The Longest Day

by NanashiSaito

Father and Son

"It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom." Dumbledore intoned, gravely. "The Aurors are on their way."

A glowing green, circular geometric pattern around Dumbledore's right fist was fading imperceptibly from the air as he shifted his wand into a defensive position.

"By which time I shall be gone, and you shall be dead," Voldemort's hiss grew into that of malevolent laughter. "You have lost, old man. You have been banished and yet you wander back, like a dumb animal that cannot understand it is being sent away. You have lost, you have lost the boy, and you have lost the Stone."

"I think you will find, Tom, that the stone in your possession is far from singular." Dumbledore clenched his fist and in a flash of blue light, he disappeared into what seemed to be some sort of portal, reappearing an instant later amid the Death Eaters, less than an arm's span from Draco and Lucius.

He began to address them, "Many of you I know, and yet there are some I do not. Many of you, I am not surprised to see here, and yet there are some of you whose presence causes me great sadness. Hear me now: you are no longer bound by your Dark Marks; for the first time in a great while, you are truly free to make a choice. Either flee now or fight by my side. But no mercy will be given to those who ally with this tyrant."

As he spoke, there were a handful of dull pops as former Death Eaters disappeared, and upon seeing an apparent lack of consequences, the cracks of Apparition grew more frequent, like popping corn on a stove.

Dumbledore extended his wrist towards Draco, upon which was a curious golden bracelet. Draco looked down at the pair of sparkling gems, one emerald-green, and the other an electric blue, embedded in the Bracelet, and he seemed to understand.

The unlikely friend who has tempted the one marked by lightning... must bring the stone through the gate thrown open by the one who is Bound by the Dark Lord.

He placed the orange gem that Bellatrix had handed him moments before, into an empty slot on the bracelet, causing the air to crackle with multi-colored electricity. Dumbledore nodded, his eyes still on Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort, for his part, observed the exodus without comment, using the time to build up a variety of shields around himself and to prepare the battleground in ways that would be fractionally more favorable to his preferred style of combat.

Harry couldn't count the number of Death Eaters who had fled, but he reckoned that two-thirds of them still remained. Of those, roughly half slowly changed the direction of their wands from Harry to Voldemort. Cynically, Harry wondered how many of them were truly glad to be free of the Dark Lord, versus simply making the snap decision to publically support whoever they felt had with the greatest chance of victory. The Dementors, for their part, floated warily above, no longer assured of the dominance of the one who had commanded them not moments before.

Without warning, Voldemort viciously whipped his wand, causing Dumbledore to do the same, the force of which cast Harry backwards out of the line of fire, and the rancor began.

A jet of green fire erupted from Voldemort's wand, which was met with equal ferocity by a brilliant, crimson Phoenix-fire from Dumbledore. The two magicks collided with each other in midair and Dumbledore and Voldemort slowly circled each other, sizing up the situation, determining what to do next. Electricity crackled around them as they attempted to overpower the other's magic.

Death Eater had turned upon Death Eater, firing curses of all varieties, including wordless and wandless, at each other. Lucius, who had now recovered, was dueling with Lord Jugson, who levied vile, contemptible swears at Draco's father.

Jugson was, at first, a vision of pure offensive power. He fired curse after curse, putting no effort whatsoever into the creation of any shield. The intensity of the onslaught forced Lucius into a defensive position. His first shield was hastily assembled, and inefficient. He lost time and had to make it up. Not seconds into the fight and he was already backpedaling, without a chance to even fire a counter curse.

Jugson pressed the advantage. Sensing the lack of counterattack, he took his focus away from enhancing his physical maneuvers and poured everything into the ensemble of curses. Lucius threw up a Prismatic Wall, to give himself about a second and a half to levy a counter. A ten-foot-wide burst of flame shot from Malfoy’s wand, quickly followed by a cloud of needles three times the size. There was nowhere for Jugson to dodge, he could only counter or shield.

Lucius prepared for both; he sent forth a brute force volley of multiple weak physical attacks; it was a minimal expenditure of magic, and it would not do much if it actually landed, but it was enough to severely weaken most shields. At the same time, he loosed an ice blast, in the event that Jugson opted for an elemental counter to the fire: ice trumps water trumps fire. Finally, he prepared a single concentrated lance, in case Jugson tried a purely magical hard counter. Such a counter would need to be an applied area of magic, which would be easily penetrated by a directed burst.

Jugson indeed used the elemental counter, and his wall of water was quickly frozen by Lucius’ blast of ice. But Jugson had anticipated this and directed a flow of magic into the wall of ice to lend it a measure of permanency. The now-physical barrier blocked the volley of blows intended to weaken a magical shield, and it trivially absorbed the impact of the lance. Jugson had the initiative now and used it to withdraw his magic from the wall and turn it inward, rupturing it from the inside out and send an explosion of knife-sharp ice crystals towards the Malfoys.

Draco had the good sense to get out the way, scrambling low, across the length of the graveyard to Harry, knowing that he was hopelessly outmatched. "Harry, what the hell is happening?"

He looked back towards the five witches who still stood, held hostage by the knives floating at their throats, and the supine, breathing form of Hermione Granger.

"Quirrell. He was Voldemort, this whole time. He resurrected Hermione... and I... I helped him retrieve the Philosopher's Stone. He also seemed to have defeated Dumbledore earlier but--"

A stray curse from the Death Eater known as Mister Ferret narrowly missed Draco and collided with the ruined body of Quirinus Quirrell, causing it to violently rupture, the contents of his cloak and vest spreading across the battlefield.

Another curse flew by, causing Draco to reflexively cast Prismatis, and hurl himself to the ground to avoid it. Mister Ferret charged down the length of the graveyard and picked up Draco off the ground. "Disgusting, money-grubbing, power-hungry filth," he hissed in a low voice, his tongue darting out of his mouth and wetting his lips. "I knew your family was a pack of pretenders, no matter how complete the act."

Mister Ferret had jabbed his wand viciously into Draco's forehead. "I could tell you some stories about your father that could curl even your greasy hair, boy!" He grabbed Draco's hair at the base of his scalp, his wand still jammed into his flesh. Draco could feel a bruise forming from the pressure. "I give you this one chance, renounce your wretched family and join us, or you and your precious father will die!"

Out of the corner of Lucius' eye, he saw his son being threatened, and with a desperate roar, twisted his wand and cast a volley of wind outward. Its effect was not intended to be deadly, merely distracting, and it achieved its purpose. Jugson was cast back several feet and had to whip his wand in different directions the dispel the gusts. Lucius wasted no time in spinning around, running towards his endangered child.

"Make your choice, now!" Mister Ferret shrieked.

Draco said nothing as he watched his father draw closer, hurling curse after curse.

Lucius was at quite a disadvantage, Draco knew. His position as second-in-command made him more of a target than many of the other Death Eaters, and so his attention was partially occupied by fending off stray curses that were hurled in his direction. But perhaps more importantly so was that Lucius could not shoot to kill; he could not risk the chance of a fatal missed curse striking his son instead of Barty Crouch Jr., the man also known as Mister Ferret.

As such, what happened next should have come as little surprise.

Caught between ducking underneath a slow-moving jet of green light, swatting away a Slow Blade of Unusually Specific Destruction, and aiming a particularly vicious, albeit non-life-threatening charm at his son's captor's arm, Lucius was ill-poised to avoid the wide area-of-effect Severing Charm that Crouch had leveled in his direction at roughly head-level.

It is often said that time seems to slow down as a tragedy is about to occur, but this is false knowledge carried on by fools and those with a penchant for the dramatic.

There was no drawn-out cry, no outstretched arms, no screams of "NOOOOOO". There was only the grim smile of satisfaction on Crouch's face and the momentary look of surprise on Lucius Malfoy's as his head and the better part of this right shoulder took their leave of the rest of his body.

Blood poured out in liters, and Lucius dropped to the ground immediately.

This is a dream.

This is a horrible, awful nightmare that I'll wake up from any second now.

Draco's thoughts barely registered the vicious backhand across his face delivered by Crouch, which cast him face-down into the damp earth.

Wake up, Draco.

Get up, wake up, get out of bed and find Father and hug him as tight as you can.

His hands moved of their own accord, blindly on the ground, trying to find a dry patch of ground by which to lift his body upwards.

Give Mother a hug as well. Oh, Mother, what would she say? Poor Mother, her life had only just returned to her.

He was on his knees at this point, his hands still trying to find purchase, slipping on the bloodied leaves below. Draco fell back to the ground, his arms outstretched amidst the scattered remains of Professor Quirrell's body and possessions.

Aunt Bella, what would Aunt Bella say?

Barty Crouch looked down disdainfully and began to focus his attention on aiming a curse at Goyle Sr., who was dueling with Crabbe Sr. with tears in his eyes. If Malfoy and Jugson's battle had been a chess match, Crabbe and Goyle's was a fistfight. There was no elegance, no levels upon levels of moves, counters, counter-counters, contingencies or gambits. It was a knock-down, drag-out battle of who could out-magic the other. The simply fired curse after curse into each other, both opting for the pure brute-force approach. They were swapping shield-and-curse combinations ruthlessly, and one of them would eventually break.

Draco's arms flailed blindly on the ground, swatting aside a necklace, a chunk of bone, a sparkling diadem, a gun--

A gun.

It felt good in Draco's hand. Cold, but powerful. Heavy, for its size. Dimly, he recalled Harry describing the function of these devices with stark simplicity: point, shoot, kill.

It's just a dream. Just a dream.

Draco pointed.

It caught the attention of Barty Crouch, who did not fully comprehend the threat of the object posed, as it was nothing more than a cheap Muggle toy. Crouch was a wizard, he had a wand, what use did he have for such trinkets? "And what do you plan to--"

Draco shot.

A deafening crash drowned out by the din of battle.

A red mist of gore and brain.

Harry's eyes wide with horror.

Yet another body falling to the ground.

It's just a dream, this isn't real. You didn't kill him, you banished a nightmare.

Draco sleepwalked through the crowd, identifying those who were still fighting on the side of Lord Voldemort. As it so happened, a Muggle firearm was a remarkably effective tool in a magical firefight. The overwhelming majority of curses were slow-moving, relatively speaking, and those that had physical form were often heavy and large.

Although there were a few spells particularly adept at halting extremely small, extremely fast-moving projectiles, none of them had much practical application in any of the standard Battle Magic scenarios, and as such, none were in use this evening.

Draco was not a trained marksman. Several of his shots missed their mark by a wide margin. But enough hit. Crabbe Sr.'s eyes went wide as a bullet found its way into his kidney, causing him to bleed out slowly from the hole. Lord Jugson's lurched forward after catching a bullet to the shoulder, allowing him to be stunned by the two wizards he was dueling simultaneously.

And in the meantime... If Malfoy and Jugson's duel was a chess match and Crabbe and Goyle's was a fistfight, the duel between Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort was… There was no comparison. It was like watching a gunfight where the combatants were shooting each others’ bullets out of midair.

It was an exercise in horrifically brutal efficiency. Shields were raised on a millisecond by millisecond basis, using no more magic than absolutely necessary. And they were dismantled just as swiftly, analyzed for their weak points and ruthlessly dispatched.

The physical element was equally impressive. There were no unnecessary flourishes or wasted movements. Just pure reaction time and power, traded back and forth. Several loyal Death Eaters replenished Voldemort’s magic with their own, bolstered his shields, and subtly manipulated the territory to their advantage.

And Dumbledore was still winning. Perhaps more specifically, the Elder Wand was still winning.

Just a dream, Draco. Just a dream. There is no victor, no vanquished... 'Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night'

Draco collapsed over the severed head of his father, desperately whispering the words to the Ritual of Forbearance.

Magic flowed forth as the head of Lucius Malfoy began to contort, and change in color to a pale green. Corban Yaxley had backed into Draco while fending off an attack from one of the defectors that Draco didn't recognize. Almost as an afterthought, Draco jammed the gun upwards against the small of Yaxley's back and pulled the trigger several times. Only one shot rang out before the pistol simply 'clicked' instead of firing, but one shot was enough. Yaxley fell to the ground, his spinal column shattered by the force.

Just a dream. He's not dead. He's not dead. 'Run in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies.'

Voldemort and Dumbledore, this was their fault. Their decades-long power struggle that never failed to leave Malfoy bodies in its wake. 'Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light'

The Transfiguration has been complete; Lucius' head was transformed into an ornate jade snake (a blue krait, of course). Oblivious to the battle around him, Draco whispered the last words of the Ritual, "If I don't love you now, I shall never love you again, you shall forever hear me say, I will never break the chain."

A dull reverberation of Magic echoed throughout the graveyard, something that those who had been raised with the old ways had been trained to notice.

As if waiting for this moment, Dumbledore turned his attention from Lord Voldemort, cracking his wand outward with a roar, striking out at the remaining loyal servants, binding them, allowing the defectors to strike their final blows and end the melee decisively.

And in this moment of distraction, Voldemort poured all of his fury into a volley of curses that Dumbledore would have had difficulty repelling even if he had been fully focused on the Dark Lord.

As it were, Dumbledore was not. And one of the curses struck him squarely in the chest, and he was blasted backwards onto the ground.

Voldemort wasted no time surveying the situation; his loyal Death Eaters had been defeated, and a handful of defectors remained. Although he knew he would have no trouble defeating the remaining foes, he didn't have time for that. He needed to make sure Dumbledore was truly defeated.

But he also understood the value of fear.

He drew himself up to his full height, and turned towards the remaining wizards, brandishing his wand, preparing to engage them in a battle that they knew they would decisively lose, especially given the fact that Dumbledore now lay spread-eagle on the ground.

And so they quickly Apparated away, leaving standing only the Dark Lord, Harry, Draco, and the collection of out-of-place witches who impassively observed the fighting with knives at their throats.

Voldemort quickly strode over to where Dumbledore lay and saw that he was still conscious, although his wand had clattered several feet away. The Dark Lord hissed with venomous rage, "I had always said if I found myself in this position, that I would end my foe without wasting a moment of time. And yet, I find myself overcome with curiosity... What do you have to say for yourself, you old fool?!"

As he spoke, he brought his wand closer and closer to Dumbledore's chest, who struggled to speak.

"You... You should have aimed for the wand."

Dumbledore snapped his fingers on his right hand as Voldemort drove his wand downward. The Dark Lord's eyes went wide as his wand did not meet a corporeal body as expected, but instead passed through and was driven straight into the ground.

Where Dumbledore's form had once been, there was now nothing. And the gem-studded bracelet that had once been upon his right wrist was instead worn by a small, pale-violet dog with green ears hair atop its head, who wasted no time in darting across the battlefield.