, shaking. Gathering all of her courage, she looked the other witch in the eye and said firmly, “Go away. You shall not hurt him.”

Bellatrix cackled. “This is better than a farce. You ordering me about. Little idiot, don’t you know I can kill you quick as blinking?” Her eyes glazed with bloodlust, her mouth curved up into a wicked grin, Bellatrix leered at Sybill across Albus’s sleeping form.

Trelawney nodded. “Yes, I know. You have killed many times. But this is one death you shall not have. Two, in fact,” she replied, her tone calm and even. She felt suffused with an odd kind of power and she felt the trance overtake her. She gazed at the Death Eater, her eyes wide and unfocused.

“What’s this? You’re going to prophecy for me? How kind!” she mocked. “What do you see? Me ruling the world beside my lord?”

Sybill shook her head. “No. The Light is in ascendant and the Dark shall be shattered. The sacrifice was accepted.”

“Lies!” spat Bellatrix. “It’s all lies! You’re making it up.”

“I speak the truth I am given to See,” Trelawney said, her voice haunting in its utter conviction. “Ignore it at your own peril.”

“Ha! You expect me to believe you had a true Seeing, you pathetic charlatan? You disgust me! Now step aside, fool, and let me finish what I started.” She drew a dagger from her belt and raised it.

Fawkes flew at her, his beak aimed for her eyes.

Bellatrix screamed and stumbled backwards, swiping at the phoenix with the dagger.

“Get off, you nasty beast!” she yelled. “I’m going to kill all of you!”

Sybill looked right through her. “You are closer to death than I.”

“Yes. I am death’s lover,” Bellatrix gloated. “Unlike you, men find me attractive.” She moved forward, her wand raised to cast a spell of mayhem, but her high heel caught upon a broken slab of rock, part of the wall that had shattered earlier.

She staggered backwards, struggling to regain her balance, but she could not manage it. She fell against the partially constructed door and that caused the whole wall and part of the ceiling to shake.

The resulting crash weakened the structure even further, and a large piece of the ceiling cracked and began to fall.

“You can’t even do a Killing Curse, I’ll bet. Pathetic!”

She went to move forward when the ceiling overhead broke with a loud CRASH!

Bellatrix was so busy taunting Trelawney that she never noticed the huge piece of rock hurtling towards her.

It smashed into her with the force of a thousand rockslides, burying her beneath stone and wooden beams, and ending forever the madness of Bellatrix LeStrange, the witch who had worshipped and loved Voldemort.

Sybill came out of her trance and sighed. She looked at the rubble and whispered, “I may not be able to kill that way, but you ignore my visions at your own peril.”

Then she turned back to her mentor, who was just now opening his eyes.

“What was that, dear girl? It sounded like an explosion.” Dumbledore quieried, sitting up.

“That was Bellatrix. Or rather, what’s left of her,” Trelawney gestured to the pile of rubble.

“Oh my,” said the Headmaster. “That must have felt . . .unpleasant.”

“Quite, but I did warn her.” Sybill said, her face screwed up into a grimace.

“Never underestimate a Seer,” Dumbledore said. He shook his head sadly. “Poor misguided witch. I hope you find your peace beyond the Veil.”

Trelawney snorted, for she doubted peace was what Bellatrix would find, not after what she had done. But she could not bring herself to truly mourn the crazy witch. The castle falling on her head had been no more than simple karma, calling in a debt long overdue.

“Can you stand, sir?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Not just yet, my girl. I need to rest up a bit more before trying, I think.”

He began to stroke Fawkes and the phoenix sang a song to strengthen his muscles and bones, which had been damaged by the hours of torture he had endured. Slowly, strength began to return to them, and he wondered how Severus and Harry were faring.

* * * * * *

Harry faced his nemesis squarely, not cringing or caught by surprise or helpless to retaliate as he had been in the graveyard when he had faced his monstrous adversary for the second time. This time he was prepared, this time he knew how to defend himself, and not just in his Animagus form. All of those Defense lessons from Snape had paid off and now he faced Voldemort confidently, head up and looking the other wizard right in the eye.

He had a thousand chases behind him and had fought darkness both without and within and come to understand that winning a battle wasn’t about power, but about knowledge and knowing your enemy and what he could do as well as knowing yourself. And he knew that Voldemort was not the same wizard he had faced in Little Hangleton or the Department of Mysteries. His body might look younger and stronger, but there were forces at work that Voldemort did not comprehend. He was still playing the great despot, the wizard before whom all must tremble. He didn’t yet know that he was mortal, as mortal as any of them. Harry meant to use that advantage to the fullest.

He gave the Dark Lord a challenging cocky smirk, one he knew would make the arrogant wizard froth at the mouth.

Voldemort was incensed at the utter disrespect the boy showed him. No, not just disrespect, but fearlessness. There was no fear in the brat’s eyes, and fear was something that should have been there. He was the most powerful wizard on the planet now that pathetic Dumbledore was dead, so why was Potter not shaking in his robes? He should be on his knees, begging Voldemort to spare the lives of his worthless friends.

He glowered at the smirking teenager and vowed to have him beg before he killed him. Just as so many others had begged. “Insolent brat! How dare you stand there mocking me?” he snarled, the boy’s impudence getting under his skin worse than a dozen splinters. “I can kill you with a single word, just like I killed your parents. They were dead before they hit the floor, though your mother did beg me to spare your insignifigant life before I struck her down.”

Harry stiffened in outrage. But he quickly realized that Voldemort was baiting him and forced himself to calm. “My mother,” he said, clearly and coldly. “Never begged for anything in her life. And if you think she did, you’re ever crazier than I thought. And that’s saying something.”

Spittle flecked the other’s mouth, he was so furious. Potter’s words had struck an old nerve. Just so had the other children in the orphanage taunted him, calling him a crazy freak that belonged in an asylum. Crazy Tom! Crazy Tom! Oughta be blown up by a bomb! Put ‘im in a straightjacket and send him on—to Bedlam! To Bedlam! Crazy Tom!

Voldemort began to tremble, recalling the way he had been made fun of, and he snarled, “You’ll pay for that, Potter! You and Crabbe and Snape. All of you will pay! I am the Dark Lord, and I will not be mocked!”

“Only worshipped, is that not right, Tom?” Severus demanded, striding up to stand beside Harry, facing his former “master” at last as his true self, no longer hiding behind the spy’s mantle. “You poor deluded fool! Always grasping for dignity and recognition and always falling short.”

“Snape!” Voldemort cried, his red eyes igniting with hatred. “Traitor! I should have broken you to bits that night! I knew you weren’t to be trusted. You weak mewling coward!”

“Don’t call him coward!” Harry shouted, unable to keep still.

Severus’s hand tightened upon the Animagus’s shoulder. “Control, fledgling.”

Harry flushed and clamped down hard on his temper. Got to stay calm. I rule my temper, it doesn’t rule me. He repeated that mantra over and over.

Voldemort smiled. “And why should I not call him thus, boy? For only a coward betrays his sworn oath.”

He brought up a hand, and a glowing purple circle sprang up about them, isolating the three from the rest of the battle taking place within the chamber, though their words were still audible to those closest to them, like Moody, Sirius, McGonagall, and Shacklebolt.

“But I never swore allegiance to you, Riddle,” Severus stated. “Not in my heart or in my soul. My allegieance was, and always has been, to the Light.”

“You lie, Snape! You bear my Mark upon you! You came to me willingly as a boy and agreed to serve me and my cause.”

“True. I was a misguided bitter and angry boy, one whom you took advantage of, and seduced into darkness,” Snape admitted calmly. “But I did not take the Mark then, that came later. After I had returned to the Light and agreed to become a spy for Albus Dumbledore. I never belonged to you, you only thought I did.”

“Impossible! You were mine! I saw into your mind!”

“Did you? Or did you only see what I wished you to see?” Severus asked silkily. “For I am a natural Occlumens, and no one can penetrate my mind unless I allow it—especially not you, with your clumsy Legilemancy.”

Black eyes met red and two wills clashed for supremacy.

Voldemort struggled to penetrate Snape’s mind, but the master Occlumens had his shields fully up and the Dark Lord’s probes slid off them like raindrops off of glass, and the more he tried to penetrate the Potions Master’s defenses, the more he discovered he was no match for the other’s talent.

Panting with rage and humiliation, Voldemort tore his gaze away. “I will tear you to shreds for your treachery, Snape! When I am through with you, there won’t be enough of you to spit upon! I gave you power beyond your wildest dreams and this is how you repay me?”

Severus laughed, low and mocking. “You gave me lies and deceit and nothing more. Your promises were hollow, you never intended to share your power with anyone and you used all of your loyal followers for your own ends, admit it. Yours was a world based upon deceit and now it is crumbling to dust beneath you. I betrayed myself that night, Voldemort. Betrayed all that was good and decent within me, but by the grace of love I was saved. Love saved us both—him and me.” He indicated Harry with a jerk of his chin.

“Love died that day! I killed her! And you were the instrument of her destruction.” Voldemort cried triumphantly. “For you delievered the prophecy to me, Severus Snape!”

Again Snape nodded. “Yes. On the behest of Dumbledore I delivered it to you. And have spent my life atoning for that act. But there is something you don’t know, omniscient being that you are.”

“What is that?”

“The prophecy you set such store by is false.”

“You lie! I had one of my soothsayers verify it.”

“One of your pet Seers, my lord? And did you really expect them to tell you the truth after you had tortured and killed others for bringing you news you did not like? They told you what you wanted to hear. But the truth is that your vaunted prophecy is false. You have no future, Voldemort. Except to die.”

Voldemort turned purple. “No! I am the most powerful wizard in the world! I killed your precious Dumbledore! He died so that I could be reborn. I am immortal, Snape! And I shall crush you beneath my boot like the maggot you are. A pureblood will always triumph over half-blood scum!”

Harry was horrified. Dumbledore dead? It did not seem possible. But he could hear the ring of truth in Voldemort’s words. “But you’re not a pureblood!” he cried. “You’re a half-blood, like me and Severus. Your mother was a witch and your father a Muggle. You’re no better than any of us.”

“Shut up, whelp! I am far more than your equal. I am Slytherin’s Heir!”

“Salazar would have disowned you for a disgrace,” Severus put in. “He sought to bring wizards together in peace, while you tore everything he worked for apart. He used his ambition and skill to benefit all, you used yours for your own selfish desires. You are no true Slytherin! You are but a puny shadow, alone without even a familiar to stand beside you.”

Severus used his razor tongue like a weapon, slicing away at the illusion Voldemort had surrounded himself with these past fifty-five years. He had learned a great deal about the dark wizard in his years as a spy, and now he used every scrap of that knowledge, prodding and poking at all the vulnerable places in Riddle’s psyche. For the truth was that Lord Voldemort, mighty as he had become, was still in the core of his being an unloved insecure child, with an ugly temper and a sadistic bent, who thought power could replace love.

His barbs struck home and Voldemort’s control splintered. “She is dead because you killed her! And for that I shall destroy you, I shall make of your name a curse, and wipe your existence off the face of the earth!” he raged.

Severus gave him a rather bored and amused look. “Yes, yes. Because you have suddenly become God, and can summon maelstroms with the snap of your finger, and cause plague with a single breath, and shoot fire from your arse. All hail the great and powerful Lord Voldemort!”

Voldemort exploded, screaming, “Avada Kedavra!” while pointing Rabastan LeStrange’s wand at Severus.

Harry lunged at Snape, ready to knock him aside before the deadly green bolt could strike him.

But the borrowed wand fizzled and smoked and the Killing Curse did not materialize.

Harry skidded to a halt just before he crashed into Severus.

Voldemort stared at his wand, thunderstruck. How could this be? He had cast that curse thousands of times and it had never failed. Never! He felt a sudden dizziness sweep through him. What is wrong with me? What has happened to me?

“Something wrong, Tom?” asked Harry, watching Voldemort sweat. “Maybe that rebirth didn’t work as well as you thought.”

“Shut up, Potter!” He shot a fiery projectile at Harry, who dodged it neatly, conjuring a quick Repel Magic shield. “I am stronger than ever!” he bluffed. “I took Dumbledore’s magical sacrifice into myself and now I am the most powerful wizard ever!”

But Severus could hear the uncertainty buried in the other’s tone, and suddenly he understood. Voldemort had stolen Dumbledore’s magic, or so he had thought. But what if that were not the case? What if Dumbledore had offered up his magic willingly? A willing sacrifice was pure, and such a sacrifice would have tainted the dark ritual, putting limitations upon Voldemort. That was why he could not perform the Killing Curse. Because Dumbledore’s sacrifice was one made out of selfless love, and as such, would not permit itself to be used for destruction. It was the Old Magic, a magic that had been from the dawn of time, it was the magic that Lily had used to preserve her son, and now once again, it would save him from death.

Severus spun his wand in a lazy circle, counterclockwise, and a tornade was spun out of it.

The twister swirled after Voldemort, who gestured frantically, feeling the powerful storm lift him from the earth momentarily.

It dropped him a moment later as the twister was calmed to naught but a gentle breeze.

“That the best you can do, Snape?”

Severus did not answer, instead hitting the other with a Fire hex. He would have used Firestorm, but the circle Voldemort had cast was too confining and he didn’t want to be destroyed by his own spell.

Voldemort’s hand was engulfed in flames and he screamed before gasping out the counter and the flames died. His left hand, however, was now an ugly red ruin. “Bastard!”

“Wrong. His father was married to his mother,” Harry quipped. “Was yours?”

“I’ll cut out that impudent tongue, brat!” snarled the Dark Lord, intoning a Cutting Curse that should have cut Harry’s throat open.

But Harry recognized the opening incantation to the curse, thanks to Severus’s relentless tutoring, and he cast a Silencing Charm before Voldemort could finish the spell.

Voiceless, Voldemort tried to remove the charm, but his concentration was shattered by Harry slamming a perfect right hook into his face. “That’s for my mother!”

Riddle’s head snapped back and he felt something break. He howled wordlessly, his nose broken and dripping blood. It had been a long time since he had to defend himself from a physical assault and he was woefully out of practice.

Harry, however, was not. He went in again, fists up, and snapped a left cross, catching the Dark One on the chin and knocking him to his knees. “And that’s for my dad!” His emerald eyes burned with a vengeful light. “Get up, coward!”

Voldemort did, coming up swinging.

But Harry ducked, for the elder wizard telegraphed that move and he had known it was coming.

His return right-left combo blacked both eyes. “And those are for Dumbledore and Severus!”

Finite Incantatum! Voldemort thought frantically, and the Silencing Charm was removed. “Imperio!” he shouted, trying to command Harry’s mind.

But he forgot Harry was one of the few who could fight off the curse, and the minute he felt the compulsion settle upon him, he closed his mind with Occlumency, ignoring the mental urging to kill Snape.

Voldemort pressed him hard, throwing all of his will into the spell. Kill Snape, damn you! I command you and I will be obeyed! KILL HIM!

Harry gritted his teeth and kept his mind closed and allowed the mental command to slip away from him. “I . . .am . . .no . . .pawn of yours!” he gasped.

Voldemort was impressed in spite of himself. What a will the damned brat has. What a Death Eater he would have made. Pity I have to destroy him. But since I cannot turn him he must be put down.

“Crucio!”

Pain slammed through the young wizard, and he cried out, unable to help himself. He felt as if every nerve ending in his entire body were on fire. He went to his knees, tears streaming down his face, trying to endure the terrible pain as best he could. Severus, help me! Oh God, this HURTS! Severus!

Severus gave a wordless snarl at the sight of his ward enduring the agony he had once felt, and then he wordlessly called lightning down from the sky to blast the sadistic sorcerer.

There came a tremendous boom that knocked half the wizards still fighting off their feet and then a sizzling sound as the bolt speared Voldemort in the back.

Voldemort was lifted off his feet and Severus was sure he was finished.

The Torture Curse was halted and Harry managed to push himself to his feet with immense effort, coughing and sobbing. “Hurts . . .Sev . . .”

“Breathe, fledgling. Focus past the pain,” Severus murmured, never taking his eyes off of Riddle, who had somehow managed to absorb some of the lightning strike and though his robes were smoking and his hair burnt, he was still very much alive.

“You can’t kill me, Snape!” laughed Voldemort. “I am invincible!”

“Only in your dreams,” Severus replied, ducking a hastily thrown Withering Curse.

Voldemort began to attack in earnest then, determined to defeat the black-robed Potions Master for good and all. Spells flew thick and fast through the air.

Severus deflected everything the other threw at him, proving himself a master duelist, despite a youth spent brewing, giving Harry the necessary time to recover from the Cruciatus Curse.

Harry still felt sick and all of his bones and muscles were ground to powder, but he was not going to let a little thing like pain stop him. He never had before. C’mon, Potter, suck it up and get back in the fight. Sev needs you! Only together can we teach death to die.

Voldemort had his back to him, fending off some curse of Snape’s.

It was the perfect moment to strike.

Harry transformed into Freedom and using every scrap of speed in his body, shot into the air. The muscles in his wings screeched in agony, but he ignored it. This was his only chance. He would not waste it.

He climbed higher and higher, until he practically scraped the ceiling of the chamber, some twenty-five feet up.

Severus was defending some kind of hex that melted rock, or at least Freedom thought that was what the Latin meant.

The red-tailed hawk spun, focusing all of his instincts and every muscle in his slender body upon the pallid snake-eyed wizard. Now it ends, for all of time!

Then he closed his wings and dove, talons outstretched, shrieking the red-tail’s battle cry.

Kree-aar-r-r!

He plummeted from the sky at over eighty miles per hour, and his first strike took Voldemort across the back of the neck. He bound tight, his talons fastening in a death grip upon the dark wizard, but the sheer speed of his attack had actually done the most damage, breaking several vertebrae in Voldemort’s neck, and paralyzing him.

Voldemort gasped, eyes wide, as he felt his body go limp.

Simultaneously, Severus cast a wandless silent Sectumsempra!

Six gaping wounds appeared on the torso and abdomen of the tall wizard, and within moments he had bled out, gasping his last breath still believing he would return, only at the final second realizing that all of his Horcruxes had been destroyed and death had come, at long last, to claim him for all of eternity.

“No! I . . .cannot . . .die . . .I am . . .immortal . . .”

Then the black-caped body stilled and Voldemort, the scourge of Britain, died, destroyed by the courage and true hearts of two hawks hunting.

Severus nudged the corpse with his boot. When it remained inert, he breathed out a long sigh of profound relief. It was finally over.

“Fledgling, you did it,” he turned to find his son.

Harry had transformed back and was smiling. But an instant later he felt his scar explode in pain as Voldemort’s death richoceted back on him, his proximity to the evil wizard and his sensitivity to evil overloading his mind and body, which had already been weakened by the Cruciatus and from casting so much magic.

“Sev . . .I don’t feel well . . .” were the last words he spoke before he collapsed.

“Harry!” Severus rushed forward, catching the boy before he slammed into the floor, feeling frantically for a pulse.