Heavy clouds hung low in the sky over Ottery St. Catchpole. Harry stood at the edge of the cemetery, watching people arrive in twos and threes. Some apparated directly to the gates. Others walked from the village, their faces drawn and tired.
Nym stood beside him, her hair a subdued brown today. No pink. No purple. Just brown, pulled back in a simple tail. Her jaw was set, her eyes taking in every face that appeared.
“You alright?” Harry asked, though he already knew the answer. The tension radiating off her was palpable, delicious even.
“No,” Nym said. “But I will be.”
Fleur approached from behind, moving silently. She’d dressed in dark gray robes, elegant but respectful. “It is time,” she said softly.
They walked together toward the gathering crowd.
The cemetery was old, headstones weathered by centuries of English rain. Someone had set up chairs in rows facing three fresh graves. The chairs were already filling up.
Harry spotted Arthur Weasley immediately. The man looked like he’d aged a decade since the attack. His shoulders were hunched, his face gaunt. He sat in the front row, staring at nothing.
Bill was there too, standing slightly apart from the others. His face bore fresh scars, still pink and angry. Werewolf claws left marks that even magic couldn’t fully erase, and now he carried more than just scars. He wasn’t sitting. It looked like he couldn’t seem to stay still. His eyes kept darting to the treeline beyond the cemetery.
Smart, Harry noted. At least someone was paying attention.
The twins stood together, as always. But there was no laughter today. No jokes. Fred’s arm was bandaged. George had a cut across his forehead that someone had healed but left a scar. They looked diminished somehow, like the attack had taken something vital from them.
Another piece on the board, Harry mused. The twins would be useful. Their inventiveness combined with the proper motivation could produce interesting results.
Ginny sat rigid in her chair, her hands clenched in her lap. Her eyes were red but dry now. All cried out, Harry guessed. She looked up as he approached, and her eyes flickered with recognition. Or maybe it was gratitude. It was hard to tell.
Hermione sat beside Ginny, one hand on the younger girl’s shoulder. She looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes. She gave Harry a small nod.
The three graves sat open and waiting. They had three bodies to bury today. Three more reasons for people to hate Voldemort and rally to his cause.
The Order of the Phoenix was there in force. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood at the back, his eyes constantly moving, watching for threats. Mad Eye Moody had positioned himself with a clear view of all approaches, his magical eye whirring in its socket.
Good security, Harry acknowledged. Not good enough, but respectable.
The service started with a wizard Harry didn’t recognize standing up to speak. Some ministry official who’d known the Weasleys professionally. His words were nice enough but felt hollow, Harry thought. He kept talking about bravery and sacrifice, as if those things made losing family members somehow noble.
Harry tuned it out. He’d heard enough speeches about sacrifice to last several lifetimes. Besides, he was more interested in watching the crowd. Noting who was here. Who was crying. Who was angry. Who would be useful once this was all over.
Arthur spoke next, his voice cracking as he talked about Molly. About their years together. About how she’d been the heart of their family. He broke down halfway through and George had to help him back to his seat.
Bill tried to speak about Percy but couldn’t get past the first sentence. The words just stopped coming and he stood there, his mouth working soundlessly, until Fred gently pulled him away.
No one spoke about Remus. Kingsley had offered, but Arthur had asked him not to. Said he couldn’t bear to hear it. As so it went. Remus Lupin was buried in silence except for the sound of dirt hitting his coffin.
Harry felt something settle in his chest as he watched it all, no matter how perverse. This was power. Not the kind that came from a wand, but the kind that came from understanding people. From knowing what made them tick, what made them break, and what made them bend to your will. Grief was a powerful motivator, and it could also become a catalyst to a powerful manipulator.
The crowd was starting to disperse when Harry felt it.
A shift in the air. A change in pressure. His magical senses screamed warning a split second before the first curse hit.
The explosion tore through a cluster of mourners near the back. Bodies flew. People screamed. Blood sprayed across white marble headstones.
Death Eaters apparated into the cemetery like a plague of locusts. Twenty of them at least, maybe more. They came in firing, curses flying in every direction.
‘Finally,’ Harry thought, and he couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face.
‘Well, there you have it,’ Maria’s voice echoed in his mind. ‘Knew that after your retaliation, they wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity. Too predictable, and a bit disappointing as well.’
‘What do you mean you knew that? I told you,’ Harry thought, mentally scoffing at her.
‘You told me, which means I knew.’
‘That doesn’t even make sense,’ Harry thought.
‘Focus on the fight first.’
Harry had his wand out before the second spell hit. He threw up a massive shield that caught three cutting hexes and a blasting curse, the impacts loud and echoing in the chaos. The grin never left his face.
“Get down!” someone shouted.
The crowd scattered. Some ran for the gates. Others dove behind headstones. A few, the ones who could fight, drew their wands and started firing back.
Harry saw Bellatrix immediately. She stood at the center of the attack, her wild black hair whipping around her face, laughing like this was the best day of her life.
“Goody goody Weasleys!” she shrieked. “Come to mourn your dead? How sweet! How touching! Let’s give you more to cry about!”
‘Oh, this is going to be fun,’ Maria cackled in his mind. Harry completely agreed.
The moment her presence registered, Nym’s face went white, then red, then white again. Her wand came up, her hand shaking with rage.
“Nym, wait,” Harry started, but she was already moving.
He could have stopped her. Should have, probably. But he didn’t truly want to.
“Bellatrix!” Nym screamed, charging forward. “You fucking bitch!”
“Oh look,” Bellatrix cooed. “The little halfblood comes to play. How adorable.”
Nym threw a cutting curse that Bellatrix batted aside contemptuously. The return fire was immediate and vicious. Purple light that crackled with dark magic.
Nym dodged but barely. The spell clipped her shoulder and she spun, going down hard.
Harry moved, but not to help Nym. Not yet. A Death Eater tried to intercept him and Harry’s response was brutal. A bone breaker hit the man’s knee, shattering the joint. The Death Eater went down screaming and Harry’s follow up curse caved in his skull.
The wet crunch was deeply satisfying.
Another Death Eater came from the left, firing wildly. Harry’s reductor caught him in the chest. The man’s ribcage exploded outward, shards of bone puncturing his lungs. He fell, drowning in his own blood, and Harry stepped over the body without a second glance.
The battle was chaos. Pure, violent, beautiful chaos.
Kingsley was dueling two Death Eaters at once, his shields blazing golden in the dim light. Moody had dropped three attackers already and was working on a fourth, his curses precise and brutal.
The twins were fighting back to back, covering each other. Fred’s bludgeoning hex caught a masked Death Eater in the face, caving in his nose. George’s blasting hex sent another flying into a headstone hard enough to crack the stone and the man’s spine simultaneously. The twins stood there, shaking, taking in the result of their handiwork.
‘Good,’ Harry thought with slight surprise. ‘They’re learning.’
Arthur was trying to get Ginny to safety but she was fighting him, screaming that she wanted to fight. Hermione grabbed Ginny’s other arm and together they pulled her toward the treeline.
“No!” Ginny shrieked. “Let me go! I’ll kill them! I’ll kill all of them!”
“Ginny, please!” Arthur begged.
Bill wasn’t running. He stood his ground, his wand work efficient and deadly. A cutting curse opened a Death Eater’s throat. The man clutched at the wound, blood pumping between his fingers, his eyes wide with disbelief. Bill’s piercing hex punched through another’s lung before the first one had even finished falling.
The savagery of it was stunning. Harry found himself appreciating the artistry. It had taken grievous loss for the family to truly bring their balls to battle.
He saw a Death Eater raise his wand toward a fleeing woman. Harry’s spell took the man’s head off. Literally. The severing curse was perfect, precise. The head tumbled through the air, still wearing its mask, while the body stood for a moment, blood fountaining from the neck like a geyser, before it collapsed.
Harry snorted. He couldn’t help it. The absurdity of the headless body just standing there was too much.
Another Death Eater hit an elderly wizard with a dark curse that made the man’s skin bubble and melt. The wizard’s screams were high pitched, desperate, as his flesh liquefied and sloughed off his bones. The smell was horrendous.
Harry’s cutting curse opened the Death Eater from shoulder to hip. The man’s torso split open, organs spilling out onto the grass.
“Should have picked an easier target,” Harry said cheerfully.
Fleur was beside him suddenly, her veela magic flaring. She threw a spell that hit a Death Eater and the woman’s clothes burst into flames. Then her skin. Then her hair. The woman ran, shrieking, a human torch stumbling through the cemetery until someone put her down with a killing curse.
“Nice one,” Harry said appreciatively.
“Merci,” Fleur replied, already turning to engage another opponent.
A Death Eater Harry recognized as Yaxley’s lackey came at him, his wand blazing. The man was skilled, Harry had to admit. His curses came fast and hard, aimed at pushing Harry back, to no success.
“Potter!” Yaxley’s lackey snarled. “The Dark Lord wants you alive, but I’ll settle for mostly alive!”
“How generous,” Harry said, grinning ferally. He ducked under a purple curse that turned a headstone behind him to slag. “Tell me, does Voldy boy actually pay you for your… service? Or do you blow him for free?”
“Crucio!” Yaxley’s lackey roared.
Harry ducked under it. The curse hit another Death Eater who’d been trying to flank Harry. The man went down convulsing.
“Oops,” Harry said innocently. “Friendly fire. You should be more careful.”
Yaxley’s lackey’s face went purple with rage. He threw everything he had at Harry. Cutting curses, blasting hexes, dark magic of the highest order, but still primitive.
Harry danced through it all, his movements fluid, almost playful. This was what he lived for. The thrill of combat. The rush of power. The sheer joy of being better than everyone else.
He caught Yaxley’s lackey’s next curse on his shield and responded with a bone vanishing hex, an inspiration from the great Gilderoy Lockhart, rest his mind. Yaxley’s lackey’s left femur simply disappeared. The leg collapsed under him and he went down hard.
“That’s going to hurt in the morning,” Harry observed. “Oh wait. You won’t see morning.”
The killing curse was almost merciful. Almost.
Nym was back on her feet, trading spells with Bellatrix. But it was clear she was outmatched. Bellatrix was faster, stronger, and much more experienced. Every spell Nym threw got deflected. Every curse Bellatrix sent back got closer.
“Dance for me, little girl!” Bellatrix cackled. “Show me what that mudblood father taught you!”
A purple curse almost caught Nym in the side, grazing her slightly, and she went down again, this time not getting up as fast. Her wand fell from nerveless fingers.
Bellatrix raised her wand for the killing blow, her face alight with mad joy.
Harry was moving before she could finish. A blasting hex blew apart the headstone Bellatrix was using for cover, showering her with rock fragments. She spun, her eyes wild, and found Harry standing there.
The grin on his face was feral.
“Well well,” she purred. “Baby Potter. Come to die at last?”
“Come to play, actually,” Harry said conversationally. “You looked like you were having all the fun and I felt left out.”
He threw a cutting curse that Bellatrix barely deflected. The spell carved a line through a nearby tree instead, the trunk splitting with a groan.
“You think you can kill me?” Bellatrix shrieked. “Me? I was dueling while you were still swimming in your blood traitor father’s ball sack!”
“And yet here we are,” Harry said, his grin widening. “You, still sucking off a madman with delusions of grandeur. Me, about to make you scream. The voice in my head would like me to make you scream in another way, but honestly, you’re way too clapped for me.”
She snarled, and he cast again, a rapid fire series of hexes and curses that forced Bellatrix onto the defensive. She blocked, dodged, and threw up shields. But Harry kept coming, and he was laughing now.
This was better than he’d hoped. Bellatrix was good. Way better than the other losers he’d had to fight. This would actually be entertaining.
“You’re nothing!” Bellatrix spat, her own curses flying. “A halfblood brat playing at war! The Dark Lord will crush you!”
“Your Dark Lord,” Harry said, throwing a bone breaker that Bellatrix barely avoided, “is an impotent coward hiding behind his followers. Tell me, Bella, does he ever reward you for your loyalty? Or does he just use you up and throw you away like the desperate whore you are?”
Bellatrix’s face went purple with rage. “How dare you speak of him! He is power incarnate! He is immortal!”
“He’s a parasite,” Harry said, ducking under her cutting curse and responding with a piercing hex that she deflected at the last second. “A sick, twisted remnant of a man who’s the biggest hypocrite this world’s ever known. He’s not powerful. He’s pathetic. He’s a scared little boy who never grew up.”
The spell he threw next was dark. Illegal. It caught Bellatrix’s shield and shattered it, the backlash throwing her backward into a grave marker. She hit hard enough to crack the stone.
“And you,” Harry continued, advancing like a predator stalking wounded prey. “You’re even worse. A pureblood princess who threw away everything for an abomination who’ll never love you. Tell me, how many times has he fucked you, Bella? Or does he just use you for target practice when he’s bored?”
Around them, the battle raged. A Death Eater’s blasting curse caught one of the funeral attendees, an older woman who’d been trying to run. Her body disintegrated, blood and bone fragments spraying across white marble.
Bill Weasley roared and threw a cutting curse that took the Death Eater’s arm off at the shoulder. The man’s screaming cut off when Bill’s second spell removed his head.
Moody was fighting alongside Kingsley, his usual demeanor replaced with cold fury. A Death Eater tried to curse him and his shield held long enough for him to retaliate. His piercing hex went straight through the man’s eye socket and out the back of his skull. An eye for an eye, except the man won’t be getting up anymore.
The twins had somehow acquired a bag of their experimental products and were using them with devastating effect. A Death Eater stepped on what looked like a harmless puddle and suddenly found himself encased in rapidly hardening concrete. Fred’s blasting hex turned him into red mist and stone fragments.
Harry saw all of this peripherally while focusing on Bellatrix. She was back on her feet, murder in her eyes.
“I’ll kill you!” Bellatrix shrieked. “I’ll make you beg! I’ll make you scream like your mudblood mother!”
“My mother,” Harry said, and his grin turned vicious, “died protecting me. Noble. Brave. Everything you’ll never be. What have you ever protected? Besides Voldemort’s fragile ego and your delusional fantasies about being his favorite?”
Bellatrix screamed, actually screamed, and threw the darkest curse Harry had seen yet. Black and writhing like it was alive, pulsing with malevolent energy. Harry’s shield caught it, but the impact drove him back three inches, his boots leaving furrows in the grass.
“Oh, that was good!” Harry said, genuinely delighted. “Do it again!”
“I’ll kill you!” Bellatrix shrieked again, seemingly stuck on repeat. “I’ll make you suffer! I’ll destroy everything you love!”
Another exchange. Spells flying so fast they were almost invisible. Harry’s cutting curse opened a gash across Bellatrix’s cheek. Blood ran down her face, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Look at them!” Bellatrix crowed, gesturing wildly at the carnage. “Look at your precious friends dying! The Weasleys are finished! We’ll wipe out every last blood traitor!”
Harry followed her gesture. A Death Eater had cornered Hermione, who was shielding a wounded man. The Death Eater raised his wand for the kill.
Harry’s spell took him in the back. The cutting curse severed his spine and he collapsed, paralyzed but alive. Hermione’s stunner finished him off.
“You were saying?” Harry asked Bellatrix pleasantly.
She hissed, genuinely hissed like a snake, which said a lot about her mental stability than any spell could.
“You already tried that,” Harry continued. “Killed a mother. Killed a friend. Killed a brother. And here they still are. Still fighting. Still standing. Still kicking your arses. But with lethal intent now. What does that say about you? About your precious Dark Lord?”
Another Death Eater fell to Moody’s curse, the man’s body convulsing as bones turned to jelly inside his skin. He died choking on his own liquefied skeleton.
Nym had joined the fight properly now, her anger giving her strength. She caught a Death Eater with a blasting hex that removed his lower jaw. The man stumbled, unable to scream without a mouth, before her second spell blew a hole through his chest.
Harry threw a spell that hit Bellatrix’s hastily erected shield and the shield just vanished, snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane.
Her eyes widened.
“What’s wrong, Bella?” Harry asked, his voice dripping with false concern. “Running low on magic? Or did you finally realize you’re out of your depth?”
“Never!” she shrieked.
But her next spell was weaker. Slower. Harry batted it aside contemptuously.
“You know what the funny thing is?” Harry said, circling her like a shark. “All this death. All this destruction. And for what? Your master isn’t coming to save you. He doesn’t care about you. Never did. You’re just another tool to him. Another disposable asset.”
“Lies!” Bellatrix spat. “He loves me! He needs me!”
“He tolerates you,” Harry corrected. “There’s a difference. And deep down, in whatever passes for your brain, you know it. That’s why you’re so desperate. So obsessed. Because you know he’ll never give you what you want.”
Bellatrix’s next curse was wild, desperate. Harry didn’t even bother shielding. He just stepped aside and let it sail past.
“Pathetic,” he observed.
A Death Eater made the mistake of trying to help Bellatrix. Harry’s response was instantaneous. A severing curse took the man’s legs off at the knees. He fell, screaming, and Harry’s killing curse silenced him.
“This is between me and the crazy bitch,” Harry called out to any other Death Eaters who might be thinking of interfering. “Anyone else who tries to help her dies screaming. Understand?”
He punctuated the threat by hitting another approaching Death Eater with a blood boiling curse that set the man’s blood on fire. The Death Eater’s skin turned red, then black, as he cooked from the inside out. The smell was atrocious but the screaming was music.
The other Death Eaters got the message. They gave Harry and Bellatrix a wide berth.
“Now then,” Harry said, turning back to Bellatrix. “Where were we? Oh yes. I was explaining what a pathetic, delusional failure you are.”
“I’ll kill you!” Bellatrix shrieked for what must have been the tenth time.
“So you keep saying,” Harry replied. “But you know what? I don’t think you can. I think you’re all talk. All bluster. No substance. Just like your master.”
He threw a casual cutting curse that Bellatrix barely blocked. The effort made her stagger.
“Look at you,” Harry said, his voice mocking. “The great Bellatrix Lestrange. Voldy boy’s most loyal servant. And you can’t even handle one teenager. How embarrassing.”
Bellatrix’s face was a mask of rage and humiliation. She threw everything she had left at him. Dark curses that would have killed most wizards.
Harry deflected them all, and he was not even breathing hard.
“Is that it?” he asked. “Is that really all you’ve got? I expected more from the noseless cunt’s cunt.”
“Shut up!” Bellatrix screamed. “Shut up shut up shut up!”
“Make me,” Harry challenged.
She tried. Oh, she tried. But she was exhausted now, running on rage and desperation. Her spells were getting weaker. Sloppier.
Harry’s next curse was precise. A severing charm so perfectly executed it was almost art.
It caught Bellatrix’s right arm just above the elbow and severed it clean.
The arm fell to the ground, wand still clutched in dead fingers. Blood pumped from the stump in rhythmic spurts, painting the grass red.
For a moment, Bellatrix just stared at it. At her arm lying on the ground. At the blood pouring from the wound.
Then she started laughing.
Not screaming. Not crying. Laughing. Mad, unhinged laughter that echoed across the cemetery like something from a nightmare.
“Oh!” she gasped between giggles. “Oh that’s good! That’s very good! The Dark Lord will be so pleased when he brings me back! So pleased! He’ll make me whole again! Better than before!”
Harry flicked his wand and ropes sprang from the ground, binding Bellatrix tight. She kept laughing, blood still pouring from her ruined arm.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Harry said pleasantly. “Not yet. We’re not done playing.”
Another flick and the blood flow stopped. Cauterized. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Bellatrix’s laughter cut off as she realized what he’d done.
“No,” she whispered. “No no no, let me bleed out. Let me die. The Dark Lord will bring me back. He always brings me back.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” Harry asked. He could feel something in her robes. A magical signature. Emergency portkey. Standard Death Eater issue.
Harry summoned it with a casual flick of his wand. A small coin flew from Bellatrix’s pocket into his hand.
“Looking for this?” Harry asked pleasantly, holding it up so she could see.
Bellatrix’s eyes locked onto the coin. “Give it back,” she said, and for the first time there was genuine fear in her voice. “Give it back give it back give it back!”
“No, I don’t think I will,” Harry said. He held the coin between his thumb and forefinger. “See, the thing about portkeys is they’re really quite fragile.”
He squeezed.
The coin crumpled. The magic inside shattered with an audible crack, like breaking glass.
“No,” Bellatrix whispered. “No no no no no.”
“Yes,” Harry said, smiling blissfully.
He looked up and saw Yaxley. So the bastard had arrived as well. The Death Eater was staring at Bellatrix, at Harry, and at the destroyed portkey. His face went pale.
Their eyes met, and Harry’s smile widened.
“Run,” Harry mouthed silently.
Yaxley ran, portkeying away without even trying to help Bellatrix.
One other Death Eater saw Yaxley flee and followed immediately. Just gone, leaving the dead and wounded behind.
Smart, Harry thought. Survival instinct trumping loyalty. Just as it should be.
The remaining Death Eaters died quickly after that. The Order members and the surviving Weasleys cut them down without mercy.
One Death Eater tried to surrender, his hands raised and his wand on the ground.
Bill Weasley killed him anyway. A cutting curse opened his throat. The man died choking on his own blood, hands clutching uselessly at the wound.
“No prisoners,” Bill said flatly.
Harry met his eyes and gave him an approving nod. Bill averted his gaze.
When the last Death Eater fell, an eerie quiet settled over the cemetery, broken only by groans of the wounded and the soft sounds of someone crying.
Bodies littered the ground. Some in Death Eater robes. More in civilian clothes. The grass was slick with blood. The air reeked of burnt flesh and emptied bowels.
It was disgusting.
Harry walked over to where Nym sat propped against a headstone. Fleur was kneeling beside her, her wand moving in complex patterns as she healed the worst of the damage.
“How bad?” Harry asked.
“Broken ribs,” Fleur said. “Internal bleeding. Dark curse residue. She will start moving in no time but she needs proper healing.”
Harry held out his hand. Nym stared at it for a moment, then took it. He pulled her gently to her feet.
She swayed but caught herself. Her eyes found Bellatrix, still bound and bleeding and whimpering softly to herself.
Harry leaned in close to Nym’s ear. “She’s yours,” he said quietly. “Do what you need to do. What you want to do. No one here will judge you.”
Nym’s hand tightened on her wand. She limped over to where Bellatrix lay, each step slow and careful.
Bellatrix looked up at her and the fear in her eyes was replaced by defiance. She grinned, blood staining her teeth. “Hello niece. Come to finish what you started?”
“Shut up,” Nym said. Her voice was shaking but not from fear.
“Oh, she speaks!” Bellatrix giggled, though it sounded forced now. “The halfblood mongrel has words! Tell me, did your mudblood father teach you those words? Before we killed him?”
Nym’s wand trembled.
“Actually no, that was your whore mother who did it, right?” Bellatrix continued, her voice sugary sweet but with an edge of desperation. “Screamed so prettily when I tortured her. Begged me to stop. Begged for mercy. There was none, of course. Never is.”
“Stop talking,” Nym said.
“Did you know she called out for you?” Bellatrix asked. “At the end? Kept saying your name over and over. Nymphadora. Nymphadora. Such an ugly name for such an ugly girl. She died crying for her half breed daughter who wasn’t there to save her.”
The wand in Nym’s hand was shaking so badly now Harry thought she might drop it.
He stepped up behind her, close enough to touch but not touching. Not yet. “You don’t have to listen to her,” he said softly. “She’s already dead. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Nym took a shuddering breath.
“That’s right,” Bellatrix cooed, but her voice was shrill now, panicked. “Listen to baby Potter. Let him make it all better. He’s so good at that, isn’t he? Saving people. Protecting them. Pity he couldn’t protect the Weasleys. Or poor Sirius. Oh yes, I killed him too. Did Potter tell you that? I killed his godfather and laughed while I did it. Laughed just like I’m laughing now.”
But the mad bitch wasn’t laughing. The mad bitch was shaking.
“My mother,” Nym said, and her voice was steadier now. Cold. “Was worth a million of you. She was kind. She was brave. She chose love over blood purity and that made her stronger than you’ll ever be.”
“She was weak,” Bellatrix spat. “A disgrace to the Black family name. A blood traitor who deserved what she got.”
“No,” Nym said. “You were the disgrace. You threw everything away for a monster who’ll never give you what you want. You tortured and killed and destroyed and for what? To serve a man who sees you as nothing but a tool? A disposable piece of trash?”
Bellatrix tried to spit at her but Nym was too far away.
“You killed my mother,” Nym continued. Her wand was steady now. Completely steady. “You’ve killed so many people I’ve lost count. And you’re still trying to act like you won. Like any of this mattered.”
“It matters!” Bellatrix shrieked. “The Dark Lord will win! He’ll kill you all! He’ll—“
“He’ll do nothing,” Nym interrupted. “Because he doesn’t care about you. Never did. You were just convenient. And now you’re not even that.”
Behind Nym, Harry placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch.
“End it,” he whispered. “End her. Make her pay for everything she’s done. Make it hurt if you want. Or make it quick. Your choice. But end it.”
Nym raised her wand higher. The cemetery had gone completely silent. Everyone was watching. Even the wounded had stopped groaning.
“You’re wrong,” Nym said to Bellatrix. “I’m not weak. I’m not soft. And I’m nothing like you.”
“Then do it!” Bellatrix shrieked. “Kill me! I dare you! The Dark Lord will bring me back! He’ll bring me back and then I’ll hunt you down and make you scream like your mother screamed and—“
“Avada Kedavra.”
Green light erupted from Nym’s wand. It hit Bellatrix square in the chest and her eyes went wide, then empty.
Bellatrix Lestrange, Voldemort’s most faithful, died with a look of surprise on her face.
For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Then Nym’s wand clattered to the ground and she turned, stumbling, and buried her face in Harry’s chest.
Her whole body was shaking. Not with rage now. With sobs. Deep, wrenching sobs that seemed to tear themselves out of her.
Harry wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. He let her cry. He let her break. Because she’d earned it. And because broken people were so much easier to rebuild into something useful.
Fleur stepped up beside them and rested a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Harry allowed himself a small, satisfied smile over Nym’s shoulder. Everything had gone exactly as expected. Better, even.
Bellatrix was dead. More Death Eaters had been eliminated. The Weasleys and the Order were bound even tighter to him through shared trauma. And they’d learned to use lethal force after losing those closest to them.
Perfect.
Around them, the surviving mourners stood in silence. Arthur Weasley was the first to move. He walked over slowly, looked down at Bellatrix’s body, then up at Nym.
“Thank you,” he said simply, his voice thick with emotion.
Nym couldn’t respond. She could barely breathe between sobs.
Harry just nodded.
The cleanup started after that. Bodies needed moving. Wounded needed healing. The dead needed counting.
Eleven mourners had died in the attack. Eleven people who’d come to bury their friends and ended up joining them in the ground.
But they’d killed eighteen Death Eaters. Including Bellatrix Lestrange herself.
The numbers were good. The optics were better.
Harry stood holding Nym while Fleur organized the evacuation of the wounded. Kingsley was coordinating with the Order. Moody was checking the perimeter, making sure no more attacks were coming.
The Weasleys were clustered together. Arthur stood with his arms around Ginny, who was still shaking with rage and grief. The twins stood close to Hermione, all three of them blood spattered and exhausted. Bill stood off to the side, still alert, still watching.
They’d lost so much. More than anyone should have to lose. But they were still here. Still standing.
Still loyal to the cause, and much stronger in their support.
Eventually Nym’s sobs quieted to hiccups, then to shuddering breaths. She pulled back slightly, wiping at her face with the back of her hand.
“I killed her,” she said quietly. “I actually killed her.”
“You did,” Harry confirmed, stroking her hair soothingly. “You were amazing. So brave. So strong.”
“I don’t feel better,” Nym said. “I thought I’d feel better.”
“You will,” Harry said, and he actually believed it. “Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, when you realize how many lives you saved by getting rid of that madwoman. And I’ll be right here with you the whole time.”
Nym nodded slowly. She looked over at Bellatrix’s body. The mad grin was gone now, replaced by the slack emptiness of death.
“She was right about one thing,” Nym said. “I’m not like her.”
“No,” Harry agreed. “You’re not. You’re better. You’re mine.”
The possessiveness was clear. Nym noticed it immediately, and she leaned into him again, drawing comfort from his presence.
Fleur returned, her face pale but composed. “The injured are being taken to St. Mungo’s. The dead...” she trailed off, looking at the new graves that’d need digging.
“We’ll take care of it,” Harry said.
They would. Because that’s what you did. You buried your dead. You mourned your losses. You made a show of grief and unity.
And then you did whatever needed to be done with it.
Because the war wasn’t over. Voldemort was still out there. So were his followers.
But they were fewer now. Weaker. More afraid.
Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. Fenrir Greyback was dead. The Carrows were dead. Eighteen more Death Eaters were dead today alone, dozens killed previously.
And Harry Potter was just getting started.
He looked around the cemetery. At the destruction. The blood. The bodies. At the survivors who looked at him with gratitude and trust and dependence.
This was what power looked like. Not the flashy dueling or the political maneuvering. This. The aftermath. The moment when people were broken and vulnerable and looking for someone to follow.
And he would give them that. He would be their leader. Their savior. Their hero.
All while building his own empire from the ruins of theirs.
To be continued...