Chapter 154: The Dark Lord Descends
"Would you believe me if I said I could feel you here?" Elian dodged another Death Eater who'd somehow circled around to cut off his path, the man's curse singing past his ear. "Like a very loud, very reckless heartbeat?"
Sirius laughed, the sound wild and free as he charged past Elian to engage Bellatrix directly. The cousins clashed in a shower of sparks, Sirius dodging a jet of red light with inches to spare, his answering grin pure.
"You're enjoying this," Elian muttered, already moving to flank—
And then he saw it. The second curse, silent and aimed, coming straight for Sirius's unprotected back.
Elian didn't think. He moved.
The world compressed to a single point as he teleported, his shoulder connecting with Sirius's ribs hard enough to send them both sprawling. The Killing Curse passed through the space where Sirius's heart had been a heartbeat before.
"Watch it!" Elian snarled, shoving himself upright and dragging Sirius with him. "I came here to save you, not watch you die! Harry would never forgive me if—"
"Sorry, sorry!" Sirius grinned, entirely unrepentant. "Bit busy here, you know how it is. Thanks for the save."
His eyes hardened as they found Bellatrix again. "But I'm not letting her get away. Not after what she did to Neville's parents."
Bellatrix heard. Of course she did. Her cackle echoed off the glass spheres, sending shivers through the darkness.
"Oh, the Longbottoms!" Her face twisted with horrible nostalgia. "I remember. I remember the way they begged. The way their minds just... crumbled." She pressed her wand to her lips, kissing it slowly. "Such sweet music."
Elian felt something cold settle in his chest.
"Give me the prophecy, Muggle-born," Bellatrix purred, "and perhaps I'll let you keep enough of your mind to remember your own name. Wouldn't that be generous of me?"
Elian studied her for a long moment—the madness in her eyes, the twitching hunger of her wand hand, the absolute certainty that she was untouchable.
"You?" He let out a soft laugh. "Bellatrix, I came here with no particular plan to kill anyone today." He paused, letting the words hang. "But I've just changed my mind. You will never see your precious Dark Lord again."
Bellatrix's laugh was shrill with disbelief. "Come then, boy! Show me what a Muggle-born can do!"
She spun, her wand slashing through the air, and the pool of dark water in the corner of the chamber rose like a living thing, a tidal wave of liquid shadow rushing toward Elian. While he was distracted, she launched herself into the air, flying toward him with murder in her eyes.
Elian twisted, the water missing him by inches as he vanished behind a shelf. Bellatrix landed in the space he'd occupied, spinning wildly.
"Come out, come out, little Muggle!" Her voice echoed through the aisles. "I know why you're really here! You want to avenge my dear cousin, don't you? The blood traitor who ran away with his Mudblood!"
"Actually," Elian's voice came from directly behind her, "you should be grateful I didn't bring Neville with me today. I don't think he'd mind if I collected on his behalf."
And then he showed her exactly what Cruciatus felt like when wielded by someone who truly meant it.
Bellatrix screamed.
But she didn't collapse. Didn't writhe. When the spell ended, she was panting, her face slick with sweat, but that horrible smile had returned.
"You think..." she gasped, "you think that hurts me? I learned pain from the Dark Lord himself! I am his most loyal—his most faithful—and the power he gave me is greater than anything a filthy Muggle-born could ever—"
"Funny thing about power." Elian stood before her, utterly calm. "I don't think your Dark Lord has ever encountered anything quite like mine. And he never will—not through you."
"Enough games." Lucius Malfoy materialized from the shadows behind Elian, his wand pressed against the back of Elian's neck. "One last chance, boy. Give me the prophecy, and I'll let you walk out of here. You're only one person. Even Dumbledore taught you that much mathematics."
Elian looked down at the sphere in his hand. The milky substance within swirled lazily, indifferent to the violence surrounding it.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised it above his head.
Lucius and Bellatrix tracked the movement with hungry eyes, ready to catch it, to claim it for their master—
Elian's hand came down.
The prophecy sphere shattered against the stone floor.
For one perfect moment, silence reigned. Shards of glass glittered like fallen stars, and the mist that had been contained within rose in a soft cloud, whispering secrets that would never be spoken aloud.
"Oops." Elian's voice was flat. "Looks like it's broken. Whatever will your master say when you tell him you let it slip through your fingers?"
Bellatrix's scream was inhuman.
"No! NO!" She was firing curses wildly now, not caring who they hit, her control completely shattered. "The prophecy! The prophecy!"
From across the chamber, Sirius's laughter rang out. He was still fighting, still holding his own against three Death Eaters at once, and the sound of his joy cut through the chaos like a blade.
"Tell your master there's nothing left!" Elian called out, dodging another curse. "Tell him the prophecy is gone, and whatever it said, it doesn't matter anymore!"
"This isn't over!" Lucius's voice shook with fury. "This isn't—"
"It's very much over," Elian said. "Go back to your master. Tell him exactly what happened. Tell him the prophecy ball is gone."
Sirius laughed again, louder this time.
And then the temperature dropped.
It plummeted so fast that Elian's breath misted before his face. The torches lining the walls guttered, their flames shrinking to desperate blue points. Shadows lengthened, deepened, became things with teeth.
A voice emerged from the darkness. Cold. High. Clear. Horrible.
"Really? Is that so?"
Voldemort stepped into the light.
He was taller than Elian had imagined—impossibly tall and skeletally thin, his robes pooling around him like liquid shadow. His face was not quite human: snake-like, with slits for nostrils and eyes the colour of fresh blood. Those eyes fixed on Elian with an intensity that felt like physical pressure.
The wand in his hand was perfectly still, aimed directly at Elian's heart.
Behind him, the Death Eaters fell to their knees as one, Bellatrix's sobs of relief and terror filling the sudden silence.
"My Lord," she breathed. "My Lord, we tried, we—"
"Silence." The word was soft, but Bellatrix's mouth snapped shut as though struck.
Voldemort's head tilted, studying Elian the way a snake studies a mouse.
"A Muggle-born," he said, almost wonderingly. "A child. And yet here you stand, having killed my servants, captured Greyback, subjugated creatures I had nearly won to my cause." His lips curled. "Tell me, boy. What are you?"
Elian met those red eyes and felt nothing. No fear. No intimidation. Only a cold, clear certainty that this was the enemy, and that one day—soon—they would meet again on very different terms.
"I'm the one who just destroyed your prophecy," he said. "And I'm the one who's going to walk out of here with Sirius Black."
Voldemort's smile widened, showing nothing human.
"Brave," he murmured. "Foolish. But brave." The wand twitched. "Let us see how long that lasts."
HOGWARTS - THE SAME MOMENT
Luna knew something was wrong the moment she woke.
It was like a thread had snapped somewhere inside her—a connection she hadn't realized existed until it was gone. Elian. Something was wrong with Elian.
She found Hermione in the common room, already dressed, her face pale with worry.
"He's gone," Hermione said before Luna could speak. "The Ministry. Harry's vision—it was a trap, but Elian went anyway. Alone."
"How do you know?"
"Because he's not here, and the map Fred and George left shows everyone in the castle." Hermione's hands were shaking. "Everyone except him."
By the time they'd woken Harry, Ron, and Neville, Harry's scar was burning so badly he could barely stand.
"He's there," Harry gasped, clutching his forehead. "Voldemort. He's—he's at the Ministry. He's coming out. I can feel him."
"What do you mean, coming out?" Ron's face was white. "Coming out where?"
"The Department of Mysteries. Where Elian is." Harry straightened with visible effort. "We have to go. Now."
"We don't even know how to get there," Neville said helplessly.
"The Thestrals," Hermione said suddenly. "Hagrid's Thestrals. They can take us anywhere—they find the place the rider wants to go."
"Then let's move." Luna was already heading for the portrait hole. "Elian is alone. He needs us."
Harry made it three steps before his knees buckled.
The pain was worse than anything he'd ever felt—worse than the basilisk venom, worse than the dementors, worse than Uncle Vernon's heaviest blows. It was like his scar was trying to split his skull in half.
"Harry!" Ron caught him before he hit the ground. "Harry, what is it?"
"V-Voldemort." The name came out a strangled whisper. "He's—he's happy. He's found something. Someone." Harry's eyes flew wide. "Elian. He's found Elian."
"Then we're already too late," Hermione whispered.
"No." Luna's voice was quiet but absolute. "No, we're not. Elian is stronger than anyone knows. Stronger than he knows." She knelt beside Harry, taking his hand. "But he shouldn't have to be strong alone. That's not what friends do."
Harry gripped her fingers, drawing strength from her certainty.
"Thestrals," he said through gritted teeth. "Now."
They ran.
DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES
Voldemort's wand hadn't moved, but the pressure in the room had become unbearable. Sirius stood frozen, his bravado gone, faced with the creature who had destroyed his life, his family, his world.
But Elian...
Elian stood straight. Unmoving. Unafraid.
"You interest me," Voldemort said, almost conversationally. "The prophecy spoke of one who would challenge me. I assumed it was the boy—Potter." His eyes glittered. "But perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps the power he knows not is you."
"The prophecy is gone," Elian said. "You'll never know."
Voldemort laughed—a soft, terrible sound.
"You think I need a glass sphere to tell me what I already suspect?" He took a step closer. "You have power I do not recognize. Power that does not come from a wand, from our magic. Where did you find it, boy? Who taught you?"
Elian said nothing.
"No matter." Voldemort raised his wand. "I will take what I want from your mind, and then I will destroy what remains. A pity. You might have been useful."
The Killing Curse formed on his lips—
And Elian moved.
Not away. Not to the side.
Through.
He stepped into a golden portal that opened beneath his feet and closed above his head, reappearing three feet to Voldemort's left with the Sacred Sword of the Vishanti already swinging.
Voldemort's shield caught the blade, but the force of the blow drove him back a step. His red eyes widened.
"What magic is this?"
"The kind you'll never understand." Elian pressed the attack, the sword a blur of golden light. "The kind that doesn't come from hatred and fear. The kind that protects, not destroys."
Behind him, Sirius was already moving, stunning two Death Eaters who'd risen to defend their master. The chamber erupted into chaos.
But Elian knew—even as he fought, even as the sword sang in his hands—that he couldn't win this. Not yet. Voldemort was too strong, too experienced, too old.
He needed to run.
He needed to get Sirius out.
He needed—
A thread. Warm and bright and utterly unexpected.
Luna.
Somehow, impossibly, she was reaching for him. Not with magic he recognized, but with something older, purer. Faith.
Hold on, he felt her think. We're coming. Hold on.
And in that moment, Elian understood something he hadn't before.
He wasn't alone.
He had never been alone.
The sword blazed brighter in his hands.
(End of Chapter)
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