Harry Potter: Another Chance

Chapter 429: A Sliver of Hope

Disclaimer:

Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

I own nothing but the original characters I create.

"Dialogue"

'Thoughts'

-Author notes-

Chapter 429: A Sliver of Hope

'Tom…' That was a name Voldemort hadn't heard in a very long time...since his days at school. At this point, it felt like all of that had happened in a completely different lifetime.

All of a sudden, the brief silence was broken by a tremendously loud cracking noise. It sounded like thunder but a thousand times more intense.

Harry moved his eyes upward, and...there it was, a black and jagged line tearing through the pale blue sky in a very unnatural way that made it clear that it was not something that should exist.

It was somewhat similar to the one that appeared during the first task, but upon closer inspection, it was obvious this one was much smaller and weaker.

As Harry had theorized, the intensity and importance of the events that take place, seemed to affect the intensity of the space tears.

From what he remembered of his previous life, not much of significance had occurred during the second task. He did recall a brief argument with the merfolk when he tried to rescue Fleur's little sister, but that was all.

He hadn't even been sure if there would be a Convergence this time at all. But the appearance of the crack today was evidence of how weak the walls between realities had become.

'I made the right decision… We probably wouldn't survive a Convergence during the third task…' That day had been too important, and it had affected the lives of thousands.

Harry glanced back at Voldemort, who was clearly confused by everything that was happening today.

Harry would never sympathize with this monster, but he could at least understand his position. After all, this version of Voldemort was encountering an obstacle that was not supposed to be in his way.

"Don't worry, Tom. The show is almost over… for… ufff… for all of you."

It was becoming difficult for him to speak. His breath was irregular, and his muscles were demanding rest.

Voldemort had not missed this. He looked into Harry's eyes and noted that the blue hue in them was beginning to fade, returning to their original color.

The shiny stones embedded in the nine pieces of jewelry Harry wore were losing their vigor.

'He's tired…' Voldemort thought.

It made sense. He had seen this person casting one Grand Sorcery after another. Even an entire cabal of witches wouldn't have been able to do so much without succumbing to magical exhaustion.

Even if this individual before him was a legendary Wizard Lord, there must still be a limit to what he could accomplish.

'But then…' Voldemort realized this gave him a chance. He was also tired, but he could still fight if given the opportunity.

With renewed determination, Voldemort sprang into action.

Making a simple gesture, the Dark Lord began to levitate, and then he lifted his wand towards the sky.

"Arise, my minions!"

The corpses of dozens of dead followers scattered along the lake's shore began to twitch and groan.

The masked men rose from the ground, moving with sluggish, jerking steps. They have now been turned into zombies.

With more preparation, Voldemort could have created something more powerful than simple zombies, but these would have to do.

The Dark Lord lamented that the trolls had been reduced to small chunks of flesh. Had their bodies been intact, he could have created formidable creatures from them, but there was no point in regret. He still had an advantage.

"Hahaha!" Voldemort's confidence returned. He could still win this.

"You will regret the day you decided to turn the God of Death into your enemy!"

The Dark Lord pointed his wand at Harry and unleashed a barrage of deadly curses.

"Did you say… God of Death?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

His robes seemed to flutter angrily as they absorbed the curses hurled by Voldemort.

The fourth Hallow was unlike the other three. These robes were more than an artifact created by Death. They were made by tearing a fragment from Death's own robes, containing a sliver of the deity itself. As such, they had a will of their own.

This was why they could only be worn by the one chosen by the other three Hallows. No one else would be deemed worthy.

"Don't mind him…" Harry muttered to the robes.

Voldemort, undeterred, continued his assault. At least the curses weren't being returned to him, as Harry had done before.

As far as Voldemort was concerned, this was a sign of Harry's weakening state.

What Voldemort failed to realize was that Harry had no intention of killing him...at least, not in the way Voldemort expected.

The Dark Lord noticed his zombies were closing in on their target. All he needed was one small distraction. If even one of his curses landed on Harry, no matter how powerful he was… he would die.

Even a Wizard Lord was still human in the end. And humans could be killed.

"Get him!" Voldemort exclaimed.

The zombies groaned as they shambled toward Harry, arms outstretched, desperate to grab him.

Voldemort aimed his wand but held his fire. He couldn't waste any more magic and had to wait for the perfect moment.

"Come on… get him!" he urged, anticipation building.

Unfortunately for him, the zombies never got close.

"Enkara," Harry called out.

For the first time since she arrived, the Vampire Lord moved from her spot.

And in a single, smooth motion with her umbrella, all the zombies were reduced to minced meat.

"W-What?!" Voldemort stammered back. With a single word from Harry's lips, the tables had turned once more and he now found himself face-to-face with the most dangerous vampire in existence.

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