Ch492- Clash
Dumbledore shook his head. “You are still too young. By now you ought to know, wisdom maketh strength.”
Harry laughed. “I do know. Nicolas was kind enough to teach me that.”
Voldemort’s wand rose an inch. “Enough prattle.”
“Tom,” Harry called back, perfectly pleasant, “the adults are talking.”
Green light screamed across the gap. Harry didn’t bother to block, a shimmer lifted from the turf like heat haze and the curse went through the mirage, punching a hole in the air and vanishing into the far field.
Then, without warning, the air split on the other two hills.
On one rose stood Merlin and Morgana, yet neither resembled the hushed legends of books. They were young again, sharp and cutting, the kind of presence that made even the wind hold still. Their robes caught the light without shimmer, the simplicity making it worse. You didn’t need ornament when the magic coiled around you like a blade.
On the third rise stood Sybill Trelawney. But this was not the shawl-draped professor who smelled of sherry and dust. Her glasses were gone, her hair pulled back clean, her posture straight. No wobbling, no muttered nonsense. She stood tall, steady, as though the woman Harry’s friends had mocked in class had never existed.
The field hushed under it.
“Finally,” Harry muttered with a grin. “Took you long enough.”
Dumbledore’s eyes went wide the moment he saw her. The careful mask he’d worn all his life slipped. His mouth parted, but no sound came. “Impossible,” he muttered.
Across the way, Nicolas didn’t look surprised so much as grim. His jaw worked once, as if he’d bitten into something sour. “So that’s where you’ve been hiding.”
Morgana’s lips curled faintly beside him, her eyes bright with something that looked far too much like satisfaction.
Voldemort, by contrast, scowled. He shifted on his hill, eyes darting between Harry, Nicolas, Sybill, and Dumbledore. “What is this farce?!” he snapped. “Who is that ridiculous woman?”
Harry laughed. “That ridiculous woman, Tom, is the reason you’re still breathing. Without her, you’d have been a footnote years ago.”
Voldemort hissed, raising his wand, but Harry waved him off. “Not now. You’ll get your turn.”
The field thrummed with magic, stronger than anything Harry had ever felt. The three hills crackled with power, each Champion’s presence folding the air around them. His own coat tugged at him as though the wind itself was restless.
Dumbledore finally found his voice. “Time. All these years, it was you.” His hands gripped the rail of his staff, knuckles pale. “Hiding in plain sight, drunk and babbling in an attic tower.”
Nicolas straightened, his gaze sweeping over Harry and Sybill both. “So it comes to this. Death, Magic, Time. The board finally set.” His hand drifted toward his wand, but he didn’t raise it yet. “Do you understand what you stand against, Harry?"
Harry looked straight at him, shaking his head. “Why did you teach me? Why care for me? I left my aunt with you, and you never even threatened me with her. If I didn’t know better, I’d have guessed you and Merlin were two different people.”
Morgana’s lips curved, the same calm smile Harry remembered from Perenelle. “We cared for you, Harry. But this—” she gestured lightly toward the circle of power that hummed between the hills, “—this is not something we can ignore. Ascension doesn’t care about blood or bonds. We are sorry.”
Harry gave a nod, blinked, and wiped at the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry too.”
Nicolas let out a quiet breath. “I told you once, my boy. Wisdom, for wizards, is everything. Sadly, your time was limited.”
Harry’s smile returned. “You should know about my cheat, Nicolas.”
Merlin frowned. “What have you done?”
Harry tapped his temple with one finger. “I trained for twenty thousand years in here.”
The words landed like a curse. Nicolas’s eyes went wide, his composure breaking for the first time.
“Impossible,” he muttered.
From the third hill, Sybill Trelawney frowned. “Twenty thousand years? Even we haven’t lived that long.”
Harry shook his head. “Not years out here. Two years in there. Nearly killed me more times than I can count, but it paid off.” His smile slipped, and he spoke more evenly. “I’m sorry, Nicolas. Sorry, Perenelle. And thankful for everything you did for me. But if you stand against me, I’ve no choice.”
Perenelle’s eyes narrowed with worry, her voice softer than her husband’s. “You squeezed twenty thousand years into two? Foolish boy.”
“Two years,” Harry repeated. “You’d be surprised what you can force yourself through when you’re given no way out.”
Voldemort barked a laugh, sharp and ugly. “Childish lies—”
He didn’t finish. Nicolas flicked two fingers without even turning his head. One heartbeat Voldemort stood there, red eyes, chalk skin, wand raised, next heartbeat the hill was empty. No flash. No sound. Gone.
“Why did you bring that thing, Dumby?” Nicolas asked, as if he’d swatted a gnat.
Dumbledore’s head dipped. “Master. I thought he could be of use.”
Merlin snorted. “I doubt even you can.”
Harry chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “That’s one way to take out the trash.”
The grass shifted behind him. His friends stepped out from the slope, lining up at his side. Daphne, Tracey, Hermione, Susan, Hannah, Ginny, Luna, Pansy, and Astoria stood tall, wands in hand. Neville and Fleur moved in together. Blaise came forward with Su Li, calm and unreadable as ever. Cho walked with Cedric, both looking steady, though Cho’s grip on Cedric's arm was tight. Padma, Parvati and Lavender flanked Draco and Megan with Theo, while Fred and George took their place, wands twirling, Angelina and Alicia at their shoulders.
Nicolas raised his hand, and the hill shook. Lines of silver flared out across the field, runes older than Hogwarts itself waking with his call. Perenelle stepped up beside him, her own fingers weaving a pattern in the air. A curtain of green flame sprang up between their side and Harry’s, licking the sky but leaving the field below untouched.
Harry lifted the Elder Wand, the air around it thrumming like a bowstring drawn to breaking. Across the field, the curtain of green flame Morgana conjured rippled, then parted like cloth.
“Guess we’re past the talking stage,” Harry said.
The first crash came from above, a sky-shaking boom as Nicolas drew the heavens down. Bolts of silver light rained across the hilltop. Harry flicked his wand upward and the air split, a dome of transparent wards catching the strikes. Each bolt struck and shattered, spraying sparks like fireworks.
Nicolas’s arm swept outward, and the runes he’d seeded in the earth flared to life. The ground tore open, stone spikes bursting up like teeth. Neville was already moving, sword flashing. The spikes slammed against an earthen wall that rose around their group, solid as fortress stone.
“Cheers,” Harry called over his shoulder.
Neville grunted, sweat on his brow. “Don’t mention it.”
The field became chaos. Perenelle’s green fire whipped forward in curling streams, twisting like serpents. Pansy and Daphne stepped in tandem, their wands moving in sharp rhythm. A circle of cold blue counterfire roared up around them, devouring the emerald tongues before they reached the line.
Dumbledore lingered at the edge of the field, his hands folded over the length of his staff, eyes flicking between the hills. He looked less like the Headmaster of Hogwarts and more like a man who had stumbled into a story already written without him.
On the opposite rise, Sybill Trelawney watched with a smile faint as the mist that clung to the grass, with no intention to join.
Fred and George were already laughing, firing hexes that ricocheted in mad angles. One clipped a boulder Perenelle had hurled and sent it skidding harmlessly into the far field. “Did you see that?” George called.
“Course I did,” Fred shouted back. “She’s not half as scary as Mum when she’s cross.”
Perenelle’s eyebrow flicked once in their direction. The next wave of flame missed them by inches.
Hermione darted forward, wand flashing in rapid bursts, dismantling half the runes that glowed underfoot. Susan and Hannah covered her sides, shields overlapping clean, never leaving a gap. When the next blast rolled across them, it struck solid and broke apart.
Harry’s face tightened when Nicolas’s army filled the field. Behind Harry, the air shimmered, and another army took shape. Men and women in black, lined with green. Led by Bellatrix. Each one carried strange gear in their hands, slim rods threaded with runes, gauntlets with glowing seams, shields humming with energy.
One raised a hand, light bent and split. Another pressed his gauntlet, and a blast of force kicked dust across the turf. Shields clicked together, glowing with lines that pulsed like veins. Dumbledore drew a sharp breath. “Death Eaters?"
