Chapter Text
The sky over Hogwarts was on fire.
Wandlight and curses flashed like lightning across the blood-soaked battlefield. Screams echoed through the Forbidden Forest as the remnants of the Death Eaters fled or fell. In the heart of it all, on the broken stones of the courtyard, Harriet Potter stood facing Lord Voldemort for the final time.
Her hair was matted to her forehead, her black robes torn and streaked with blood. But her green eyes burned with fierce resolve. Voldemort's snake-like face twisted into a sneer of hatred, his crimson eyes alight with fury and fear.
"You cannot win, Tom," Harriet said, her voice hoarse but clear. "Even now, you've already lost."
"You know nothing of victory," Voldemort hissed, his pale hand raising his wand.
Their spells flew at the same moment. twin beams of pure magic, Avada Kedavra and Expelliarmus, colliding in mid-air with a crack of reality itself. The golden core of Harriet's wand met the sickly green light of Voldemort's with a deafening thunderclap.
But something went wrong.
Instead of forcing a rebound or snapping the connection, the clash tore open the fabric of space, a shimmering vortex of chaotic light erupting between them.
The battlefield screamed and twisted. and then, there was nothing but silence.
Weathertop in Middle Earth
The winds atop Weathertop were cold and cruel.
Frodo Baggins staggered, clutching his shoulder where the Morgul blade had struck. Sam was shouting, slashing wildly with a cooking pan at the dark figures circling them. Merry and Pippin were desperately trying to protect Frodo.
And then came the Nazgûl, five of them, wraiths in black, gliding forward as the Witch-King raised his sword.
But just before his blade could strike…
The air tore.
A burst of magic. blinding gold and sickly green, exploded into existence right at the heart of the hilltop. The Nazgûl reeled back as two bodies were thrown from the light, skidding and tumbling over stone and grass. One was a tall, cloaked man with a skeletal face and eyes like flame, Voldemort. The other was a young woman in battle-ravaged robes, Harriet Potter.
Both were coughing, gasping, bleeding, dragging themselves forward.
Harriet's wand skittered across the dirt and landed right at the feet of the Witch-King.
Voldemort's wand rolled toward the cliff's edge, just a few feet from falling over.
The Nazgûl hissed in confusion. The Witch-King bent toward the wand near his foot.
But before he could pick it up, a blast of invisible force knocked him back. Harriet, gasping and bloodied, flung herself forward, hand outstretched.
She snatched her wand just as Voldemort reached his.
They turned to face each other.
The others looked on, stunned. Frodo's wound throbbed as he stared in awe, while Sam held him tightly. Even the Nazgûl paused, sensing the power gathering between these two strange beings.
"Once more, Tom…" Harriet whispered. Her voice cracked, but her eyes shone.
Voldemort snarled. "Die, Potter."
And then
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
"EXPELLIARMUS!"
The spells collided mid-air in a searing clash of gold and green. The ground shook—violently. Stones cracked. The very sky seemed to recoil from the force.
But something shifted.
Harriet's magic, fed by something ancient and wild in this world, grew. The green light faltered.
The Killing Curse bent backward, rebounding again.
Voldemort's eyes widened.
"NO!"
The curse struck him square in the chest.
He was ripped apart, body and soul, obliterated not only by the spell but by the strange, magical resonance of Middle-earth itself.
Silence fell.
Only the wind stirred the ashes where Voldemort had stood.
Harriet fell to her knees, exhausted, wand still clutched in hand.
The Nazgûl retreated a step, uncertain now.
And Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin stared at the strange, wild-haired woman who had just destroyed a monster even darker than Sauron's servants.