"Yeah, it did." said Harry. "You're right. But before you try to kill me, I'd advise you think what you've done . . . . Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle. . . ." "What is this?" Of all the things that Harry had said to him, beyond any revelation or taunt, nothing had socked Voldemort like this. Harry saw is pupils contract to thin slits, saw the skin around his eyes whiten. "It's your one last chance," said Harry, "it's all you've got left. . . . I've seen what you'll be otherwise. . . . Be a man. . . try. . . Try for some remorse. . . ." “You dare --- ?” said Voldemort again. “Yes, I dare,” said Harry, “because Dumbledore’s last plan hasn’t backfired on me at all. It’s backfired on you, Riddle.” Voldemort’s hand was trembling on the Elder Wand, and Harry gripped Draco’s very tightly. The moment, he knew, was seconds away. “That wand still isn’t working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore.” “He killed --- ” “Aren’t you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore’s death was planned between them! Dumbledore instended to die, undefeated, the wand’s last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand’s power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!” “But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!” Voldemort’s voice shook with malicious pleasure. “I stole the wand from its last master’s tomb! I removed it against the last master’s wishes! Its power is mine!” “You still don’t get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn’t enough! Holding it, using it, doesn’t make it really yours. Didn’t you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard . . . The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world’s most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance . . .” Voldemort’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and Harry could feel the curse coming, feel it building inside the wand pointed at his face. “The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.” Blank shock showed in Voldemort’s face for a moment, but then it was gone. “But what does it matter?” he said softly. “Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone . . . and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy . . .” “But you’re too late,” said Harry. “You’ve missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him.” Harry twitched the hawthorn wand, and he felt the eyes of everyone in the Hall upon it. “So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” whispered Harry. “Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does . . . I am the true master of the Elder Wand.” A red-glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their facesat the same time, so that Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco’s wand: “Avada Kedavra!” “Expelliarmus!” The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort’s green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell. One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. The Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, not tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last --- The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light. Harry was an indispensible part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration. They wanted him there with them, their leader and symbol, their savior and their guide, and that he had not slept, that he craved the company of only a few of them, seemed to occur to no one. He must speak to the bereaved, clasp their hands, witness their tears, receive their thanks, hear the news now creeping in from every quarter as the morning drew on; that the Imperiused up and down the country had come back to themselves, that Death Eaters were fleeing or else being captured, that the innocent of Azkaban were being released at that very moment, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named temporary Minister of Magic. They moved Voldemort’s body and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away form the bodies of Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin Creevey, and fifty others who had died fighting him. McGonagall had replaced the House tables, not nobody was sitting according to House anymore: All were jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents[...]
you think what you've done . . . . Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle. . . ."
"What is this?"
Of all the things that Harry had said to him, beyond any revelation or taunt,
nothing had socked Voldemort like this. Harry saw is pupils contract to thin slits, saw the
skin around his eyes whiten.
"It's your one last chance," said Harry, "it's all you've got left. . . . I've seen what
you'll be otherwise. . . . Be a man. . . try. . . Try for some remorse. . . ."
“You dare --- ?” said Voldemort again.
“Yes, I dare,” said Harry, “because Dumbledore’s last plan hasn’t backfired on
me at all. It’s backfired on you, Riddle.”
Voldemort’s hand was trembling on the Elder Wand, and Harry gripped Draco’s
very tightly. The moment, he knew, was seconds away.
“That wand still isn’t working properly for you because you murdered the wrong
person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated
Dumbledore.”
“He killed --- ”
“Aren’t you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore’s death was
planned between them! Dumbledore instended to die, undefeated, the wand’s last true
master! If all had gone as planned, the wand’s power would have died with him, because
it had never been won from him!”
“But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!” Voldemort’s voice
shook with malicious pleasure. “I stole the wand from its last master’s tomb! I removed it
against the last master’s wishes! Its power is mine!”
“You still don’t get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn’t enough! Holding
it, using it, doesn’t make it really yours. Didn’t you listen to Ollivander? The wand
chooses the wizard . . . The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore
died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from
Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the
world’s most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance . . .”
Voldemort’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and Harry could feel the curse coming,
feel it building inside the wand pointed at his face.
“The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.”
Blank shock showed in Voldemort’s face for a moment, but then it was gone.
“But what does it matter?” he said softly. “Even if you are right, Potter, it makes
no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill
alone . . . and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy . . .”
“But you’re too late,” said Harry. “You’ve missed your chance. I got there first. I
overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him.”
Harry twitched the hawthorn wand, and he felt the eyes of everyone in the Hall
upon it.
“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” whispered Harry. “Does the wand in
your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does . . . I am the true master
of the Elder Wand.”
A red-glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of
dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their facesat the same time, so that Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high
voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco’s wand:
“Avada Kedavra!”
“Expelliarmus!”
The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between
them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the
spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort’s green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand
fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of
Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to
take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught
the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the
scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body
feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing.
Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two
wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.
One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the
tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers
rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and
the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped
around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. The Ginny, Neville, and
Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall
and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, not
tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds
of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it
was over at last ---
The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light.
Harry was an indispensible part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning,
of grief and celebration. They wanted him there with them, their leader and symbol, their
savior and their guide, and that he had not slept, that he craved the company of only a few
of them, seemed to occur to no one. He must speak to the bereaved, clasp their hands,
witness their tears, receive their thanks, hear the news now creeping in from every quarter
as the morning drew on; that the Imperiused up and down the country had come back to
themselves, that Death Eaters were fleeing or else being captured, that the innocent of
Azkaban were being released at that very moment, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt had
been named temporary Minister of Magic.
They moved Voldemort’s body and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away form
the bodies of Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin Creevey, and fifty others who had died fighting
him. McGonagall had replaced the House tables, not nobody was sitting according to
House anymore: All were jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents[...]
macie
#harrypotter