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Fawkes dropped into view like a comet, wings flaring bright gold, light washing over the shattered hall. A second later, Dumbledore stepped from the fire beside him, robes rippling with heat.
Harry's wand arm stilled mid-cast.
Voldemort's spell fizzled at the tip.
Dumbledore didn't speak at first. Just stood there, between them and the wreckage of the fight, eyes sharp and clear.
He looked from Voldemort, battered and bleeding, to Harry, calm and unblinking.
Dumbledore looked at Harry. "I heard Voldemort attacked the Ministry. I came as fast as I could."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Did you just break the Anti-Portkey ward?"
Dumbledore blinked, then gave a small "Oh," as if only just realising. "It must've been Fawkes's fires. I was in such a rush to assist, I didn't consider—"
"Brilliant," Harry cut in. "We set up layered portkey locks for a reason."
Voldemort reached out, his fingers curling around one of the orbs tucked neatly on the shelf. The glass shimmered, faintly pulsing, and then... he crushed it.
It shattered cleanly in his palm.
A soft light escaped the broken glass, followed by a woman's voice that rang clear and smooth through the Hall...
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...
Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...
And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...
And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives...
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
The echo of it faded into the stone, leaving a sharp silence in its place.
Before they could say anything more, Voldemort's hand slipped into his pocket... and without a sound, he vanished.
No flash. No sound. One blink, and he wasn't there.
Harry didn't even swear. He just looked at the space where Voldemort had stood, jaw tight.
Tracey said it for him. "Oh, come on."
Susan stepped forward. "Was that a pocket portkey?"
Everyone had circled back around Harry now, a little scorched, a little smoky, but still in one piece. The final few Dementors were being chased off through the far corridor... Kingsley was wrapping things up with a steady barrage of Patronus bursts while Moody limped forward, wand still raised, glaring at every shadow just in case.
Amelia Bones didn't look pleased.
She stepped forward, eyes sharp, and turned on Dumbledore without so much as a pause. "You just let the Dark Lord escape."
Dumbledore didn't flinch. "That was not my intention."
"Oh, I am certain it wasn't," Amelia said, arms crossed. "But the result is the same."
Susan winced. Harry didn't say anything. He just cracked his neck. Then he looked at Dumbledore.
"Lovely entrance, by the way," Harry said. "Next time, maybe use the front door."
Dumbledore gave him a look... half-concerned, half-exhausted. "Fawkes reacted to the disturbance. I followed."
"You also tripped our entire lockdown," Tracey pointed out, not bothering to sugarcoat it.
"I didn't mean to override..."
"But you did," Daphne cut in. "And he slipped through the gap."
Hermione stepped in before it got worse. "We had him."
"We did," Harry agreed. "And now we don't."
Moody stepped in, brushing frost off his coat. "Wards are holding again. No more magical interference for now."
Kingsley growled, "That won't matter if he is halfway to Albania by the time we re-align."
Dumbledore looked around the group... smoke in the air, floor scorched. "I will answer for it."
Harry shook his head. "Let's wrap up Dementors."
The others didn't need telling twice. Tracey was already on the move, flicking her wand toward the far corridor where the last few stragglers had tried slipping back in. A burst of silver streaked from the tip, her hawk Patronus darted forward, scattering the cloaked figures like moths in a storm.
"Go on, then," she muttered. "Out you go."
Susan followed up from the opposite side, her badger tearing through the smoke, solid and bright. "Don't leave any of them lingering. They will crawl back if we let them."
Hermione glanced at the runes still glowing faintly along the walls. "The containment is holding for now, but we will need to re-anchor the upper levels. Tonks, can you send someone?"
"I've already got Daniels and Mira handling it," Tonks replied, waving her mirror briefly. "They are patching up the breach point where he broke the fourth barrier."
Across the hall, Moody grunted something and hobbled toward one of the twisted steel gates. "I will double-check the side corridors. Don't want him leaving us a gift."
"You think he planted anything?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.
"He is petty," Kingsley said. "Wouldn't put it past him."
He was still issuing orders through the rune-screen. "Level Eight is cleared. We've pulled everyone from Archive and Misuse. No casualties."
"Miracle," Tracey muttered under her breath.
"I heard that," Kingsley called back, not looking up.
Astoria, who'd stayed near the chalk array until now, finally stepped forward and slipped her wand into her sleeve. "I can take down the pattern now, yeah?"
Harry gave a short nod. "Yeah. Thanks."
She knelt, brushing the final lines away with her sleeve, careful not to smudge the still-glowing residue onto her shoes.
Luna had moved back near the centre platform, gently brushing off one of the shattered orbs that hadn't been part of the prophecy. "Most of these are still intact," she said absently. "The echoes are quite stubborn."
Harry noticed Dumbledore watching them. The man wasn't saying anything, just standing there with that faint look of surprise, like he'd expected a different ending to all this. No one acknowledged it. No one turned. No one said a thing to him beyond the pointed blame for tripping the lockdown.
No one greeted him. No warm welcome. No gasps of relief. Not a single "thank Merlin you're here." Because he wasn't. He hadn't been. Voldemort had already come and gone.
The group moved around him like he was furniture. Nothing stopped. No one asked what they were doing outside school or whether they would be punished. They just kept going, finishing up what they started before the interruption.
They moved on. Business continued.
Harry stood with the others, wand still loosely in hand, glancing across the hall where Tonks and Kingsley were wrapping up the last of the corridor sweeps. Tracey was muttering under her breath, watching her Patronus hawk fade into light as the last lingering Dementors slithered into the distance. Daphne wiped a streak of soot off her arm with the back of her sleeve. Astoria still rubbing chalk lines away with a damp cloth, humming softly under her breath.
Harry didn't bother giving him more attention. Dumbledore could stand there all day for all he cared.
But the rest of the room had finally caught up to the reality they just witnessed.
The Aurors had stopped moving.
A handful of Unspeakables leaned against the far wall, their enchanted hoods lowered, staring.
It was just starting to register for them.
Harry Potter had just stood toe-to-toe with Voldemort... and pushed him back. Had him cornered. Could've finished it if not for the phoenix flash and that bloody portkey.
He didn't just survive. He didn't run. He didn't flinch.
He had won.
They didn't know what to do with that.
Because it had finally sunk in.
Harry Potter had just faced the Dark Lord.
He won.
And not in a fluke, last-second, lucky twist. He fought. Spell for spell. Curse for curse. Voldemort, the name half the country still wouldn't whisper, got pushed back. Cornered. Forced to escape like a common thief.
Some of the younger Aurors didn't quite know what to do with themselves. One of them, a wiry bloke in plain robes with a badge slightly crooked, stared at Harry like he was seeing a ghost. The Unspeakables hadn't moved in minutes. Even Moody, who'd seen worse than most, gave Harry a long look before grunting and moving on.
But what was most grating, what had begun to really gnaw at the Ministry staff and even the few remaining Unspeakables, wasn't just the duel.
It was the way Harry and his friends carried themselves after it.
Like it was expected.
No rush of adrenaline. No stunned expressions or frantic check-ins. No talk of "we made it" or "thank Merlin." Not even a pause to gather themselves. They weren't shocked they'd lived. They were irritated that Voldemort had escaped.
They weren't shaken. They were irritated. Like they'd been interrupted.
Like this wasn't the first time they'd prepared for a scene like this.
Harry was watching the last Dementors get chased off like he just finished cleaning up someone else's mess.
"Think he will come back for another go?" Tracey asked, nudging her shoulder against the stone as she flicked bits of chalk dust off her sleeves.
"If he does," Harry said, "he would better aim properly this time."
"Could write him a guide," Daphne muttered, crouched beside one of the fallen pillars, inspecting the scorch marks. "Step one... don't miss."
"He did try," Ginny said, coming up beside them, her hair a little singed on the ends. "Bit dramatic with the wand-flailing, wasn't he?"
"Oh, absolutely," Tracey replied. "I was waiting for the cape to swirl."
Behind them, Astoria let out a giggle as she dragged the last chalked piece of the array into a pouch. "He looked like he was going to cry when his wand snapped."
"I saw that," Susan added. "Bit tragic."
An Unspeakable nearby flinched slightly, glancing over like he wasn't sure if they were being serious.
They were.
"You lot don't look like you just faced the Dark Lord," someone muttered... one of the junior Aurors.
They ignored him.
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