Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, it belongs to JK Rowling, etc, etc. Anyone who thinks I do own Harry Potter is an idiot.

Through his connection with Voldemort, Harry felt Nagini die. He smiled and kept walking.

Neville woke up shivering. It was deathly cold in the deserted, collapsed corridor. He rose to his feet and looked around. The way forward was completely blocked. It would take him a long time to magic his way through the stone blockade. He decided to find another way around, and so set off back the way he'd come.

Draco was alone now. The corridor he was in was dark and deserted, apparently unused by Voldemort and his cronies. The magical lights that should have lit the way had faded into nothing. Draco held his lightened wand aloft like a torch and scanned all sides of the corridor. He found what he was looking for and stepped into the open cell. No one would find him in here.

He took a seat against the far wall and cancelled his light. Darkness engulfed him. Inside his robe, safely tucked inside a secret pocket, he found the picture of Blaise he needed. It was an old photo, one he had forgotten all about until recently, taken when they used to be friends, showing the two of them smirking at the camera, arms around each other's shoulders.

Draco had torn the picture in half, ripping it down the middle, so that only Blaise was present. Draco's arm and hand had magically disappeared.

Now he took up a silver knife from his boot and, without hesitating, he cut the palm of his hand. Blood seeped out and dripped to the floor. He ignored the pain and pressed the picture of Blaise face first into his bleeding hand. The blood soaked into the picture.

'Invenio!' Draco spoke the dark incantation gutturally.

It worked. It was almost like a blueprint had been imprinted into his brain. Azkaban in its entirety was right there, every tiny little detail of the prison fortress, all in his head, and calling to him from the third floor was the very person he was seeking. He could almost see the backstabbing bastard. Every move he made was relayed directly into Draco's head. He kept a firm hold on the bloody picture and stood up.

Draco knew exactly where Blaise was and he was going to find him.

Neville found a set of stairs leading down into the true dungeons of Azkaban, where the vilest of prisoners were kept. The steps had darkened with mud and grime and proved treacherous underfoot. Neville had to steady himself several times until he finally reached the bottom.

It was dark down here, with very few lights, but from what Neville could see the place spoke of death and torment. Flickering shadows gave the corridor a haunting look, aided by the ominous dark brown streaks at various intervals along the walls. He didn't want to know what they were.

As he walked down the bleak hall, he peered into the cells, and wasn't surprised to see malnourished dead bodies in most of them. These were Voldemort's prisoners; wizards and witches not so different from him, left for dead to rot in the darkest dungeons of Azkaban. He felt sick to his stomach. The further he went down the corridor, the more he couldn't stand it. The smell was unbearable.

Finally, he had stop. Bent over, he heaved out the contents of his stomach. A hollow laugh reached his ears and he whipped his head up, wand in hand. The sound came from one of the cells. He edged closer, peering into the dark of the cell.

'Who are you?' the voice croaked.

'My name is Neville Longbottom,' he replied. 'Are you okay?' Neville lowered his wand.

The occupant of the cell laughed again. It was a dry laugh, which turned into a coughing fit. 'Longbottom,' the voice was so weak, he barely heard it.

'You know me?'

'Please, free me,' the voice pleaded.

Neville inched closer. 'Who are you?' he repeated.

A bone thin arm shot through the bars and grabbed him by the throat. He choked and struggled away. Gagging, he demanded, 'what's wrong with you?'

There was that laugh again. 'What's wrong with me?' Neville realised it was the laughter of madness. Whoever was in the cell had gone insane.

'Who are you?' Neville asked again.

The black figure in the cell started sobbing. Neville raised his wand and pointed it at the cell. 'Lumos.'

The light revealed the figure in all its ghastly glory. Long dark hanks of black hair hid the face, streaks of grey and white here and there. Skeletal limbs jutted out from under the torn remains of the cloak. The figure was naked underneath, the cloak not enough to hide this fact. It was female, but only just so. Blood caked her thighs and horrible festering welts covered her entire emaciated body. It looked like she had been ravaged by a monster - or several.

She looked up at him with lunacy in her eyes. Her lips had cracked and bled and dark lines aged her face. She rocked and giggled and then sobbed in cycles of insanity. He stared at her for several minutes, horror struck, before finally he recognised her. He could barely see the beautifully cruel woman he had seen in the Daily Prophet, but he knew it was she.

'Bellatrix Lestrange.'

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him again. 'Help me,' she croaked.

'He did this to you?' The he Neville spoke of was obvious - her master Voldemort.

She shook her head. 'No no no no,' she continued to shake her head. 'He didn't. He didn't. I'm his. No no no.' She sobbed again.

'He did.'

'He sent me here,' she wailed, crawling forward suddenly, and clutching the bars, pressing her mad face into them. 'He sent me. I failed him and he sent me. No no no. Not him. Wicked little brat.' She spat those last words.

Neville never thought he would ever pity the murderous witch that had tortured his parents, but suddenly he did. 'I don't understand,' he said.

'Wicked boy. Wicked brat. I'm insane?' Bellatrix giggled. 'He's insane. Mad mad mad boy. Bad dog - must be put down.'

'Who? You-Know-Who?'

'Noooo,' she cooed. 'I'm his. He sent me.'

'He sent you here, but he didn't do this?' Neville gestured to her broken body.

She cried, burying her head in her hands. 'Wicked boy… hurt me… took me…'

'Took you where?'

'Took me! Took me! Took me!' She shook the bars as hard as she could each time she said it.

Neville sighed. She was too far-gone. He went to leave.

'Please,' she cried out, and he had to stop. 'Please.'

He turned to face her. She had stood up, holding the bars for support. The cloak lay at her feet, her naked skeletal body displayed. She was bruised and battered more than he thought. She was struggling to stand.

'Please, come here,' she croaked out.

'Why?'

'Please.' Her gaunt legs shook.

Neville came back and stood as close as he dared.

She nodded, sobbing still, and slowly managed to turn around, displaying her back. She had been whipped, but even worse, carved into her lower back, he read the words: 'Property of Blaise Zabini.'

'Bag dog,' she whispered, 'hurt me… must be put down…'

She struggled to face him again and leaned in close, pressing her face into the bars again. She looked him in the eyes. 'Took me.'

Neville understood. 'He raped you.'

She cried, collapsed, and cried some more, head in her hands, rocking back and forth and nodding.

Eventually, she stilled. 'Please, help me.'

'How? I can't free you.'

'Help… kill…'

'Kill you?' Neville shook his head as he said it. 'I can't do that either.'

'Please… kill…'

'I'm sorry.'

'Please… mercy… kill…'

'I'm not a murderer.'

'No no no… murder no… mercy…'

She banged her head into the bars.

'Mercy!'

Blood trickled down her face.

'Mercy.'

'Stop it,' Neville said, when she went to do it again.

She did, but she still kept talking, 'mercy… kill… help… kill… please… mercy…'

Was it the right thing to do? She was a criminal. And evil. But then, nobody deserved this. Could he do it? Should he? What was right? He didn't know. If he left her here, either way, she would spend the rest of her life here. If Voldemort won, she would no doubt be tortured more. Locked in a cell and left to madness. Maybe it was ironic that her fate would be this. But Neville didn't have a single malicious feeling in his heart.

He could grant mercy to his enemy.

He pointed his wand at her. She cried tears of happiness. 'Yes… please…'

Neville felt tears down his own cheeks. 'Avada Kedavra,' he whispered.

Elsewhere, Hermione and the remaining members of Harry's small band had been engaged by a large group of Death Eaters. The small corridors created a lot of confusion with spells flying every which way. Hermione knew they were outnumbered, but she also knew they couldn't lose. Harry had to win. And she would live to see that.

Neville left Bellatrix in her cell. He moved on numbly at first. He'd just killed someone, and while it wasn't a malicious murder, it was still murder. Whatever his reasons for doing it - he was now a killer. He did his best to banish those thoughts for now. He had to concentrate. He found a new set of stairs, these ones leading up and out of the horrifying dungeons. He took them gladly.

When he reached the next floor, he was relieved to breath in the relatively clean air. He took his time to get his breath back, doing his best to put the dungeons behind him figuratively as well as literally. Then he took in his new surroundings. There was another set of stairs leading up. He debated taking them and decided yes.

The next floor he reached was colder than the others. He could see his breath. He suddenly felt weary. He remembered Bellatrix's frail body. He remembered the horrible words engraved into her back. This brought on flashbacks of Ginny's mutilated body as well. He felt sadness engulf him and dropped to his knees.

What was wrong with him? What was happening…?

He felt them then. Dementors. Of course. He tried to raise his head and look around. He was surrounded by them. How many? Three? No, four. They closed in on him, sweeping down like nightmare bats. He raised his wand and tried to banish them, but his heart was too full of sorrow.

'Expetco Patronum!' Neville was blinded by light. 'Back! Get away! You heard me!'

The Dementors withdrew, but not far enough for their effects to leave his body. He struggled to keep his head up. Who was his saviour?

'I said get back! He's mine.'

What? Neville struggled to understand the words. The light faded, but the Dementors kept their distance. Several Death Eaters stepped forward to stand before Neville. He raised his head and looked at the one in front. The Death Eater removed his mask.

'Hello Longbottom,' Blaise Zabini said cheerily. 'Fancy seeing you here.'

Neville tried to raise his wand.

'Stop him,' Zabini said casually. One of the Death Eaters reached out and easily disarmed him. Neville lowered his head in defeat. 'Sorry, but I can't have that, can I? You know, we never really had a chance to chat, did we? In fact, if I remember rightly, our only interaction, was you… punching me in the face.' Blaise made a fist and cracked Neville around the jaw. He fell back as the Death Eaters laughed. Blaise kicked him idily. 'Not so fun, is it fatty?'

Neville nursed his jaw and climbed onto his knees.

'You do remember, don't you? It was just after Draco dumped that tart Ginny Weasley.'

'Don't you dare say her name!'

'What?' He laughed. 'Ginny Weasley? Why not?'

Neville felt a spike of power inside him. It scared him, but this time, he welcomed it. 'I dare you to say it again.'

Blaise lowered his face right down to Neville's ear and whispered, 'Ginny. Weasley.'

The blast of magical energy shocked everyone, but Blaise caught it full on. He was propelled right into the wall. The other two Death Eaters merely fell backwards. Neville was on his feet. He had his wand raised. He pointed it at the Dementors first. 'Expecto Patronum!' They fled under the power of his Patronus. He turned his wand next on the Death Eaters. 'Stupify!' The one stunner was so powerful it was enough to take down both of the still standing Death Eaters. They flew backwards and hit the ground, rolling several times.

As all this was happening, Blaise was trying to clear the cobwebs. Neville stood over him, wand aimed. Blaise froze when his eyes cleared. He held his hands up. 'Okay, you got me,' he said, a high note of fear in his voice.

'I wouldn't Longbottom.'

Neville turned, surprised, and looked at Draco, who had his wand aimed, but not at Blaise.

'What are you playing at Malfoy?'

'He's mine,' Draco said, gesturing to Blaise. 'Step away. You've done your bit.'

Neville looked at him for a long time, obviously mulling something over. Finally, he dropped his wand, and stepped back.

Draco was surprised this time. 'That's it? Just like that?'

'What did you expect?'

Draco took his time to reply. 'Not this,' he finally said.

'Don't get me wrong,' Neville said, 'this isn't about revenge for me. Ginny's gone, and she'll never be back, no matter what you do to him.'

'What is it about then?' Draco spoke coldly.

Neville looked at Blaise. 'He… he's a bad dog. He needs to be put down.'

Blaise's eyes widened, and he tried to run. Draco hooked him and pulled him back with magic, slamming him into the wall. Blaise winced and cried.

'But you won't do it,' Draco observed, as if nothing had happened. 'You think that lets you off the hook? You might not have killed him, but you didn't save him.'

Blaise looked incredibly disturbed. Draco was talking as if he was already dead.

'I… I can live with that,' Neville admitted quietly. He turned his back to Draco. 'I didn't see you.'

'No,' Draco said, turned so that he was facing Blaise, essentially turning his back on Neville. 'You didn't.'

Neville walked away.

Draco was left alone with the wizard that had murdered his girlfriend. Blaise started to cry. 'Please, Draco,' he sniffled, 'I swear, it's all been a big misunderstanding.'

Draco ignored his words. 'I've been reading a lot lately. Books about the Dark Arts. It's actually pretty interesting. The spells and the curses in those books aren't what I expected. See, I've come to realise something. While there are spells designated as unquestionable dark, most of them are relatively tame. Most of them are used everyday by perfectly ordinary wizards and witches. What makes them dark… is the intent.'

Blaise continued to cry.

'You should be scared,' Draco said, apparently, outwardly, calm. 'I've learnt that the Dark Arts aren't so much a set of spells and curses. The Dark Arts are how you use the spells. The intent, Blaise. And believe me, my intent is very, very dark.'

Draco heard a tinkling sound and looked down at Blaise's feet. Sure enough, a puddle had formed underneath him. Draco smirked at Blaise. 'Wet yourself, Zabini?'

'P-p-p-lease Draco,' Blaise begged, 'I'm your friend. I swear. Please.'

Draco had his wand aimed. 'This spell is normally used to boil water. But I'm not going to be boiling water. No, have you ever wondered what it would feel like to have your blood boiling inside you?'

Blaise whimpered.

'Let's find out.'

Blaise screamed. The sound echoed in the corridor, throughout the prison, and it didn't stop for a very long time.

Harry had reached his destination. He stood on top of Azkaban. The night was clear, the starry sky visible. Voldemort stood across from him. The wind whipped their robes about.

'Let's begin,' Voldemort said, and waved his wand.

The Dark Lord was on top form. He tried to end it quickly with a Killing Curse, but Harry was ready. Rolling to the side, the curse flew right past him. Harry fired his own spell as he rolled. A simple Avada Kedavra would merely be cast aside. What Harry needed to do was take Voldemort off guard. He needed to create an opening. So instead of the deadly curse, he sent a torrent of flames after the dark wizard.

Voldemort disappeared in the flames, but reappeared moments later, having Apparated at the last second.

'You'll have to do better than that!' Voldemort taunted.

Harry whirled his wand around and the ground around Voldemort shot upwards to form several spikes. Voldemort again Apparated out of the way. Harry twirled his wand. The spikes of stone broke at the base and whirled to find Voldemort.

Voldemort made them explode before they reached him, but they had almost covered the distance by then, and the explosion sent shards of stone raining down on him. He ducked and covered himself with his robe.

'Avada Kedavra!'

Harry's Killing Curse hit the robe, but Voldemort was already gone. The black robe disintegrated into dust and blew away in the wind. Harry stood ready, waiting for the next attack.

The fight would continue.

Running up the next flight of stairs, Neville felt the battle begin. The energy was tremendous.

'I'm coming Harry.'

Neville put on a burst of speed.

At the same moment, standing over the headless corpse of the snake Nagini, Dumbledore raised his head upwards.

'What is it?' Ron asked, trying to rub life back into his left hand.

'It has begun.'

When the attack came it caught him off guard. He barely managed to avoid the curse, deflecting it with a wall of stone.

Voldemort didn't give up the advantage. He pressed it, continuing to fling curses towards Harry's retreating form.

Harry took a page out of Voldemort's book and Apparated to safety.

He reappeared behind Voldemort, but the older wizard sensed him and turned to fling another curse his way. Harry blocked it with some rubble, and then reformed the pieces into a giant spear, aimed at Voldemort's heart.

Voldemort roared in outrage and frustration.

'I'll kill you Potter!'

Voldemort stopped the spear and attempted to turn it. Harry fought him. The stone spear quivered.

'Why fight me boy? You can't win. I was being merciful. One quick curse and it's all over. No pain. But you test my patience…'

'Shut up and fight!' Harry shouted, and the spear jerked forwards. Voldemort cried out and managed to stop it again.

'That's it! Now I'm going to kill you, but so slowly, you'll wish you had just given up!'

Voldemort's power spiked and the spear spun. A thrust of his wand and Voldemort sent it hurtling towards Harry.

Harry gasped and dived to the ground. The spear tore apart the ground just behind him, breaking the foundations. The roof began to cave in. Harry scrambled to stay on it, finally reaching safe ground, but exhausted, flat on his back.

Voldemort appeared above him, wand aimed at his heart.

'Harry!'

It was Neville, and he came rushing at Voldemort, firing stunning spells.

Voldemort casually flicked his wand and sent Neville flying.

Harry took advantage and kicked Voldemort in the kneecap. Voldemort howled in pain as Harry rolled to his feet.

'Avada - ' The curse was interrupted before Harry could finish it. Voldemort thrust his wand at him and sent him backwards through the air. Harry landed hard with a thud and a groan.

Harry tried to get up, but a curse from Voldemort cut into his arm. Harry cried out and fell back. He felt blood trickling down his arm. Looking at it, he could see a large gash just below his shoulder. He groaned and again tried to get up. He made it to his feet, but Voldemort was right there, wand pointed. A white light shot like a knife from the tip of the wand.

Across the roof, barely lifting his head off the ground, Neville watched as the curse made contact.

Harry fell, blood erupting, spurting from his neck.

Neville screamed in rage.