Voldemort stood at the gates of Hogwarts. The castle rose ahead of him, tall, familiar, and untouched.
This wasn't how he had imagined returning.
The gates broken. The grounds scarred. Dumbledore dead before the doors. Potter dragged out of hiding. Cassian Rosier, annoying, persistent insect, screaming under his feet.
A proper return. A statement.
His fingers tightened around the wand. Not his wand. That damned Rosier stole his. This was just a temporary inconvenience.
Marauder had kept his word at least. The two who might have complicated this, Dumbledore and Rosier, were occupied. They wouldn't be leaving where they'd gone. Not any time soon. Maybe not at all.
And Voldemort hadn't come alone. Behind him, twenty figures waited in a loose line. Not Covenant elites, but far beyond the rabble he'd once called followers. Reliable, for once.
Voldemort stepped forward. The gates creaked open before him.
He reached the main doors.
Snape stood in the doorway, pale as ever, black robes hanging from him. He looked down at Voldemort with open contempt.
"I heard your lot were causing destruction elsewhere," he said. "Did they not invite you?"
Voldemort's hand tightened around the borrowed wand. Of all the things he'd expected to find at the doors of Hogwarts, Severus Snape standing there with that voice, that particular tone, as if addressing someone mildly inconvenient rather than the Dark Lord, hadn't been among them.
The twenty figures behind him held their positions. Voldemort's temple pulsed in anger.
There was a time when this man knelt in front of him and wept, begging for Lily Evans' life while Voldemort decided whether the request was worth entertaining. He'd given Voldemort everything. Information. Access. Years of service passed off as loyalty while the man quietly rotted inside it. Voldemort had always known the loyalty was conditional. He'd used it anyway, because conditional loyalty, properly managed, was still useful.
That version of Snape would've stepped aside the moment he arrived. Would've lowered his eyes and moved and said nothing worth hearing.
This one was blocking the door.
He could tolerate Rosier. Not with pleasure, but he could file the man away as a simpleton who didn't understand what power or fear was. He could respect Dumbledore, or had been able to, back before the Covenant had rearranged his understanding of what powerful actually looked like. Dumbledore had been the strongest wizard Voldemort knew, once. The ceiling. The standard.
But Snape had never been either. Snape had been a tool.
His first instinct was to press the Dark Mark. Make the man feel pain. Remind him what that mark on his arm meant.
Except he already knew it wouldn't work.
Rosier had tampered with the marks years ago. Flint had lied to his face and survived scrutiny that should have broken him. Someone had altered what the mark returned, laid a false signal over it so cleanly that Voldemort had accepted it as real.
Rosier.
If he had done it for Flint, Snape's mark was almost certainly dead as leverage. Voldemort might as well have been pressing on scar tissue.
Which left only the man in front of him.
"Have you grown a spine, Severus?" he asked.
Snape's chin lifted slightly. He took it without flinching.
"I've had one for some time," Snape said. "I simply had no reason to show it to you."
Voldemort stepped forward. The twenty behind him shifted with him. Snape's eyes flicked over them.
"You came for something," Snape said.
"I came for what belongs to me," Voldemort said. "Stand aside."
Snape didn't move.
"There's nothing in this castle that belongs to you," he said. "There never was."
In another version of this conversation, Snape would already have been on the floor.
Voldemort tilted his head. "And what exactly do you think you're doing? Standing in a doorway."
"Buying time," Snape said.
The honesty of it gave Voldemort pause. Snape wasn't pretending. He knew exactly what twenty wands behind Voldemort meant and said it anyway.
"For whom?" Voldemort asked.
Snape's eyes moved briefly toward the sky, toward the grounds, toward the castle behind him.
"Everyone who matters," he said.
Voldemort's grip shifted on the wand.
He could end this conversation in a second. Snape knew that as well as he did. He stood there anyway, arms loose at his sides, wand in hand but not raised.
It wasn't stupidity. He'd made that mistake once, assuming this man's stillness came from weakness. He wouldn't make it again.
Voldemort looked at him for a long moment.
"Move," he said.
"No," Snape said.
Behind Voldemort, twenty figures raised their wands.
"The castle knows you're here," Snape said. "The portraits have been talking since you cleared the gates. The elves know. McGonagall knows." He paused. "You have perhaps a minute before this becomes far more complicated than a doorstep conversation."
Voldemort's lip curled. "A minute is more than enough."
Somewhere inside the castle, a door opened. Then another. Footsteps moved quickly.
People poured in from every corridor, stairwell, and side passage, filling the entrance hall in seconds.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione came first. Ginny followed with Fred, George, and Lee. Neville took Harry's left with Daphne beside him. Draco and Theo the right, Blaise just behind. Pansy pulled a cluster of fifth years back behind the older students while Tracey held the rear. Luna drifted in with Astoria.
McGonagall emerged from a side corridor. Flitwick vaulted onto a nearby plinth, Sprout at his shoulder.
Kingsley strode in with Charity beside him. Lupin came from the left with Septima, Sirius from the opposite stairwell, Aurora just behind.
Tonks slipped into line. Amelia Bones followed with a wave of Aurors.
The hall filled line by line until Voldemort and his twenty stood facing not a doorway, but a wall of people.
Students at the back. Professors layered in front. Aurors and veterans anchoring the sides.
The castle had answered.
Snape glanced over his shoulder, taking in the formation. Then he looked back at Voldemort.
"Your minutes are up," he said.
Voldemort's gaze swept across them all.
Harry met it head-on.
Neville didn't look away.
Draco smirked, wand aimed.
Voldemort's lips curled.
"Kill them all," he hissed.
The hall erupted.
Voldemort didn't wait. He stepped forward into the first exchange.
The shield line held for the others. It didn't hold for him.
The barrier warped inward at the point of impact. Light bent and strained across it. The entire front line gave half a step, as if something enormous had leaned on the shield from the other side.
"Hold!" Hermione snapped.
The shield flared and cracked.
Voldemort's eyes flicked across the line, already choosing where to press next.
Spells tore through the air in blinding streaks, crossing, clashing, bursting apart in showers of fractured light against the stone walls. The first wave hit fast and loud, meant to overwhelm before anyone could think.
The first row braced, wands raised. A second line stepped in behind them, overlapping shields into a curved barrier that caught the incoming volley. Light slammed into it, crackling across its surface, testing for weak points.
There were none.
"Rotate!" Theo snapped.
The front line peeled back in halves. Fresh shields replaced them before the first layer even dropped.
On the left flank, Kingsley moved with Charity. Their wands cut through the air, two of Voldemort's followers lifted off their feet and hit the ground hard enough to stay there.
"Push left," he said.
Aurors followed that order.
Tonks came in from the opposite side, ducking under a streak of green that scorched the stone behind her. She didn't even glance back, already sending a binding curse that wrapped one attacker mid-step and slammed him flat.
"Bit sloppy, that," she muttered, already moving again.
"Down!" Harry shouted, he was watching McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape and Sprout battling Voldemort.
Too late.
A wave tore through the centre. It hit like pressure given form, slamming into shields and bodies alike. Two students were thrown off their feet. The formation buckled inward for a heartbeat.
Voldemort stepped through the gap.
Flitwick snapped his wand up just in time. The counterspell hit mid-stride, diverting the follow-up strike into the ceiling where it exploded in a shower of stone.
"Close it!" McGonagall barked.
The line sealed again.
Harry stepped around their battle, Ron at his shoulder, Dean and Seamus just behind. They advanced in bursts, cover, step, cover, step, each movement backed by someone else.
"Now!" Harry shouted.
A volley answered him. Four spells hit the same target in succession, shield crack, destabilise, break, stun. The man didn't even have time to recover between impacts before he dropped.
Seamus grinned. "Told you that works."
"Less talking," Hermione snapped from behind them, already redirecting another group. "Right flank, tighten!"
Draco moved with that call.
He didn't look back to check if they followed. Pansy was already calling instructions behind him.
"Stay behind the line. Don't be clever," she said.
Blaise stepped in beside Draco, wand raised. "Left side's drifting."
"I see it," Draco replied, and stepped forward.
Two sharp spells, forcing their opponent to shift his footing. Theo's line caught the opening immediately, a chain of hexes snapping into place like teeth closing.
The man went down.
"Good," Theo said, already turning to the next.
Neville didn't move with the others. He stood just behind the front line, one hand wrapped tight around the hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor.
The blade caught the light from the spells. The runes along the hilt pulsed faintly, reacting to the chaos.
Neville swallowed, then stepped forward.
A curse tore toward him. Steel met magic. The spell split, shearing around the blade and slamming into the walls behind him in two harmless streaks.
Neville blinked.
"...right," he muttered. "Should thank Professor R later for this."
A second attacker lunged in, wand raised for a close strike. Neville stepped into it.
The sword came up and caught the wand mid-swing. There was a sharp crack as wood snapped clean in two.
The man froze for half a second.
That was enough.
A Stunner from behind Neville hit him square in the chest.
Neville let out a breath. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it!" Daphne shot back, already turning to block another spell.
Voldemort's followers pushed harder, trying to break through the centre, to split the formation. They weren't amateurs. Their spells came layered, chained, forcing responses, looking for gaps.
"Fire rings, now!" Susan called.
Red-golden circles flared across the floor, overlapping.
"Left, three!" Hannah added.
Before the attackers could adjust, spells met them mid-step. They didn't get the chance to build momentum.
"Terrain!" Hermione called.
Neville reacted on instinct this time. His free hand slammed down.
The stone floor shifted. Raised ridges, uneven footing, subtle changes that broke clean lines of attack. Daphne followed immediately, vines tearing up through the cracks, weaving between stone and air.
"Keep them moving," she said.
Harry's group answered with blasts, enough to keep the attackers reacting instead of acting.
At the rear, Luna tilted her head, watching the flow.
"They're trying to fold the centre," she said.
Ginny caught it. "Then we don't give them one."
She stepped forward.
"Switch!"
The formation shifted again, centre thinning as the flanks curved inward, turning the push into a pocket.
The attackers walked straight into it.
Aurors closed from the sides.
Professors pressed from the front. There was nowhere left to go.
The battle around them was already ending. The last of the twenty hit the ground.
Tonks let out a breath. "Well," she said, glancing around, "that could've gone worse."
"Don't jinx it," Amelia muttered.
Within minutes, the hall settled.
Bodies lay across the stone floor, alive, stunned, bound. Aurors moved between them, checking, securing, watching for movement.
Voldemort shifted again to press the opening.
And the castle answered harder.
"Now!" McGonagall snapped.
Flitwick's charm snapped tight across Voldemort's casting line, just as Sprout's vines tore through the stone beneath his feet. Snape moved in the same breath, a cutting curse forcing Voldemort to turn and that was the mistake.
Kingsley's spell hit him from the flank. For the first time, Voldemort lost his footing.
The vines surged. They didn't give him space to recover. They wrapped, tightened, locked.
Voldemort struck back but he couldn't keep up. The pressure didn't break. The wand fell from his hand. He tried to drag it back wandlessly, but Flitwick cut the attempt off.
Voldemort was on his knees, rasping.
His wand was gone.
Vines had him pinned, wrapped tight round his arms, his chest, his legs. They'd grown from the stone itself, coiling up through the floor and locking him flat against it.
Neville stood on one side. Daphne stood on the other.
Voldemort strained, trying to free himself. The vines tightened. He stopped.
Nagini slid across the stone, cutting through the chaos as if it wasn't there.
She stopped at the centre of the hall.
Voldemort froze.
"...no," he said.
Nagini tilted her head.
Voldemort's gaze sharpened. "You're dead."
He stared at her. He knew she was dead. Bathael had taken her, looked him in the eye, and said it was done. The Horcrux within her was moved to a coin.
Voldemort had believed him. And now she stood there. Alive. How was that possible? How the hell was this possible?
Harry stepped forward. He walked through the line, past professors, past friends, until he stood a few paces from Voldemort.
Voldemort looked up at him. Then he laughed.
"You think this ends here?" he rasped. "You think you've won?"
Harry didn't answer.
Voldemort's grin widened. "I don't die. I've cut death out of me. I've carved it away. You can't-"
He stopped. Something shifted under his skin. His breath hitched.
"...what is going on?"
Light spread out from him. From his chest, thin lines slipping through his veins, crawling outward.
Voldemort's body jerked. Eye catching Nagini again. Has Bathael done something to him?
"No-"
The light flared brighter. It poured through him, pushing outward, stretching his frame as if something inside him wanted to come out.
"Professor Rosier told me," Harry said, eyes fixed on the light, "he left something behind. Said it'd wake up when you were weak. When you were away from Marauder."
The light surged. Voldemort screamed. It tore out of him as branches drilled their way out.
They formed from the glow, pushing through him, rising upward, spreading into the air like a tree growing in fast motion. Trunk, limbs, veins of light threading outward, filling the hall.
Voldemort's laughter broke.
"No... no, I won't-"
The light tightened.
Harry took a step closer.
"It's not killing you," he said. "It's taking back what you shouldn't have kept."
Voldemort's eyes snapped to him.
For the first time, there was nothing in them but fear. Raw, unfiltered fear. His head jerked, eyes wide, scanning for something that wasn't there.
"No- no, I didn't-"
The light surged again.
His body arched.
The laughter came back.
"I won't die," he rasped. "I bested death! I won't-"
The words failed. The tree blazed. For a heartbeat, the entire hall stood in white.
Then... it was over. The light collapsed inward. The branches dissolved into nothing. The glow vanished. Voldemort's body hit the stone.
Dead.
Harry stood there a moment longer, watching.
Then he sighed. Behind him, no one moved.
They just stood there, looking at the place where something had finally taken its due.
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