Chapter 24

With a cry of rage, Voldemort attempted to launch another Killing Curse, only to cut off the incantation with a pained howl, clutching at his wand arm. The Death Eaters flanking him looked puzzled, before levelling their wands at Hermione, who was just switching her wand from her left hand to right hand, having launched a cutting curse at herself and transferred the damage to Voldemort in the process.

She cocked an eyebrow at the assembled Dark wizards and witches, before they were set upon by the undead surrounding them. Some of the more powerful Death Eaters were able to escape the icy clutches of the dead, but as they couldn't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, they were not unscathed.

Lucius Malfoy had lost his mask and had accompanying rents across his face, spoiling his looks. Half blinded with his own blood and crazed with fear and rage, he launched himself at the line of Hogwarts staff and students, casting Unforgivables non-stop. Even as Filius Flitwick fell to one of the Killing Curses, the diminutive Charms professor sent an elementary Knock Back Jinx at the elder Malfoy, who was flung back into the throng of animated corpses. He didn't emerge.

Another Death Eater burst out of the undead mob, flinging rotting body parts everywhere. This coincided with the arrival of the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, so the rampaging Death Eater was met and bowled over by Remus Lupin. Black robes tore, the silver mask crumpled out of shape, revealing the feral features of Fenrir Greyback. The opposing werewolves rolled around, wands forgotten as they clawed and bit at each other. It wasn't full moon, leaving them in human form; yet the fight was somehow just as animalistic as it would have been in wolf form. Greyback cackled as he got the upper hand, Lupin yelping as his maker tore into his flesh, blood spurting around them to stain the grass.

Greyback's head flew off as Nymphadora Tonks managed to get a clear shot at him with a fully powered Cutting Curse, more blood spurting up in a fountain. She raced to the side of her beloved, only to slip over the blood-stained grass, sprawling on top of Lupin, who grunted with pain. Tonks stuttered an apology, her trembling wand hand fumbling over healing spells. Slowly but surely the bleeding stopped. Tonks pulled Lupin to his feet and began to half drag him toward the castle, both of them now out of the fight.

One of the undead was not under the control of Hermione, something the young Necromancer had overlooked. Bellatrix Lestrange was loyal to Voldemort even in death, yet lacked the emotional awareness necessary to link any damage to Hermione to the resulting damage and pain to her Master.

Hermione's feet were yanked out from under her, her torso hitting the ground with a winding impact. Sharp fingernails dug into her as she tried to catch her breath, dragging her under her attacker even as she scrabbled at the grass in an attempt to drag herself away. Voldemort had doubled over, wheezing, but the transference spell was apparently flawed when it came to breathing difficulties. The pain had transferred, but the lack of air was still an ongoing problem for Hermione. A problem that was exacerbated as Bellatrix clamped her hands around Hermione's neck, steadily tightening to the point that no air could be breathed in.

Voldemort fell to his knees, clawing at his throat, Hermione mirroring this movement as she tried and failed to prise Bellatrix's frigid grip from her throat. The strength in the undead hands was just as inhuman as the lack of emotions in the glassy stare.

If Hermione had been able to breathe, she could have reduced Bellatrix to ash or hijacked her loyalties, but she was steadily turning blue from lack of oxygen, a symptom that Voldemort shared.

Bellatrix abruptly let go, surging over to another target currently threatening her master. It was a mark of her lack of intelligence that she didn't realise that her previous efforts to protect Voldemort had placed him in far more danger than his current attacker did.

His ploy worked, but Bellatrix moved faster than he had anticipated. Severus managed to set the bitch on fire, but not before she'd thrown him clear across the blood-stained lawn to land at the foot of the steps at the main entrance to the castle. The impact knocked the breath out of him as his ribs splintered, allowing the waiting darkness to claim him as he passed out. Fortunately for him, Tonks had just emerged from the castle, having deposited Lupin in the hospital wing. She sighed, rolling her eyes as she grudgingly accepted her place as a glorified stretcher-bearer, her hair turning red with her annoyance.

Bellatrix let out an unearthly scream until the chill present in her put out the flames. Before she could attack again, Hermione reduced her to so much ash, a permanent state this time.

Antonin Dolohov was another Death Eater who managed to escape the attacking former inhabitants of Hogsmeade, his robes in tatters and his mask dangling from his face. He tore it off, launching his favoured purple flame curse as soon as his vision was clear. Minerva McGonagall managed to raise a shield in time to prevent the curse from killing her, but it still impacted, knocking her down and out. Dolohov snarled, lowering his wand to launch another curse at the defenceless witch at his feet. A fist knocked into the base of his skull, driving him to his knees before he could formulate the lethal spell.

"Oh, no you don't, Death Eating scum!" Ron Weasley stood behind him, his clenched fist trembling with his rage, deep red spots on his freckled cheeks. "Hey, I know you. You're Dolohov. You tried to kill Hermione in the Department of Mysteries. You also killed my uncles, before I had a chance to know them. Remember Gideon and Fabian Prewett?" The boy levelled his wand at the murderer, the length of willow steady as he mastered his rage to the point that he was in control.

"As if a snivelling brat like you can kill me, pathetic little Weasley." Dolohov spat a bloody mouthful onto the trampled grass, his eyes almost crossed with the blow to his head. "Yes, I remember them, the blood traitor brothers. I only regret that I didn't have time to dismember their corpses... I do so like to play. Pity that the little girl had Potter protecting her; I would have enjoyed her company so much."

"Shut up! Azkaban is too good for you. Hell, using magic is too good for you." The youngest Weasley son tossed his wand aside, clenching his fists as he kicked at Dolohov, who grunted with the bruising blows. As the punishing blows from the boy's fists began to land, he began to laugh weakly.

"Are you any better than me, Weasley? My blood will be on your hands." Dolohov smirked as Weasley's attack faltered. He launched himself at the brat, a cruel blade in his hands cutting into the soft flesh of the youngster. Before he could thrust the cold steel into the heart of the boy, he was thrown off in a deluge of Stinging Hexes.

"Ginny, what're you doing here? You're too young!" Weasley's voice was weak, as the poison in the knife took hold.

"Shut up, Ron." The girl launched her favoured Bat-Bogey Hex, causing Dolohov to flail at his face, cutting himself with the blade as he tried to fend off the attack of the bogies. He lumbered blindly towards the girl, managing to throw the knife. She ducked, the knife grazing the side of her head. A swift, lucky punch took her out of the equation, the bogey hex failing as the caster lost consciousness. Dolohov advanced on Weasley, snatching his wand up.

Before he could end the short life of young Weasley, his skull shattered under a blow from a rolling pin. Molly Weasley née Prewett had been baking as the call to assemble at Hogwarts had come in, and hadn't let go of her favoured pastry rolling tool before Apparating to the Hogwarts' gate. When she had seen her children come under attack, she had acted instinctively. It was only after the Dark wizard slumped to the ground, dead, that she recognised the long, pale, twisted face of her brothers' murderer. She kicked the corpse before conjuring stretchers under her youngest children, taking them up to the hospital wing.

Albus Dumbledore had not been standing still, but protecting his staff and students wherever he could, using admittedly illegal Portkeys to whisk the injured to the hospital wing. Great wizard though he was, he had limits, as the steadily rising death toll revealed. Part of the problem was that the Death Eaters avoided confronting him whenever they escaped from the attacking undead, so they picked off staff and students alike who were far enough away from Albus to be unprotected. He eventually called Fawkes, both for his Apparating ability and for his healing tears.

Now there were virtually no living Death Eaters left; Voldemort was raging. He didn't know how Hermione had transferred damage from herself to him, but the fact was that she was preventing him from taking as many of these Muggle lovers down with him as he could. He knew that it was highly unlikely that he would escape alive. Even if he did manage it, it was in a true Gryffindor's nature to sacrifice themselves in the name of the greater good. Hermione seemed to be the type, and he doubted that she had to be in his vicinity to transfer a mortal injury to him. His face contorted as he realised that it was unlikely that Hermione would die, as any damage seemed to instantly transfer to him. His incensed gaze passed over the assembled people, dead and undead, pausing at those he recognised. What really stung was that Potter would live and had a Necromancer to do his dirty work for him. The prophecy had misled him; this was the last time he would try to defeat fate.

Those glowing red eyes widened as a sudden thought occurred. They flicked to glance at Hermione; a slow smirk forming on his face. A flick of his wand and a nonverbal spell disarmed her. "Try to stop me now, Mudblood!" Voldemort twisted around, firing curse after curse at Harry Potter, who was steadily losing ground as he ducked, blocked and backed away.

"No Priori Incantatem to save you this time, Harry! I learned from our duel by my father's grave... I have a new wand now."

Potter's eyes were wide with fear with no back up from Albus Dumbledore, as the old man was occupied conveying his own sorrow to the flagging phoenix to enable more healing tears to be shed. The boy's jaw clenched, a defiant look coming over his face.

"Quite the Gryffindor, aren't you... Now, die like one, with your head held high." Before Voldemort could let his Killing Curse fly, his wand began to smoke. Seconds later, it burst into flame, a shriek of agony emanating from the core. An undignified yelp escaped the Dark Lord as the ashes of what had been his wand slipped through his fingers, his white hand both burned and stained. He stared in disbelief at his hand as the skin began to flake away, the flesh soon following suit as it shrivelled around the bones.

"What have you done?" Voldemort breathed, turning to Hermione, his accusing gaze drawn back to the gruesome sight of his disintegrating hand. The bones of his wand hand had collapsed into ash, but the process hadn't stopped there. His remaining hand was following suit, his nerves screaming the agony in a non-stop stream into his overloaded mind. "NECROMANTIC WITCH! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" he roared, his voice high and piercing, drawing the attention of the soon-to-be victorious living. The process accelerated as the resistance from his body faltered as more of it collapsed into ash.

Voldemort raised his head, screams of pain tearing from his throat. His terrified gaze fell on the architect of his destruction. Hermione was surrounded by a source of darkness so intense that she seemed to absorb the low light of the setting sun, the very fabric of time accelerated by the great energies of her attack. Scores of the dead fell, collapsing into dust as she reached the limit of her powers.

The Dark Lord's wordless cry of agony rose higher still, past the pain threshold of the observers. The screech cut off with a dry, choking rasp as Voldemort's lungs collapsed into ash. The remainder of his body followed suit. The last stage of the atomising was completed when even the ash was gone. In the moment of silence following, it seemed that the representatives of the Wizarding world held their breaths, all eyes rooted to the spot where the Lord Voldemort had last stood, the grass dry and yellowed.

Ragged shouts of triumph strengthened as Fawkes erupted into joyous song, circling the dead spot in the grass. Sparks flew from wand tips like fireworks as the victorious staff, students and selected Order members embraced each other. The sounds of jubilation doubled as the last of the dead army returned to dust.

"Hermione, you did it! We won... Hermione?" Potter, as the closest, was the first to realise that she had vanished. His voice trailed off plaintively as he called for his friend. He staggered over to where she had been standing, to fall to his knees, white faced as he registered what was there.

"Harry? Harry, what's wrong? What..." Dumbledore was just behind him, his wrinkled hand resting on the boy's shoulder. "Dear Merlin, no."