“You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?” called Voldemort, his scarlet eyes narrowed over the top of the shield. “Above such brutality, are you?”
“We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom,” Dumbledore said calmly, continuing to walk towards Voldemort as though he had not a fear in the world, as though nothing had happened to interrupt his stroll up the hall. “Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit—”
“There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!” snarled Voldemort.
“You are quite wrong,” said Dumbledore, still closing in upon Voldemort and speaking as lightly as though they were discussing the matter over drinks. Harry felt scared to see him walking along, undefended, shieldless; he wanted to cry out a warning, but his headless guard kept shunting him backwards towards the wall, blocking his every attempt to get out from behind it. “Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness—”
Another jet of green light flew from behind the silver shield. This time it was the one-armed centaur, galloping in front of Dumbledore, that took the blast and shattered into a hundred pieces, but before the fragments had even hit the floor, Dumbledore had drawn back his wand and waved it as though brandishing a whip. A long thin flame flew from the tip; it wrapped itself around Voldemort, shield and all. For a moment, it seemed Dumbledore had won, but then the fiery rope became a serpent, which relinquished its hold on Voldemort at once and turned, hissing furiously, to face Dumbledore.
Voldemort vanished; the snake reared from the floor, ready to strike—
There was a burst of flame in midair above Dumbledore just as Voldemort reappeared, standing on the plinth in the middle of the pool where so recently the five statues had stood.
“Look out!” Harry yelled.
But even as he shouted, another jet of green light flew at Dumbledore from Voldemort’s wand and the snake struck—
Fawkes swooped down in front of Dumbledore, opened his beak wide and swallowed the jet of green light whole: he burst into flame and fell to the floor, small, wrinkled and flightless. At the same moment, Dumbledore brandished his wand in one long, fluid movement—the snake, which had been an instant from sinking its fangs into him, flew high into the air and vanished in a wisp of dark smoke; and the water in the pool rose up and covered Voldemort like a cocoon of molten glass.
For a few seconds Voldemort was visible only as a dark, rippling, faceless figure, shimmering and indistinct upon the plinth, clearly struggling to throw off the suffocating mass.
Then he was gone and the water fell with a crash back into its pool, slopping wildly over the sides, drenching the polished floor.
“MASTER!” screamed Bellatrix.
Sure it was over, sure Voldemort had decided to flee, Harry made to run out from behind his statue guard, but Dumbledore bellowed: “Stay where you are, Harry!”
For the first time, Dumbledore sounded frightened. Harry could not see why: the hall was quite empty but for themselves, the sobbing Bellatrix still trapped under the witch statue, and the baby phoenix Fawkes croaking feebly on the floor—
Then Harry’s scar burst open and he knew he was dead: it was pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance—
He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creature’s began: they were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape—
And when the creature spoke, it used Harry’s mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move.
“Kill me now, Dumbledore…”
Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again…
“If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy…”
Let the pain stop, thought Harry… let him kill us… end it, Dumbledore… death is nothing compared to this…
And I’ll see Sirius again…
And as Harry’s heart filled with emotion, the creature’s coils loosened, the pain was gone; Harry was lying face down on the floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he lay upon ice, not wood…
And there were voices echoing through the hall, more voices than there should have been… Harry opened his eyes, saw his glasses lying by the heel of the headless statue that had been guarding him, but which now lay flat on its back, cracked and immobile. He put them on and raised his head a little to find Dumbledore’s crooked nose inches from his own.
“Are you all right, Harry?”
“Yes,” said Harry, shaking so violently he could not hold his head up properly. “Yeah, I’m—where’s Voldemort, where—who are all these—what’s—”
The Atrium was full of people; the floor was reflecting the emerald green flames that had burst into life in all the fireplaces along one wall; and streams of witches and wizards were emerging from them. As Dumbledore pulled him back to his feet, Harry saw the tiny gold statues of the house-elf and the goblin, leading a stunned-looking Cornelius Fudge forward.
“He was there!” shouted a scarlet-robed man with a ponytail, who was pointing at a pile of golden rubble on the other side of the hall, where Bellatrix had lain trapped only moments before. “I saw him, Mr. Fudge, I swear it was You-Know-Who, he grabbed a woman and Disapparated!”
“I know, Williamson, I know, I saw him too!” gibbered Fudge, who was wearing pyjamas under his pinstriped cloak and was gasping as though he had just run miles. “Merlin’s beard—here—here!—in the Ministry of Magic!—great heavens above—it doesn’t seem possible—my word—how can this be—?”
“If you proceed downstairs into the Department of Mysteries, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore—apparently satisfied that Harry was all right, and walking forwards so that the newcomers realised he was there for the first time (a few of them raised their wands; others simply looked amazed; the statues of the elf and goblin applauded and Fudge jumped so much that his slipper-clad feet left the floor)—“you will find several escaped Death Eaters contained in the Death Chamber, bound by an Anti-Disapparation Jinx and awaiting your decision as to what to do with them.”
“Dumbledore!” gasped Fudge, beside himself with amazement. “You—here—I—I—”
He looked wildly around at the Aurors he had brought with him and it could not have been clearer that he was in half a mind to cry, “Seize him!”
“Cornelius, I am ready to fight your men—and win, again!” said Dumbledore in a thunderous voice. “But a few minutes ago you saw proof, with your own eyes, that I have been telling you the truth for a year. Lord Voldemort has returned, you have been chasing the wrong man for twelve months, and it is time—you listened to sense!”
“I—don’t—well—” blustered Fudge, looking around as though hoping somebody was going to tell him what to do. When nobody did, he said, “Very well—Dawlish! Williamson! Go down to the Department of Mysteries and see… Dumbledore, you—you will need to tell me exactly—the Fountain of Magical Brethren—what happened?” he added in a kind of whimper, staring around at the floor, where the remains of the statues of the witch, wizard and centaur now lay scattered.
“We can discuss that after I have sent Harry back to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.
“Harry—Harry Potter?”
Fudge wheeled around and stared at Harry, who was still standing against the wall beside the fallen statue that had guarded him during Dumbledore and Voldemort’s duel.