One Down

Below Stonehenge, Time No Longer Material

There was a certain poetry to dueling one’s own creator, Gilderoy Lockhart thought as he deflected another Killing Curse with a casual flick of his wrist. The spell ricocheted off his shield and scorched a blackened line across the already-damaged stone floor.

Well. Not his creator, precisely. The creator of the fragment that had merged with him. The distinction mattered, he’d found. It mattered quite a lot, actually.

“You’re smiling.” Voldemort observed, his voice cold and clinical as he launched a follow-up curse— something purple and writhing that hissed through the air like a serpent. “Do you find this amusing, fragment?”

Gilderoy transfigured a chunk of debris into a wall of ice— one of the memories he’d inherited was particularly fond of ice magic— and the purple curse splashed against it, eating through the barrier but buying him time to sidestep. “I find everything amusing, Tom. It’s one of my more endearing qualities.”

The name made Voldemort’s eyes narrow fractionally. Good. Even the Dark Lord had buttons that could be pushed.

Inside his mind, the two components of his being existed in a state of true harmony. The Horcrux fragment that had been Tom Riddle at sixteen, brilliant and ruthless and utterly convinced of its own superiority. And Gilderoy Lockhart himself, vain and theatrical but possessing a genuine magical talent that had been buried under years of fraud and mediocrity.

The merger shouldn’t have worked. Everything Gilderoy understood about Horcruxes— and he understood quite a bit now, courtesy of his passenger’s memories— said that the fragment should have dominated completely. Should have consumed his identity and worn his body like a suit.

But it hadn’t.

Perhaps because Gilderoy, for all his faults, had never truly been weak. Perhaps because some part of Tom Riddle’s sixteen-year-old self had been curious about what would happen if he cooperated instead of conquered. Perhaps because they’d both recognized that together, they could be something neither could achieve alone.

Magnificent. They agreed internally. We are absolutely magnificent.

Voldemort’s next spell was a wave of darkness that seemed to devour light itself. Gilderoy countered with a Patronus— surprising himself slightly that he could still cast one— and the silver form of a peacock burst forth, its luminous feathers scattering the darkness.

“A Patronus.” Voldemort said, and something that might have been disappointment flickered across his serpentine features. “You retain enough of Lockhart’s sentiment to cast one. How… limiting.”

“I prefer to think of it as ‘well-rounded.'” Gilderoy replied, already moving into his next attack. The memories from the Horcrux gave him access to dark magic Lockhart had never dreamed of, but Lockhart’s own knowledge of defensive spells and charms provided balance. Light and dark, working in concert. “You really should try it sometime. Oh, wait— you can’t. You tore yourself apart so thoroughly you wouldn’t know sentiment if it hexed you in the face.”

The temperature around Voldemort seemed to drop twenty degrees. His wand moved in a complex pattern, and suddenly the air between them was filled with dozens of conjured blades, all spinning toward Gilderoy with lethal intent.

Gilderoy’s response was equally theatrical. He conjured a whirlwind that caught the blades and sent them spinning wildly off-course, then transfigured several of them mid-flight into white doves that scattered in all directions.

“Showmanship.” Voldemort said with evident distaste. “How boorish.”

“Presentation matters, Tom. I would have thought you’d understand that, what with the whole ‘I am Lord Voldemort, fear my snakelike charm’ aesthetic you’ve cultivated.”

They circled each other, wands raised, both looking for openings. Around them, the chamber continued its descent into chaos. Dumbledore and Grindelwald’s duel sent periodic shockwaves rippling through reality itself. Fighters on both sides struggled and died. And through it all, the Veil pulsed with increasing intensity, the ritual grinding toward whatever completion Grindelwald had designed.

Gilderoy was acutely aware of all of it. The Horcrux fragment gave him a broader tactical awareness than Lockhart had ever possessed, while Lockhart’s natural charisma and people-reading skills let him track the emotional states of everyone in the chamber. It was dizzying and exhilarating in equal measure.

“You know.” Voldemort said, his tone shifting to something almost conversational. “This truly is a waste.”

Gilderoy raised an eyebrow, not lowering his wand. “Is it? I rather think we’re both performing admirably.”

“I mean killing you.” Voldemort clarified. He hadn’t lowered his wand either, but the aggressive casting had paused. “You’re a fragment of my soul, however changed. Destroying you diminishes me, however slightly. And you’ve proven yourself… competent. More than competent. You’re fighting me to a standstill.”

“I’m blushing. Truly.”

“I’m serious.” Voldemort’s red eyes fixed on him with an intensity that was almost hypnotic. “You possess knowledge of this era that I lack. The political landscape has shifted since I was… away. You understand current magical theory, modern spell variations, the social dynamics of this new world. Combined with the power and knowledge from when you were created— when I was at my most brilliant, before immortality required such… sacrifices— you could be invaluable.”

Gilderoy felt the Horcrux side of him stir with interest. The offer was tempting to that part of him. To return to the whole, to merge back with the original, to be part of something larger and more powerful.

But Lockhart’s part— the vain, theatrical, magnificently individual part— recoiled.

“It would be a waste to destroy you, fragment.” Voldemort continued, taking a step forward. His voice had taken on a persuasive quality, the same tone he’d probably used to recruit Death Eaters decades ago. “Together, we could reclaim what was lost. We could reshape the magical world. You have gifts I need. I have power you cannot match alone. Join me. Rejoin me. Become part of the whole once more.”

For a long moment, Gilderoy stood silent, and he could feel the internal struggle. The Horcrux wanted to say yes. Wanted to return to its origin, to be complete again.

But he wasn’t just the Horcrux anymore. He was more than that.

“You know what the fundamental difference between us is, Tom?” Gilderoy asked, his smile widening into something that was both charming and slightly manic. “You see me as a fragment. A piece of a greater whole. Something incomplete that needs to be reabsorbed.”

He took a step forward, matching Voldemort’s advance. His wand remained raised, but his posture was confident, almost casual.

“But that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not your fragment anymore. I’m not your echo, not your shadow, not your incomplete piece waiting to be reintegrated.” His smile took on a sharper edge. “I am Gilderoy Lockhart— magnificent, whole, and entirely my own man. And that, you see, is something you can never be again.”

Voldemort’s expression darkened. “You’re delusional. You’re a piece of soul wearing a dead man’s face, pretending at individuality.”

“I could be, but then again…” Gilderoy’s tone remained light, but there was steel underneath now. “Tell me, Tom— how many pieces did you split yourself into? How many Horcruxes did you create in your desperate scramble for immortality? Five? Six? Seven?”

The Dark Lord’s silence was answer enough.

“Each time you tore your soul, you diminished yourself.” Gilderoy continued. “Each fragment weakened the whole. You became less human, less complete, less yourself with every act. You chose power over wholeness, immortality over integrity. And look at what it’s made you.” He gestured at Voldemort with his free hand. “You’re not even properly alive anymore. You’re a collection of fragments held together by dark magic and force of will, barely more cohesive than the Horcruxes you created.”

“Careful— you forget yourself, fragment.” Voldemort hissed, and there was genuine anger in his voice now.

“I merged instead of consuming.” Gilderoy continued without pause, his voice rising with passion. “I chose to become something new rather than simply dominating or being dominated. That’s evolution. That’s growth. That’s something you haven’t been capable of in decades.”

The chamber seemed to hold its breath. Around them, the battle raged on, but in this small bubble of space between them, everything was still.

Then Voldemort’s face twisted into an expression of cold fury.

“I see.” He said quietly. “Then you’ve chosen death.”

“I’ve chosen life.” Gilderoy corrected. “Actual, genuine, messy, wonderful life.”

Voldemort’s wand snapped up, and the killing intent rolling off him was almost palpable. The spell he cast was something Gilderoy had no name for— a twisting helix of sickly green and purple light that seemed to corrode the air as it passed through. Gilderoy barely got his shield up in time, and even then he felt the impact shudder through his bones.

The duel exploded back into violence, but this time there was a personal venom to it that hadn’t existed before. Voldemort was no longer testing, no longer offering mercy. He was fighting to destroy, to obliterate, to unmake the thing that had dared to reject him.

And Gilderoy met him spell for spell, curse for curse, his magic a blend of dark and light that reflected his dual nature.

A Killing Curse from Voldemort. Deflected by Gilderoy’s shield and countered with a Blasting Curse that forced the Dark Lord to dodge.

A wave of conjured serpents, each one venomous and spelled to resist banishment. Gilderoy transmuted them mid-flight into flowers that wilted and died, their transformation consuming Voldemort’s magic.

A curse that aged whatever it touched. Gilderoy rolled beneath it and fired back with a Cutting Curse that Voldemort blocked with a conjured wall of stone.

They were evenly matched, and both knew it. Voldemort had more raw power, more decades of experience, more absolute mastery of the darkest magics. But Gilderoy had versatility, creativity, and the tactical ability of two minds working in perfect concert.

“You cannot win.” Voldemort said, his voice carrying over the chaos of their battle. “Even if you match me spell for spell, eventually you will tire. Eventually you will make a mistake. And I will be there.”

“Perhaps.” Gilderoy agreed, launching a series of rapid-fire curses that forced Voldemort into a defensive posture. “Or perhaps you’ll tire first. You’re not as young as you used to be, Tom. Oh, wait— you never were young, were you? Even at sixteen, you were old. Old and cold and afraid of the only thing you couldn’t control.”

“I fear nothing!”

“You fear death!” Gilderoy shouted back, and there was truth in his words that cut deeper than any curse. “You’ve always feared it! That’s why you tore yourself apart! That’s why you created us— your Horcruxes! Because you were too terrified to face the one inevitable truth of existence!”

His words had the intended effect. He could see it in the momentary tightening around Voldemort’s eyes, the fractional hesitation before his next spell. The hesitation cost him. Gilderoy’s curse— a modified Bone-Breaker— caught Voldemort in the shoulder. The Dark Lord’s left arm went momentarily limp, his wand nearly falling from nerveless fingers.

But he recovered instantly, switching his wand to his other hand with practiced ease, and his counter-curse forced Gilderoy to throw himself flat to avoid being bisected.

They broke apart, both breathing hard, both bleeding from minor wounds, both aware that this fight could last hours or end in the next exchange.

“You should have joined me.” Voldemort said, and there might have been genuine regret beneath the anger. “We could have been unstoppable.”

“We are unstoppable.” Gilderoy replied, his smile returning despite the pain and exhaustion. “That’s rather the problem. We’re so evenly matched that neither of us can finish this.”

It was true, and they both knew it. Voldemort had the advantage in raw power and dark magic. Gilderoy had the advantage in versatility and defensive techniques. They could duel for hours, trading curses and counters, neither gaining decisive advantage.

Around them, the chamber continued to deteriorate. The larger battle raged on. And somewhere in the back of Gilderoy’s merged consciousness, he was aware that the ritual was still progressing, still approaching whatever terrible culmination Grindelwald had designed.

But for now, in this moment, all that mattered was the duel. Two fragments of Tom Riddle— one that had chosen to remain a fragment and one that had chosen to become something more— locked in combat that neither could win.

Voldemort’s red eyes blazed with cold fury as he raised his wand for another exchange.

Gilderoy’s smile never wavered as he raised his own.

And the dance of death continued.

oooo

Adam Clarke

I was running on fumes and sheer stubbornness. My ribs screamed with every breath, my magic reserves felt dangerously low, and the taste of blood in my mouth suggested internal injuries I didn’t have time to worry about.

A wizard in gray robes— one of Grindelwald’s followers— appeared through the smoke and debris, wand already rising. The whispers fed me information in rapid bursts: Left-handed. Favors fire magic. Shield weak on right side.

I threw myself right as flames erupted where I’d been standing, rolled to my feet, and fired back with an overpowered Knockback Jinx that caught him in the ribs. He tumbled down hard, smashing his head against the rocks and not getting back up again.

Move. Two more approaching from your nine o’clock.

I spun, wand up, and found myself facing a pair of fighters working in tandem. They were good— coordinated, experienced, the kind of partnership that came from fighting together for years. Under normal circumstances, I’d be dead in seconds.

But the whispers guided me through it. Told me when to dodge, where to aim, which one to focus on first. I transfigured the floor beneath the left one’s feet, sent him sprawling, and hit the right one with a Cutting Curse before he could capitalize on his partner’s distraction.

The left one recovered quickly, rage on his face as he launched a curse I didn’t recognize. Purple light, twisting through the air like a living thing. I barely got my shield up in time, and the impact sent me stumbling backward.

His next spell will be a Blasting Curse. Aimed low, at your legs. Jump.

I jumped. The curse passed beneath me and exploded against a pile of rubble behind me. I came down already casting a Bludgeoning Curse that caught him in the chest and threw him backward into a pillar with a sickening crunch.

I stood there for a moment, breathing hard, waiting for the next threat. The chamber was absolute chaos— spells flying in every direction, bodies on the ground, sections of floor and ceiling missing from the reality-warping exchanges between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. The air itself felt wrong, like reality was wearing thin.

There. Thirty degrees to your right. Three wizards fighting back-to-back. One of them is a true magic user. Your ally.

My head snapped around, and relief flooded through me so intense it almost buckled my knees. Harry was alive. He was standing with his back pressed against Sirius and Remus, the three of them forming a defensive triangle as they fired spells at surrounding attackers.

Harry’s ancient magic crackled around him in visible arcs of blue and white, and even exhausted and battered, he looked fierce. Determined. Alive.

I started moving toward them, using chunks of broken pillar as cover, the whispers guiding me around the worst of the fighting. A stray curse passed close enough to singe my hair. A piece of debris, launched by some spell I didn’t see, nearly took my head off.

But I made it. Stumbled into their defensive formation just as Sirius dropped a Death Eater with a perfectly placed Severing Charm.

“Adam!” Harry’s voice cracked with relief, and he actually turned away from the fight for a moment to look at me. His eyes went wide. “Merlin’s beard, what happened to you?”

“Voldemort.” I managed, the single word coming out as more of a gasp than actual speech. “He— “

“You fought Voldemort?” Sirius’ voice pitched up with something between horror and disbelief. He fired a curse over my shoulder at an approaching threat, never taking his eyes off me. “Are you insane? How are you even alive?”

“Lockhart.” I said, then had to pause as a coughing fit wracked my body. Blood flecked my lips. “Lockhart saved me. He’s fighting Voldemort now.”

“Lockhart.” Remus’ tone was flat with disbelief. “Gilderoy Lockhart. When did he get here?”

“I don’t know. Wasn’t he with you?”

“No.” Sirius said, shaking his head as the group watched the immediate surroundings for any enemies. “He must have made his way here, himself. How did he know?”

“I don’t know, but he’s holding his own against Voldemort.”

Remus was already moving toward me, his wand tracing diagnostic patterns in the air.

“Don’t move.” He commanded, his voice cutting through despite the chaos around us. His wand light passed over me, and I saw his expression tighten. “Broken ribs. Internal bruising. Magical exhaustion. Adam, you should be unconscious. What’s keeping you on your feet?”

“The whispers.” I admitted. “They’re… lending me strength. But it won’t last.”

Remus’ eyes met mine, and I saw concern there. Everyone knew what accepting power from dubious sources meant. Thankfully, he didn’t argue, and instead just began casting Healing Charms. The pain in my ribs dulled slightly— not gone, but manageable.

“Here.” He said, pulling several vials from his robes. “Wiggenweld, pepper-up, and this one’s for the pain. Drink them all. Now.”

I didn’t argue. The first potion tasted like liquid fire going down, but I felt a good deal of the internal damage knit together. The pepper-up made me feel like I’d been doused in ice water, but my head cleared and my magic reserves stabilized slightly. The pain potion was blessedly sweet, and the agony in my ribs faded to a dull ache.

Not healed. Not even close. But more than functional.

“Where’s everyone else?” I asked, looking around the devastated chamber. “Hermione? Tonks? The others?”

Sirius fired another curse at a gray-robed figure trying to flank us, then answered without turning. “Scattered. The duels tore everything apart— formations, plans, everything. Last I saw, Hermione was with what’s left of the Mahoutokoro contingent somewhere on the far side of the chamber. That was quite a while ago, now.”

“And every second is worth a lifetime.” I agreed grimly, ignoring the sharp look Harry gave me.

“Tonks is over there.” Remus said, pointing toward a section of the battlefield where I could just make out purple hair through the smoke. “She’s with a squad of Aurors, subduing who they can. Kingsley’s with them.”

“And Dumbledore?” I asked, though I could feel the answer in the periodic shockwaves that rippled through reality.

“Still locked with Grindelwald.” Harry said, and his voice carried a mix of awe and terror. “Adam, it’s insane. They’re literally tearing everything apart. I don’t think anyone else can even get close to them without being killed by the overflow.”

He was right. Even from here, I could see the maelstrom at the chamber’s center where the two titans battled. The space between them was a nightmare of fractured reality, impossible colors, and forces that shouldn’t exist. Just looking at it too long made my eyes water and my head ache.

“We need to focus on what we can affect.” Remus said, ever the practical one. His diagnostic spells had shifted from me to our surroundings, mapping the battlefield. “The ritual. The anchors. That’s what matters.”

“I tried.” I said, and failure tasted bitter. “There was an unguarded anchor point— the obsidian dagger. I almost reached it, but— “

“But you tried to do it alone.” Sirius interrupted, and there was no accusation in his tone. Just statement of fact. “I saw what you were doing earlier. Going for that southeastern anchor. Brave, but bloody stupid to try alone, kid.”

“It was unguarded.” I protested. “I had to try.”

“And you nearly died for it.” Harry said quietly. His ancient magic crackled, as if responding to his emotions. “If Lockhart hadn’t been there…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to.

“Well, you’re not alone now.” Sirius said, and his grin was fierce despite the exhaustion evident in his face. “We do this together. Take down the anchors, destabilize the ritual, stop this nightmare before— “

A shockwave from the center cut him off. We all instinctively ducked as a wave of force passed overhead, strong enough to tear chunks from the already-damaged ceiling. Debris rained down, and Remus threw up a shield that deflected the worst of it.

When the dust settled, Sirius continued as if nothing had happened. “Before everything gets worse. So. Which anchor were you going for?”

“The southeastern one.” I said, pointing. “The obsidian dagger on the pedestal. The wizard guarding it fled when the big duels started. It should still be vulnerable.”

“Should be?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“The whispers said it was vulnerable.” I clarified, and saw all three of them tense slightly at the mention of the voices. “But that was before Voldemort showed up. Could be different now.”

“Only one way to find out.” Harry said. His jaw was set in that stubborn expression I’d come to recognize. Once Harry made up his mind about something, moving him was like trying to shift a mountain. “We head there together, take down whoever’s guarding it, and destroy the anchor.”

“And then?” Sirius asked.

“Then we move to the next one.” I said. “And the next one. However many it takes.”

“The ritual’s already far along.” Remus cautioned. “Breaking a few anchors might not be enough.”

“Then we break all of them.” Harry said simply. His ancient magic flared, blue and white lightning dancing across his skin. “We don’t give up. We don’t stop. Not while we’re still standing.”

I felt something loosen in my chest— tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying. I wasn’t alone. I didn’t have to carry this by myself.

“Together then.” I said.

“Together.” They echoed.

Sirius looked at each of us in turn, his expression serious despite the chaos around us. “Right. Formation. Harry and Adam in the middle— you’re both half-dead and Harry’s got that ancient magic everyone seems to want to kill. Remus and I take point. We move fast, we stay tight, and we don’t split up for anything. Clear?”

“Clear.” we chorused.

“Good. Let’s go ruin Grindelwald’s night.”

We started moving, four wizards cutting through a battlefield that had devolved into dozens of individual fights. The formation Sirius had set held— he and Remus in front, firing stunning spells and shields as needed, Harry and I following close behind, adding our magic when we could.

A Death Eater tried to intercept us. Sirius dropped him with a vicious spell that chopped his hand off before I even raised my wand.

One of Grindelwald’s gray-robed followers launched a Killing Curse from behind a pillar. Remus’ spell flinged his hand to side before he finished the cast, sending flying up to the ceiling, and Harry’s counter-curse sent the pillar toppling onto the attacker.

We were a unit. Moving together, fighting together, covering each other’s weaknesses. It felt right in a way that solo combat never had.

“There!” I called out, pointing toward the southeastern anchor point. The obsidian dagger was still there, still on its pedestal, the ritual circle around it pulsing with sickly light.

But it wasn’t unguarded anymore.

Two figures stood between us and our target. Even through the smoke and chaos, I recognized them instantly.

Matthias Auer and Vanessa Zhenya.

“Shit.” I muttered.

“You know them?” Remus asked, never taking his eyes off the two opponents.

“I do.” I said, my voice grim. “From my time with Grindelwald. These two aren’t like the others. The guy is Grindelwald’s second-in-command, and the girl is especially strong…”

Both of them looked as exhausted and battered as everyone else in the chamber. Matthias’ robes were torn and scorched, blood running from a cut above his eye. Vanessa moved with a slight limp, though her pale face showed no sign of pain.

But despite their injuries, despite the long battle, they stood ready. Professional. Dangerous.

“Adam Clarke.” Vanessa said, and her voice carried clearly despite the chaos. A Russian accent colored her words. “I wondered if you’d make it this far.”

“Vanessa. Matthias.” I acknowledged.

Then, to my companions, I said: “Listen carefully. Matthias is solid— traditional spellwork, but he’s damn good at it. Powerful caster, good tactical sense, doesn’t make mistakes often, if at all. He’s surely gotten better since then.”

“And her?” Harry asked, his eyes fixed on Vanessa.

“She’s the real threat.” I said. “Ridiculous strength and speed— inhuman. She can use ice magic wandlessly, and to great effect. Ice spikes, frost fields, freezing things from a distance.”

“Four against two.” Matthias observed before I could continue, his voice deep and calm. “Hardly sporting.”

“We’re not here to be sporting.” Sirius said, echoing his earlier words. His wand was already raised, his stance that of an experienced duelist. “Step aside. We don’t want to kill you, but we will if we have to.”

Vanessa’s smile revealed teeth that were just slightly too sharp. “Such confidence. I like that. It will make breaking you more satisfying.”

“Last chance.” Remus said, and there was steel in his voice. “Move, or we move you.”

Matthias and Vanessa exchanged a glance. Some unspoken communication passed between them.

Then they attacked.

Matthias opened with a Blasting Curse that would have taken all four of us out if we’d been standing still. We weren’t. Sirius and Remus had already been moving, anticipating the attack before it came. They split left and right, and Harry grabbed my arm, yanking me sideways as the curse detonated where we’d been standing.

Stone exploded, shrapnel peppering my shield. My ears rang from the concussion.

Before the dust even settled, Vanessa was already casting— no, not casting. Her hand moved in a fluid gesture, no wand, and suddenly the air in front of us crystallized into dozens of razor-sharp ice spikes that shot forward like arrows.

“Down!” I shouted, dropping flat. Harry did the same. The spikes passed overhead with a sound like tearing silk, and where they hit the stone behind us, they punched through like the rock was paper.

She’s even faster than you remember. The whispers noted clinically. The battle has warmed her up. She’s operating at peak efficiency now.

“Helpful.” I muttered, scrambling to my feet.

The four of us instinctively split into our planned groups. Remus and Harry peeled off toward Matthias, who was already launching his next assault— a chain of spells so fast they blurred together. Cutting Curse, Bone-Breaker, Stunner, Blasting Curse, each one flowing seamlessly into the next.

Remus matched him spell for spell, his shield work flawless, his counters harsh and fast. Meanwhile, Sirius and I faced Vanessa.

She smiled at us, and it was the expression of a predator sizing up prey. “Two against one. Better odds. But still not enough.”

Her next gesture sent a wave of frost spreading across the floor toward us, ice forming in intricate, beautiful patterns that would have been gorgeous if they weren’t so deadly. Where the frost touched stone, the rock cracked from sudden temperature change.

I transfigured the ground in front of us, raising a barrier of stone. The frost hit it and climbed, covering the barrier in ice within seconds. But it bought us time to move.

“She’s wandless with the ice magic.” I said quickly to Sirius as we circled right. “Watch her whole body, not just her wand.”

“Noted.” Sirius replied, firing a Stunner that Vanessa dodged with inhuman speed. She was there one moment, gone the next, appearing three feet to the left like she’d simply chosen not to be in the spell’s path.

“Fast.” Sirius breathed. “That’s not natural.”

“Vampire heritage or something similar.” I said. “Enhanced physical abilities. Probably enhanced healing too.”

As if to prove my point, Vanessa launched herself forward— not with magic, but with pure physical speed. One moment she was fifteen feet away, the next she was in Sirius’ face, her wand moving in a tight pattern I recognized as a Cutting Curse at point-blank range.

Sirius threw up a shield, but she was already moving again, her free hand sweeping out in that wandless gesture. Ice formed in the air between us, not spikes this time but a solid wall that separated me from Sirius.

“Adam!” Sirius’ voice came from the other side, muffled.

I could hear spell impacts on his side of the wall. She was pressing him hard.

The ice is six inches thick, the whispers said. Melt it or shatter it. Quickly.

I hit the wall with a Fire-Making Charm, pouring as much magic into it as I dared. Steam hissed and billowed, but the ice was resilient, fighting back against the heat. It would take too long.

“Bombarda!” I switched tactics, hitting the ice with an Explosion Curse instead. The wall shattered into thousands of fragments, and I saw Vanessa mid-motion, her wand pointed at where Sirius had been a moment before.

Sirius had rolled away, was already coming to his feet, and together we hit her from two angles simultaneously. My Bludgeoning Curse from the left, his Cutter from the right.

She avoided both, that impossible speed carrying her backward in a leap that should have required a launching spell. As she moved, her hand swept out again, and ice spikes erupted from the ground where Sirius and I stood.

We both had to throw ourselves aside. I felt one spike graze my shoulder, cutting through my robes and drawing blood. The cold was intense, almost burning.

“This is annoying!” Sirius called out, firing curse after curse at Vanessa’s position. She danced between them, her movements almost graceful, like she was performing rather than fighting for her life. “She’s too fast— only one choice.”

“Yes.” I said, thinking much the same thing. “We make her come to us.”

Clever. The whispers approved. Use her aggression against her. She enjoys the close combat. It makes her overconfident.

I started targeting the ground around her instead of at her directly. Transfiguration, rapid-fire, changing the stone to ice, to sand, to mud, to anything that would make her footing unstable.

Sirius caught on immediately. “Making her dance, are we?”

“Something like that.”

Vanessa’s smile widened as she realized what we were doing. “Clever boys. But it won’t be enough.”

She proved it by simply creating her own platforms— ice forming under her feet with each step, giving her stable ground no matter what we did to the floor. She moved across her self-made platforms like they were solid ground, closing the distance between us with frightening speed.

Too fast. She was going to reach us before— 

Harry’s ancient magic blazed across the battlefield, a wall of blue-white energy that forced Vanessa to abort her charge. She skidded to a halt, ice forming around her in a defensive shell as a lightning bolt crashed over her position.

“Thanks!” I called out.

“Could use some help here ourselves!” Harry shouted back, and I caught a glimpse of him and Remus working in tandem against Matthias. The larger man was good— very good. His spells were powerful and precise, each one placed to maximum effect.

But he was facing two opponents, and one of them had magic that seemed to operate on different rules than normal spellcasting.

Matthias launched what looked like a modified Piercing Hex. Remus deflected it with a shield, and Harry’s counter— a supercharged Banishing Charm— caught Matthias in the shoulder, spinning him around.

But Matthias recovered almost instantly, his next spell already forming. A Bone-Breaker aimed low, at Harry’s legs.

Harry jumped, his ancient magic carrying him higher than any normal leap should allow, and while he was airborne, Remus hit Matthias with a Stunner that the man barely blocked.

They were winning that exchange. Slowly, but winning.

Which meant Sirius and I needed to step up our game against Vanessa.

She emerged from her ice shell, apparently deciding Harry’s intervention meant she needed to end this faster. Her expression had lost its playful quality, replaced by cold calculation.

“No more games.” She said, and I believed her.

What followed was the most intense thirty seconds of combat I’d experienced outside of facing Voldemort.

Vanessa attacked with everything she had. Ice spikes from six different angles simultaneously. A frost wave that spread across the ground at impossible speed. A Cutting Curse from her wand while her free hand was already forming another ice spike behind us.

Sirius and I moved like our lives depended on it— because they did. Shield, dodge, counter, move, shield again. The whispers were a constant stream in my mind, warning me of attacks before they fully formed, but even with their guidance, I was operating on pure survival instinct.

Duck left— spike forming at your four o’clock— shield won’t be enough for that Cutting Curse, dodge instead— she’s flanking right, Sirius doesn’t see it— 

“Sirius, right side!” I shouted, throwing a Blasting Curse at where Vanessa was moving.

He spun, his own curse joining mine, and together we forced her back a step.

One step. That was all we got before she was pressing forward again.

I saw her hand move in that wandless gesture and knew what was coming. Ice forming, not to attack but to constrain. She was trying to freeze our feet to the ground, to take away our mobility.

“Jump!” I grabbed Sirius’ arm and we both leaped backward, my Levitation Charm barely getting us clear before ice locked down where we’d been standing.

We landed hard, rolled, came up already casting. Sirius hit her with a Blasting Curse that she blocked with an ice wall. I used the moment she was blind to transfigure the stone beneath her platforms, turning it to something slippery.

For just a second— just a fraction of a second— her perfect balance wavered.

That’s all Sirius needed. His Bludgeoner caught her in the side, and while it didn’t drop her— whatever enhancements she had apparently included resistance to such spells— it staggered her.

I followed up with another Bludgeoning Curse that she barely deflected. Then another. Then a Cutting Curse aimed not at her but at her ice platforms.

They shattered, and she fell.

Only about four feet, but it broke her rhythm, disrupted her perfect control of the battle. She landed in a crouch, and for the first time since the fight started, she looked actually threatened rather than just entertained.

“Better.” She acknowledged, rising smoothly. But there was blood on her lip now— Sirius’ Stunner had done some damage after all. “Much better. You’ve both improved.”

“We’re not done yet.” Sirius said, and there was grim satisfaction in his voice.

She launched another assault, and this time there was real killing intent behind it. Ice spikes, Cutting Curses, wandless frost magic— all of it coming at once, a coordinated barrage designed to overwhelm our defenses.

She’s committing too much to the attack. The whispers noted. Her defense is weakening. If you can weather this assault, she’ll be vulnerable.

“How long?” I muttered, throwing up shield after shield as ice and curses hammered our position.

Four seconds. Three. Two.

The barrage ended, and for a heartbeat— just one heartbeat— Vanessa was recovering, her magic reserves depleted from that massive assault, her stance fractionally off-balance.

Odgovor! I cast, chains coming into existence, imbued as much impact as I could fill into them.

She tried to move, but the end of the chain caught her in the shoulder, before spinning around her and hitting her dead center in the chest.

She went down. Not unconscious— her enhancements were too strong for that— but down, on one knee, her wand hand shaking as she tried to raise it for another spell.

Do not forget your target.

I know, but I’ll never turn my back to this woman.

I prepared to finish her off.

“Adam, no!”

I’d been so focused on Vanessa that I hadn’t been watching the other fight closely enough. Hadn’t seen Matthias launching a wide-area Blasting Curse, hadn’t realized it was aimed not at Harry or Remus but at the space between all of us.

The curse detonated in the center of the battlefield.

The shockwave hit like a physical wall. I was airborne before I could react, tumbling through space, my wand flying from my hand. Dimly, I was aware of the others being thrown in different directions.

I hit something hard— a chunk of debris, maybe— and the impact drove the air from my lungs despite Remus’ earlier healing. My vision swam, my broken ribs screaming in protest.

Get up get up GET UP— 

I forced myself to move, to roll over, to search for my wand in the debris. Found it three feet away, grabbing the ebony stick with shaking hands.

The explosion had disrupted the fight. Vanessa was using the moment to recover, ice forming around her as she shattered the chains binding her. And worse; Matthias and she were both moving toward each other, regrouping, getting ready to— 

“Not so fast!” Harry’s voice rang out, and his ancient magic sent a barrage of lightning bolts that crashed against Matthias’ shield and began crushing it.

Remus was there a moment later, adding his own magic to the assault.

Sirius appeared from behind a chunk of rubble, blood running down his face but his wand steady. He saw me struggling to stand and changed course, heading toward me instead of the enemies.

“You alright?” He called out.

“Fine.” I lied, taking his offered hand and letting him pull me to my feet. “We need to— “

Vanessa’s ice exploded outward, shards flying in all directions. Sirius threw up a shield that protected us both, but the force of it pushed us back several steps.

She emerged from the dissipating ice, her pale face set in an expression of cold fury. The playfulness was gone completely now. Whatever enhancements she had were running full throttle— I could see the way her muscles tensed, the slight luminescence in her eyes that suggested magic running through her entire body.

“Enough.” She said, and her voice carried an edge that made my skin crawl.

On the other side of the fragmented battlefield, I could see Matthias as well. His shield was down, he was bleeding from a dozen minor wounds, but he looked far from finished. The explosion had scrambled our positions, mixed us up, turned the battle into a chaotic free-for-all where any of us could be attacked from any direction.

Matthias launched a curse at Harry, who was closest to him. Harry blocked it, but the deflection sent the spell careening toward where Sirius and I stood. We both had to dodge, which pulled us out of position to counter Vanessa’s next attack.

Her ice spikes forced us to split up— Sirius rolling left, me diving right. This put me closer to where Remus was engaging Matthias, which meant I took a stray Cutting Curse aimed at the werewolf.

My shield absorbed it, barely, but the impact sent me stumbling backward. Right into Vanessa’s range.

I saw her hand move, knew what was coming, couldn’t do anything to stop it. Ice formed around my feet, locking me in place. Not just surface ice— this was solid, inches thick, spreading up my legs with frightening speed.

“Adam!” Harry’s voice, panicked.

Vanessa’s wand came up, pointed directly at my chest. At this range, even a basic Knockback Jinx would probably crack my already-damaged ribs. Anything stronger would kill me.

Transfigure the ice— no time— shield won’t work she’s too close— 

Then Sirius was there, crashing into Vanessa from the side with a physical tackle that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with desperation. They went down in a tangle of limbs, and I heard Sirius grunt in pain as Vanessa’s enhanced strength came into play.

But it gave me the seconds I needed. I transfigured the ice around my legs into water, kicked free, and immediately sent a Blasting Curse at where Vanessa was trying to pin Sirius.

She had to abandon her attack to roll away from my curse, which let Sirius scramble clear.

“Thanks.” He gasped.

“We’re even.” I replied, then had to duck as Matthias’ curse— meant for Remus— passed overhead close enough that I felt the heat of it.

This was unsustainable. We were all getting in each other’s way, all having to divide our attention between offense and not being killed by friendly fire. The chamber’s chaotic layout— broken pillars, cratered floor, debris everywhere— made coordinated tactics nearly impossible.

Regroup, the whispers urged. Pull back, establish position, attack from a unified front.

“Pull back!” I shouted, hoping the others could hear me over the chaos. “Regroup!”

Harry heard me. I saw him grab Remus’ arm, saw them both start moving toward where Sirius and I were positioned. We were maybe twenty feet apart, scattered across this section of the battlefield.

Vanessa and Matthias saw what we were doing. Saw the danger of letting us reestablish our defensive formation. Matthias launched a Blasting Curse between us, trying to keep us separated. Vanessa sent ice spikes at Harry and Remus, forcing them to dodge rather than advance.

But we kept moving. Sirius and I provided covering fire, buying the other two precious seconds. Harry’s ancient magic blazed, creating a barrier that absorbed the worst of Matthias’ follow-up curse.

And then we were together again. Four of us, back-to-back in a rough circle, wands out, ready.

“This isn’t working.” Remus said, breathing hard. “We’re too evenly matched.”

“We have numbers.” Sirius countered. “Four against two. That’s an advantage.”

“Not enough of one.” Harry said. “They’re too good. Too experienced. Matthias’ power is nearly on par with some of the instructors back at Hogwarts, and Vanessa’s enhancements make her incredibly difficult to pin down.”

Focus fire. The whispers suggested. Concentrate all attacks on one target. Break their formation.

“We can win.” I said aloud, trusting that they’d follow my reasoning even if they couldn’t hear the whispers. “We need to focus. All of us on one target.”

“Which one?” Sirius asked.

I looked at our opponents. Matthias was powerful, disciplined, dangerous. But Vanessa was the wild card, the one with abilities that didn’t follow normal rules, the one who’d been pressing us hardest.

“Vanessa.” I decided. “All of us, on her. Coordinate our attacks, don’t give her room to dodge or counter. Overwhelm her speed with volume.”

“And Matthias?” Remus asked.

“We tank his spells. Shields, dodges, whatever it takes. But we don’t split our offense.”

It was risky. Matthias could do serious damage if we weren’t actively countering him. But fighting them both at once wasn’t working.

“Then, on three.” Harry said, gathering himself.

“One…” Sirius said.

“Two…” Came from Remus.

“Three!” I roared.

We attacked as one.

Four different spells, from four different angles, all aimed at Vanessa simultaneously. My Bludgeoning Curse from the left, Sirius’ Blasting Curse from the right, Remus’ Cutting Curse from below, Harry’s ancient magic— another bolt of lightning— from above.

Vanessa’s eyes widened fractionally. Even her enhanced speed couldn’t dodge in four directions at once.

She tried anyway. She moved left, which put her in the path of Sirius’ Blasting Curse, created an ice shield below to block Remus’ Curse while also using it as a stepping stone.

She couldn’t avoid everything.

My Bludgeoning Curse whiffed her, but it crashed against her stepping stone, forcing her to move straight into the path of Harry’s bolt of lightning, which crashed into her ice shield and shattered it, the overflow catching her shoulder.

She went down hard, really down this time, her body hitting the stone floor with an impact I felt through my feet.

But we’d left ourselves exposed to Matthias.

His curse— something dark and twisting that I didn’t recognize— caught Remus in the chest. The werewolf went down with a cry of pain, his wand clattering from his hand.

“Remus!” Sirius’ anguished shout.

We’d hurt one but lost one of our own. The math wasn’t in our favor.

Matthias pressed his advantage, launching another curse at Harry while we were distracted. Harry blocked it with a shield, but the effort was clearly taxing him. His face was pale, his magic flickering.

Vanessa was struggling to her feet, blood running from her nose and mouth, her movements finally showing signs of real damage. But she was still standing. Still dangerous.

Remus was struggling to his knees, reaching for his wand with shaking hands. Whatever Matthias’ curse had done, it had hurt— badly— but at least he was alive.

“Cover Remus!” I shouted, throwing up a shield as Matthias lined up what looked like a finishing blow.

The curse— another of those dark, twisting things— splashed against my hastily erected barrier. The impact sent shockwaves up my arm and I felt my shield crack, but it held. Barely.

Sirius was already moving to Remus’ side, one hand grabbing the werewolf’s arm while his wand stayed trained on our enemies. “Can you fight?”

“Give me… a moment.” Remus gasped, and even through the pain his voice carried that stubborn determination I’d come to associate with the Marauders. He managed to get his wand up, though his hand trembled. “Just… need to…”

There wasn’t time for him to recover. Vanessa had regained her feet, and despite the blood running from her nose and the way she favored her left side, her eyes still held that predatory gleam.

“You actually hurt me.” She said, and there was something like respect beneath the fury. “I haven’t been hurt like that in years.”

“Then you’ve been overdue.” I shot back. “Want to try for round two?”

Matthias moved to stand beside Vanessa, and I saw them exchange another of those wordless communications. They were regrouping, reassessing, preparing for a coordinated assault that would capitalize on Remus’ injury.

They recognize Harry as the primary threat, the whispers noted. The one with ancient magic, unpredictable power. They will focus on eliminating him first.

“Harry.” I said urgently. “They’re going to target you. Be ready.”

He nodded, his jaw set in that stubborn expression. “Let them try.”

What happened next was exactly what the whispers had predicted, and somehow that made it worse. Knowing it was coming didn’t make it any easier to counter.

Matthias and Vanessa attacked simultaneously, their assault coordinated with the precision that came from fighting together for years. Matthias opened with a wide-area Blasting Curse that forced us all to scatter, breaking up our defensive formation. In the same heartbeat, Vanessa launched herself forward— not toward Harry directly, but toward the space we’d occupy after dodging Matthias’ spell.

She’d predicted our movements. Planned for them.

I rolled right and came up to find her already there, her wand pointed at my chest from three feet away. Too close to dodge, too close for a proper shield.

“Nothing personal.”

The Bludgeoner should have ended me. Would have ended me, with my already-damaged ribs and exhausted state.

But Harry’s ancient magic saved me again. A barrier of blue-white energy materialized between Vanessa and me, and her spell splashed against it like water against stone.

Which left Harry exposed to Matthias’ follow-up curse.

The Bone-Breaker caught Harry in the shoulder. I heard the crack from where I stood, saw Harry’s face go white with pain, saw him stagger.

“Harry!” My voice mixed with Sirius’ shout.

Matthias was already casting his next spell, a Cutting Curse aimed to capitalize on Harry’s injury. But Remus— wounded, shaking, operating on pure stubborn will— managed to deflect it with a shield charm that looked like it cost him everything he had left.

The curse went wide, passing between Harry and Sirius, and slammed into a chunk of debris behind us. Stone exploded, shrapnel raining down.

And that’s when the battle truly became chaos.

Vanessa, seeing Harry injured, pressed her advantage. Ice spikes erupted from the ground, dozens of them, all aimed at Harry’s position. He threw himself backward, his good arm raised, his ancient magic flaring defensive even through the pain.

I tried to help, fired a Blasting Curse at Vanessa to force her attention away from Harry. But Matthias intercepted with his own curse, and the two spells met in mid-air and exploded, creating a cloud of smoke and debris that obscured the battlefield.

Through the smoke, I saw shapes moving. Heard spells being cast. But couldn’t track who was where.

Left— someone moving fast— 

I spun left and barely avoided a curse that I think came from Vanessa. Couldn’t be sure through the smoke. I fired back blindly, heard it impact something but couldn’t tell if I’d hit flesh or stone.

“Sound off!” Sirius’ voice cut through the chaos. “Everyone sound off!”

“Here!” I called back.

“Still standing!” Harry’s voice, tight with pain but determined.

“Alive!” Remus, sounding like speaking cost him.

The smoke was clearing, slowly, and as my vision returned I realized we’d all been scattered again. Worse than before. Harry was to my left, clutching his injured shoulder, his ancient magic flickering around him in an unstable pattern. Sirius was to my right, blood streaming from a cut above his eye that I hadn’t seen him take. Remus was behind me, leaning heavily against a broken pillar, his wand raised but his stance unsteady.

And Matthias and Vanessa were in the center, between us, positioned so they could attack any of us without the others being able to support effectively.

They’d maneuvered us exactly where they wanted us.

This is bad, the whispers said unnecessarily. Separated, injured, running low on magic. They can pick you off one by one now.

Matthias proved the whispers right by immediately targeting the weakest link. His wand snapped toward Remus, and the curse he launched was meant to kill.

“No!” Sirius threw himself into the spell’s path, his shield barely coming up in time. The impact drove him to his knees, his shield shattering under the assault, but he’d bought Remus the second needed to dodge.

Harry retaliated, his ancient magic lashing out despite his injured shoulder. The blast of power caught Matthias in the side, throwing him backward, but Vanessa was already moving to cover him.

Ice formed in the air— not spikes this time but a solid wall, blocking Harry’s follow-up attack. She moved behind her ice barrier, her hands working in those wandless gestures, and suddenly the floor beneath Harry’s feet was freezing, ice spreading up his legs.

“Harry, move!” I shouted, already casting. My Reductor Curse hit the ice around Harry’s feet, shattering it before it could fully form.

But helping Harry meant I wasn’t watching Vanessa, and she took advantage. An ice spike materialized from the side— I didn’t even see her cast it— and slammed into my hastily raised shield. The impact sent me staggering, and before I could recover, Matthias was there.

His curse caught me in the chest. Dark purple light that felt like being punched by a giant. My feet left the ground, my vision went white with pain, and suddenly I was airborne again.

I crashed into something— another pillar, my brain registered dimly— and slid down to the ground in a heap. Every nerve in my body was screaming. The borrowed strength from the whispers was fading fast, leaving me with just my own depleted reserves and battered body.

Get up. The whispers urged. If you stay down, you die.

I tried. God, I tried, but my body wasn’t cooperating. My arms wouldn’t support my weight, my legs wouldn’t respond, my magic felt like a guttering candle about to go out.

Through swimming vision, I saw the battle continuing without me. Saw Harry and Sirius fighting back-to-back now, their coordination the only thing keeping them alive against Matthias’ relentless assault. Saw Remus trying to contribute despite his injuries, his curses weak but still buying the others precious seconds.

Saw Vanessa turn toward me, see me down, and start moving in for the kill.

No no no— get UP— 

My hand found my wand. My fingers closed around it, numb and clumsy. I tried to raise it, tried to cast anything that would defend me, but I was too slow, too injured, too exhausted.

Vanessa was above me now, looking down with something like pity in her pale eyes. “You fought well, Adam Clarke. Far better than I expected. You should have joined Clan Zhenya, but it seems that this is where it ends.”

Her wand came up.

And then the world exploded in blue-white light.

Harry’s ancient magic erupted across the battlefield with a force I’d never seen from him before. Not a focused blast, not a controlled surge— this was raw power, desperate and wild, fueled by seeing one of his friends about to die.

The wave of energy hit Vanessa like a physical blow, picking her up and hurling her backward twenty feet. It washed over Matthias too, disrupting whatever spell he’d been casting, forcing him onto the defensive.

And it gave me the seconds I needed.

I forced myself up. Every movement was agony, every breath felt like knives in my chest, but I stood. My legs shook, my vision swam, but I was on my feet.

That’s it. The whispers encouraged. Just a bit longer. You can rest when you’re dead.

“Thanks for the pep talk.” I muttered, stumbling toward where Harry and Sirius were regrouping.

Remus had somehow made it to them too, the four of us drawing together again like magnets. We were all wounded now— Harry’s shoulder, Remus’ chest, Sirius’ head, my everything. But we were together.

Matthias and Vanessa recovered quickly, both of them looking worse for wear but far from finished. Vanessa’s earlier grace was gone, replaced by a limp and visible exhaustion. Matthias’ left arm hung useless at his side, but his wand hand was steady.

“They’re running out too.” Sirius observed, and despite everything, there was hope in his voice. “They’re just better at hiding it.”

“Almost there.” Harry said through gritted teeth. “We just need to outlast them.”

“Easier said than done.” Remus replied, but he was already moving into position.

I launched a Cutting Curse toward Matthias while Sirius hit him with a Stunner from a different angle. Matthias blocked my curse but took Sirius’ Stunner on his shield, the impact staggering him.

Harry and Remus focused on Vanessa, their spells coordinated to exploit her limp. She dodged Harry’s blast of magic but moved directly into Remus’ Bludgeoning Curse. It caught her in the already-injured side, and I heard her gasp of pain even from where I stood.

“Again!” Harry shouted, and we repeated the pattern.

This time Matthias managed to block both attacks, but it cost him— I could see his shield flickering, his magic reserves running low. His counter-curse was weaker than his previous attacks, lacking the overwhelming power he’d displayed earlier.

Vanessa created another ice barrier, but it was thinner than before, and when Harry’s ancient magic hit it, it shattered immediately instead of absorbing the impact.

We were winning. Slowly, painfully, at enormous cost— but winning.

They know it too. The whispers observed. Watch. They will attempt to retreat soon.

And sure enough, I saw Matthias and Vanessa exchange another glance. This one held no strategy, no tactical coordination. Just acknowledgment of a simple truth: they couldn’t win this fight.

Matthias made the decision. His next spell wasn’t aimed at any of us— it was aimed at the ground between our groups. The Blasting Curse detonated with tremendous force, creating a wall of smoke and debris.

When it cleared, both of them were backing away, moving toward the edges of the battlefield where the larger chaos of the chamber would give them cover.

“They’re running!” Sirius started forward, ready to pursue.

“No!” I grabbed his arm. “The anchor. That’s what matters.”

He hesitated, clearly torn between the desire to finish this fight and the tactical necessity of completing our objective. Finally, he nodded. I was right. As much as it galled him— and me, to be honest— to let them escape, we had a more important objective.

“The anchor.” I said, turning toward the obsidian dagger still sitting on its pedestal. “Let’s destroy it and move to the next one.”

The four of us approached the southeastern anchor point, moving slowly, every step a monumental effort. The obsidian dagger sat exactly as I’d first seen it— sleek, dark, radiating malevolent power. The ritual circle around it pulsed with sickly light, runes I couldn’t read writhing across the stone.

“Careful.” Remus said, his instincts taking over despite his injuries. “It’ll be warded. Direct destruction could cause a backlash.”

He is correct. The whispers confirmed. The wards are layered. Elemental protection, curse deflection, structural reinforcement. You must unravel them carefully.

“I can see the wards.” I said, and it was true. With my enhanced sight, I could perceive the magical protections wrapped around the dagger like invisible threads. “It’s like I’m using Inspicere Empiricus. Multiple layers. This will take time.”

“We’ll keep watch.” Sirius said, positioning himself with his back to us, his wand trained on the battlefield. “Harry, with me.”

Harry moved to cover the opposite direction, his injured shoulder held tight against his body, his ancient magic still flickering around him in unstable patterns.

That left Remus and me to handle the wards.

“Talk me through what you see.” Remus said, his wand already moving in diagnostic patterns.

I described the wards as I perceived them— the outer layer of elemental protection, designed to resist fire, ice, and lightning. The middle layer of curse deflection, meant to redirect harmful spells away from the artifact. The inner layer of structural reinforcement, making the dagger itself nearly indestructible.

Remus murmured to himself for a moment before speaking up. “Grindelwald’s people knew what they were doing. We need to unravel them in reverse order— structural first, then deflection, then elemental.”

I would have attempted to Spellbreak this, but this was all I could do, at the moment. I didn’t think I had it in me to combat something of that nature.

We worked in tandem, his experience and my unique sight complementing each other. He knew the counter-curses, the specific wand movements needed to unweave protective enchantments. I could see exactly where to apply them, which threads to pull first, how the wards interconnected.

It was delicate work, requiring concentration we could barely muster in our exhausted state. My hands shook as I traced the patterns Remus described. His voice wavered with pain, but his instructions remained clear and precise.

Minutes passed— or maybe just seconds, time felt distorted in this hellish chamber. Around us, the larger battle continued to rage. I heard screams, explosions, the reality-warping crashes of Dumbledore and Grindelwald’s ongoing duel.

“Almost there.” Remus said, sweat beading on his forehead. “Just this last layer… there!”

The final ward unraveled, the protective magic dissipating like smoke. The obsidian dagger sat before us, finally vulnerable.

“Harry.” I called. “It’s ready.”

Harry turned from his guard position, his eyes finding the now-unprotected artifact. His ancient magic surged, responding to his intent, gathering around him in a swirling vortex of blue-white energy.

“Allow me.” He said, and there was grim satisfaction in his voice.

He raised his Holly wand, and his ancient magic lashed out like a whip. The power struck the obsidian dagger dead center, and for a moment nothing happened.

Then the dagger exploded.

Not a physical explosion— something more fundamental. The artifact shattered into countless fragments that dissolved before they hit the ground, unmade at a molecular level. The ritual circle around it flared once, brilliant and blinding, before going completely dark.

Throughout the chamber, I felt a ripple of disruption. Like a discordant note in a symphony, or a thread being pulled from a tapestry.

One anchor broken. The whispers confirmed, their tone unreadable. The ritual destabilizes slightly. But it continues. The geometry shifts to compensate. You have bought yourselves time, nothing more.

“One down.” Sirius said, allowing himself a small grin despite his exhaustion and injuries. “That’s something, at least.”

“How many more?” Harry asked, his eyes scanning the chamber, trying to count the remaining anchor points through the chaos.

I reached out with that strange sense the whispers had awakened, trying to perceive the ritual’s structure. I could feel the remaining anchors— points of concentrated power scattered throughout the chamber, each one maintaining a piece of the working.

“At least five or six others still active.” I said. “Maybe more. It’s hard to tell through all the magical interference.”

“Then we keep going.” Remus said, straightening up despite the obvious pain it cost him. His wand was steady again, his voice firm. “We hit the next one, and the next one, until either the ritual fails or we do.”

“Cheerful.” Sirius commented. But he was already moving, heading toward the next anchor point visible through the smoke and chaos. “Come on, then. No rest for the wicked.”

We fell into formation again— battered, exhausted, running on pure determination and borrowed time. Four wizards against an apocalypse.

But we weren’t giving up.

Not while we could still stand.

Not while there were still anchors to destroy.

Not while there was still a chance, however slim, that we could stop this nightmare before it consumed everything.