Shadowflame

Things were really not going according to plan for Trigon. And by "not going according to plan," I mean he was absolutely losing his mind—figuratively and literally. I mean, come on, what kind of cosmic overlord finds himself stuck in a body that's literally falling apart? A dumpster fire, if there ever was one.

The problem? Voldemort's body. Now, Trigon was a big deal. He was a massive, interdimensional force of nature, a being of pure destruction and dark power. But even someone like him couldn't avoid reading the fine print when it came to possession. Voldemort's body was supposed to be an upgrade—he had power, a dark legacy, the aura of evil that Trigon could easily manipulate. But what Trigon didn't account for was how badly Voldemort's body had been abused over the years.

And let's just say that when Voldemort got caught in the fire, he didn't come out unscathed.

First, there was the Phoenix Flames. Those blazing flames had ravaged Voldemort's already weakened form, leaving him with nothing more than a pile of crumbling flesh, barely held together by willpower and hate. Then there was the missing hand. The right hand—who loses their dominant hand in the middle of a war against a kid? (Voldemort. That's who.) And the cherry on top? The Elder Wand. It was supposed to be the ultimate tool, but now it was gone, swiped out of his grasp by none other than Harry Potter, the bane of his existence.

So, naturally, Trigon was none too pleased about being stuck with this flawed vessel. The body was a joke—nothing but a fragile, overused toy that had been played with too much. And now he had to deal with it.

"Oh, this is just perfect," Trigon muttered, his voice reverberating like a bad echo through the empty void of Voldemort's cracked mind. "A body that's falling apart at the seams, a hand that's gone, and an Elder Wand that's been stolen. What kind of cosmic entity ends up in this trash heap? Seriously, I'm regretting this decision already."

He could feel the weight of the body—its frailty, its weakness—dragging him down. Not that Trigon had ever been known for his patience. He started pacing—well, mentally pacing, since this wasn't exactly a physical space—grumbling as his fiery form practically sizzled inside Voldemort's deteriorating shell.

In the farthest, most distant corner of his mind, Voldemort's faint consciousness stirred, a vague, broken shadow of the once-feared dark lord. The whispering was like static, barely a murmur—more like the remnants of a bad idea that no one had the energy to finish.

"Y-you—could have been—" Voldemort's voice came, strained, weak. A broken promise, a fragment of what had once been a terrifying force. He was a ghost of his former self, clinging desperately to whatever remained of his ego.

Trigon wasn't having any of it. His own voice thundered back, a booming sound of frustrated wrath. "Could have been what? You were a disaster before I even got here! You've been a mess since the first time you tried to make a Horcrux and still didn't get it right! And now I've got to deal with your pathetic, failing, crumbling body? I swear, this is the worst decision I've ever made."

It was at this moment that Trigon really started laying into Voldemort. In the mindspace, there was no one to stop him, no one to hear his rant. And why should he hold back? This body—this vessel—was falling apart under his influence. Voldemort had made the mistake of thinking immortality was the key to everything, but it had only ended up making him brittle and weak. Trigon couldn't believe he was stuck with it.

"The Elder Wand's gone. Your hand's gone. Your body's falling apart, and all I have to work with is this joke of a vessel! You've been obsessed with power for how long, and yet you've got nothing to show for it except a glorified corpse! It's pathetic!"

And then, in the faintest, most pitiful whisper that had ever crawled its way out of Voldemort's ravaged mind, Trigon heard the last gasp of defiance: "I will—destroy—him—Potter—"

Trigon didn't even let him finish. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the mental space like an explosion. "Ha! Potter? That kid? The one you couldn't kill even when you had everything? The one you couldn't touch, even with the Elder Wand, and a dozen Death Eaters in your back pocket? That kid is the one you're betting against? Oh, I can't wait to see how that works out for you."

And the more he thought about it, the more Trigon felt a pang of something he couldn't quite identify. Was it fear? Nah, couldn't be. He was Trigon—nothing could faze him. Still, that kid—Shadowflame—had been a thorn in his side for longer than he cared to admit. And now, with all this power surging through Voldemort's broken body, it was clear that Trigon had a real fight on his hands.

But as Trigon tried to focus his rage on how badly Voldemort had screwed this up, that's when it happened.

A flash.

A burst of heat, of light, of pure, unrelenting power.

The Phoenix Flame combined with Hellfire.

It tore through the mental space like a storm, distorting reality, warping it to its will. Every fiber of Trigon's being screamed as the flame licked at the edges of his consciousness. That familiar burning sensation flooded every part of his mind, twisting everything, turning it into an inferno.

And in that moment, Trigon realized—he was done for.

His thoughts were dissolving, his hold on the crumbling body slipping faster than he could react. The power, the flame, the will of Shadowflame—of Harry—was too much. And Trigon knew he didn't stand a chance. His cosmic might, his grand plans, all of it—reduced to nothing. A flame, too bright to ignore.

And then, with Voldemort's last breath—or thought, or whatever you want to call it—with hus mind collapsed in on itself, Trigon spoke.

"Fool."

It was simple, but fitting. It wasn't the most grand or eloquent way to go out, but really, when you're stuck in a broken, decaying body, what else is there to say?

As for Voldemort, well, he didn't even register the end of it all. He was long gone—just a smudge of fading memory, too far gone to care about anything, even his own demise. And so, in the end, the two of them were left to their nothingness.

—

Alright, I'll admit it: things were bad. Voldemort's body was pretty much cooked, reduced to a pile of ash and smoldering ruins, thanks to the Phoenix Flames and Hellfire combo I'd been throwing his way. The guy's corpse was gone, obliterated by fire and rage, but I could feel it in the pit of my stomach—something was still wrong.

A voice inside my head (which, let's be real, has never been a good thing) whispered, "Trigon." Yeah. That guy. The cosmic nightmare trying to hijack Voldemort's body. But, plot twist—he wasn't exactly gone. Apparently, just because Voldemort's body was toast didn't mean Trigon had to take a permanent vacation. Oh no. He was still hanging around, using his last few shadow-thralls like a hamster in a wheel, trying to get enough energy to resurrect himself in his true form.

Just great.

I could feel it. The air around me thickened, like the universe itself was holding its breath. I was standing in the middle of an inferno, the smell of burned evil filling my nostrils, but what really made my stomach turn wasn't the fire. It was the power. The darkness. Trigon's shadowy presence was worming its way into the world like a bad sequel you can't escape from.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, shaking my head. "Can't even get a clean victory, can I?"

Then, of course, Trigon's form began to rise. Oh, joy. I could feel the energy building, cracking, like thunder rolling in from the horizon. And that was when I realized—I was standing right in the middle of an epic disaster.

Trigon's voice roared in my head. "Yes… yes, this is it! I will destroy you all!"

I did my best to resist the urge to facepalm. Of course, the cosmic nightmare was going to make this harder than it needed to be. And when he started to manifest—really manifest, not the shadowy, whispery stuff—well, it was like someone cranked up the stakes to 11. The sky itself cracked, lightning sparking off his form as it came together. This wasn't some minor villain throwing a tantrum; this was a god-sized disaster, with a side of bad decisions.

"Okay, okay, this is not good," I said to no one in particular, because, really, who was I even talking to at this point? Maybe the whole world was listening.

I spread my wings, trying to push the flames outward, ready to take a shot at this guy. And then—bam—I felt it. The weight of Trigon's power pushing back, like trying to move a mountain with a toothpick. His power was flooding through me, sinking into my bones, trying to drag me under.

This was not the time for "Oh no, I'm doomed" vibes.

"Come on, Harry," I muttered to myself, clenching my fists. "You've got this. I mean, you literally have Phoenix Flames in your back pocket. You can't let this guy win."

And that's when I remembered something super important: I wasn't alone. Well, at least, not completely alone. All around me, I could hear the Justice League and the wizards still fighting Trigon's shadow-thralls, their efforts not exactly doing much to slow him down, but I could feel the pressure mounting. Trigon was using them to fuel his rebirth. And while that sucked for the rest of them, it gave me a major advantage. If I could break that energy flow—shut down the thralls feeding him—I could take him down before he became the literal apocalypse.

I cracked my knuckles (even though it didn't really make a sound, because, you know, fire and all), and I stared down at Trigon's rising form. He was like a walking, talking nightmare wrapped in shadows, flames licking at his form like he was made of pure destruction. And his voice? God, it was like someone turned up the volume on every horror movie villain ever.

"You cannot stop me, child," Trigon sneered, his voice like nails on a chalkboard dipped in acid. "I will remake this world in my image."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Remake the world? You're really just going to take my shiny, chaotic existence and—what? Make it worse? Come on, buddy, you don't even have a Pinterest board for this."

Trigon's response was a growl that felt like the universe itself was snarling at me, but I wasn't about to let that phase me. Not when I had a plan—well, half a plan. Okay, let's call it a "let's-wing-it-and-hope-for-the-best" kind of plan. But I had Phoenix Flames. I had Hellfire. I had wings. What was the worst that could happen?

(Okay, don't answer that. This was already a disaster.)

But as I focused, I realized I could feel the edge of the control slipping. Trigon was too powerful. If I didn't step up, we'd be in even worse trouble than a meeting between Batman and a rock star at a black-tie event.

"Alright, Shadowflame," I muttered, "this is it. Time to burn it all down."

And with that, I flared my wings and released the full force of my flames. Let's see if Trigon liked this fiery, flaming party.

—

I felt the heat of the flames surge through me, hotter than a summer day in the Sahara, hotter than any pep talk you've ever gotten from your mom. My wings flared wide, radiating with the kind of power that could make the sun look like a candle. This was the kind of fire Trigon had never dealt with before.

The flames shot out, burning like a hundred suns, and the ground cracked beneath me. Trigon howled, and I could practically hear him regretting every decision he'd ever made. At least, that's how I imagined it. I mean, cosmic overlords don't exactly scream like little girls, but you get the picture.

For a second, I felt invincible—which, you know, was probably the universe's way of setting me up for a fall. But whatever, I wasn't about to let that slow me down.

"Take that, you overgrown menace!" I yelled, throwing a particularly vicious blast right at Trigon's swirling, shadowy figure. The flame exploded on impact, lighting up the mindscape like a fireworks display on New Year's Eve.

But—surprise!—Trigon was still standing. Or, well, floating. Honestly, it was hard to tell when you're dealing with a giant blob of shadow and rage. He roared again, and the world itself seemed to buckle under the sheer weight of his power. But I wasn't about to back down. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you don't just ask an evil cosmic god to leave. You make them.

He chuckled darkly, which was honestly more annoying than anything. "You are nothing, child. Do you think your flames can stop me?"

"Yeah, well, they sure as hell can slow you down!" I shot back, grinning. Honestly, the sheer ridiculousness of me talking smack to a god made me laugh internally. It was like telling a tornado to "chill out."

But then I saw it. That flicker of weakness. The tiniest crack in his shadowy armor, the smallest gap in his cosmic ego. The thralls. His energy sources, the shadow minions that had been running around, feeding his rebirth. They were starting to fall apart.

"Gotcha," I muttered, catching sight of one last remaining thrall, barely holding itself together. My mind went into overdrive. If I could collapse the energy he was feeding on—shut off the tap—I could disrupt his whole plan.

Now, I'll be honest, my plan wasn't exactly scientific—more like "hope this works, but if it doesn't, we're all doomed." But sometimes, that's the best you can do when you're standing in the middle of an existential crisis with a cosmic nightmare trying to eat your soul.

I let loose another burst of Hellfire, focused straight on the remaining thrall, and—boom—it crumpled like an old piece of paper. The energy it had been feeding into Trigon's resurrection shattered, like a chandelier falling to the ground.

Trigon screamed in frustration, his massive, shadowy form flickering like a bad TV signal. He was starting to fade, not entirely gone, but definitely losing his grip. "No… NO!" he bellowed, his voice crackling with rage.

I knew this was my chance. My wings flared again, the flames roaring louder than ever, and I pushed everything I had left into one final, explosive attack.

"Burn!"

The flames surged forward, crackling with an intensity that could only come from a mix of divine fire and sheer teenage angst. Trigon's form buckled, collapsed, and in the blink of an eye—poof—he was gone. Just like that. No grand explosion. No dramatic last words. Just nothing.

I stood there, panting, staring at the spot where Trigon had been just a second ago. The mindscape around me was still burning, but I could feel the weight lifting. The evil presence that had been pressing in on me was gone.

And yet…

It didn't feel like victory.

Maybe it was because I could still feel the faint, lingering echo of Voldemort's broken spirit, fading into nothingness. Maybe it was because this kind of power—this kind of battle—always left you with a little bit of darkness lingering at the edges.

Or maybe it was just the fact that I had nearly taken out a god by myself. I wasn't sure if that was something to celebrate or something to go cry about in the nearest corner.

"Hey, not bad, right?" I said, talking to myself, because let's face it, I needed a win right about now. "Just another day in the life of Shadowflame."

But I couldn't ignore the fact that I had done it. Trigon was gone. Voldemort was gone. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I was standing on top of a mountain of evil, feeling like maybe—just maybe—I had won.

At least until the next apocalypse. Because I've learned that the universe has a weird way of making sure you don't stay on top for too long.

—

I slowly descended to the ground, my wings vanishing back into my body with a soft, barely audible shhfft. The ground beneath me still crackled with the remnants of the flames, but I didn't let that distract me. I felt the weight of the world lift from my shoulders as I stood there, the rush of adrenaline from the battle fading into a strange, calm emptiness.

I reached up and pulled off the red hood I had been wearing, revealing the golden mask that had been covering my face. The mask slid off smoothly, and I held it in my hand, staring at it for a moment before casually tossing it aside. It clattered to the ground, gleaming in the last embers of my power.

"Alright, you can all stop gawking now," I said with a grin, trying to shake off the weirdly intense feeling of all eyes on me. I wasn't exactly used to being the center of attention like this—especially when I felt like I should probably be more humble or something. But hey, I was a superhero now. Or... maybe just a really, really powerful guy with an absurdly complex backstory. Either way, the crowd was impressive.

Superman, standing a few feet away with a look of approval on his face, gave me a nod, while Wonder Woman—mom—approached me with a concerned expression. "Are you alright, Charis?" she asked, her voice soft, but filled with worry. Her concern for me always hit me right in the feels, and I tried not to squirm under it.

"I'm fine," I replied with a shrug, trying to sound casual. "Just... you know, defeated a demon and all that. Standard Tuesday stuff."

"Standard Tuesday? Try next-level Tuesday," Kara—Supergirl, my amazing, wonderful girlfriend—said, walking over with a raised eyebrow. "Seriously, Harry, what was that back there?" Her expression shifted from concern to something closer to awe. "You were like... you were unbeatable!"

"I'm pretty sure that's what happens when you merge the three Deathly Hallows," I said, casually. "Oh, wait. You guys don't know what those are, do you?"

The entire Justice League, except for Kara and Kori, all blinked in confusion. Even Shazam—who was usually pretty good at understanding weird things—looked like I'd just spoken in ancient Sumerian.

"Uh... the Deathly what now?" Green Lantern said, tilting his head like I'd just mentioned a new brand of breakfast cereal.

"Deathly Hallows?" Zatanna asked, looking at me with a furrowed brow. "Is that some sort of... magical artifact?"

Hermione was at my side almost immediately, her eyes narrowing in curiosity, obviously waiting for my explanation.

"Well, okay, the Deathly Hallows are three incredibly powerful magical objects," I started, gesturing for everyone to gather 'round. "The first is the Elder Wand—unbeatable weapon of pure destruction. The second is the Resurrection Stone—brings people back from death, though... not always the way you expect. And the last is my family's Invisibility Cloak."

Luna, who had been standing a few steps back, piped up from the crowd, her voice as dreamy as ever, but laced with that familiar gleam of knowledge. "My father studied the Hallows before he... you know, disappeared. The Hallows are said to be gifts from Death itself." She looked at me, blinking her big, wide eyes. "And merging them... well, it's a bit dangerous, don't you think?"

"Yeah," I said, looking down at my armor, which was glowing faintly now, "You could say it's a bit dangerous. But, you know, when you've been playing with cosmic forces like Trigon, you have to pull out all the stops."

"Great," Ron muttered, eyeing me warily, "What's next, Harry? Are you going to start sprouting wings and turning into the next Lord of Death or something?"

"Actually..." I said, with an exaggerated pause for effect. "I'm more like Death's Beloved, not the actual Master of Death." I shrugged, still not sure if I was comfortable with the title. "It's a bit complicated. Plus, you know, I'm not exactly looking to take over the afterlife."

"Well, that's a relief," Ginny said with a half-grin. "Although, I have to admit, I thought you'd have a little more edge if you were, you know, Death's Master. Less pretty boy armor, more grim reaper vibes."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I said with a grin, but before I could continue, a voice cut through the chatter.

"Beloved?" a new voice chimed in. "I like that. Much more upbeat. Really gives me something to work with."

Everyone turned, and there, standing just a few feet away, was... well, Death. But not the creepy, all-encompassing version you might expect. No, this one looked like she'd stepped out of a goth-rock music video—black clothes, silver ankh necklace, and a weirdly casual, chipper vibe.

"Oh my gods," I muttered under my breath. "Is that—?"

"Deedee!" she said, cutting me off before I could finish. "But you can call me Deedee. Coz, you know..." She gestured to her chest with a wink. "I got the DDs, baby."

The entire crowd went silent for a moment, the only sound being the crackling of the last few flames in the distance.

"Wait—Death?" Zatanna asked, blinking in confusion. "You're... Death?"

"Yep," Deedee said with a smile, giving her black bangs a toss. "The one and only! But I prefer being called Deedee—makes things a lot more fun. And, let's face it, Death is just too depressing, don't you think?"

"Uh... sure," Ron said, clearly still processing, "But... you're here to help Harry, right?"

"Well, technically, Harry's the one who merged the Hallows, so I'm here to... you know, keep an eye on him. Make sure he's not getting all power-hungry or turning into a cosmic villain." She grinned and waggled her fingers. "But hey, if he's Death's Beloved, I'm all in. He's got good taste."

"I'm gonna need a drink," Fred muttered, turning to George, "This is too weird, even for us."

Deedee smiled and gave me a thumbs up. "You did good, baby. Real good. Now, just try not to start any serious apocalypses, yeah? It's way more paperwork than you think."

"I'll do my best," I said, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I had literal Death backing me up now. "But I have a feeling things are just getting started."

And, well, they probably were. Because, let's face it, when you've got a cosmic god on your back, a few superheroes as friends, and a whole lot of magical artifacts mixed into one superhero armor, it's only a matter of time before the next big thing shows up.

—

"Oh, I am so glad I am not Harry right now," Zatanna muttered, watching the conversation unfold with a look of pure amusement on her face. Honestly, I didn't blame her. From where I was sitting, this whole situation looked like a fast-track ticket to my mental breakdown.

Behind her, Wonder Woman was trying really hard not to laugh, but I could see the smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Oh, great. Even she thought this was funny.

And as for Deedee—my betrothed, yes, the embodiment of Death itself, casually planning my future—well, she looked positively gleeful. It was like she was waiting for the moment the universe spontaneously exploded from sheer awkwardness, and I was at ground zero.

"So, here's the plan," Deedee said, practically bouncing on her heels. She was talking to Kara and Kori like they were about to sign a world-altering treaty. "You two are totally okay with sharing Harry, right?" Her eyes twinkled with that devil-may-care mischief. "I mean, you've already got that whole 'sharing is caring' thing down, don't you?"

Kara threw her hands up in mock surrender, that signature twinkle in her eye. "Hey, no judgment here. I mean, have you seen him? He's basically a walking buffet of awesome. Plus, the guy can take on god-level beings. What's not to love?" She raised her brows like obviously this was all perfectly reasonable, and I sank deeper into the ground, wishing for a giant hole to open up and swallow me. Preferably somewhere far, far away. Like another dimension. A dimension where none of this was happening.

Kori—bless her heart, she never met an awkward situation she couldn't turn into an adventure—flashed me one of her signature smiles. "And Harry is so much fun! You are like a burst of stars in our lives! We do not need a schedule. We will just... wing it!" She threw her arms open like she was about to start dancing through the cosmos. "Our hearts are big and strong, yes?"

Deedee nodded, as though this was the most reasonable plan ever. "Exactly! The key here is that we all love Harry, so it's not about who gets him—it's about how we all share him." She gave me a look that could only be described as a mix of affection and pure chaos. "We'll need to have a meeting, some bonding activities... maybe some cosmic chic outfits, huh?" Her smile could've been the cover art for a comic book titled 'The End of Harry's Sanity'.

Kara, who was clearly in on the fun, tossed out a suggestion. "Ooh, cosmic chic is perfect! I'm thinking something that says 'we're gods, but also fun' and, like, 'we've got a complicated but totally functional love triangle going on.'" She raised an eyebrow, looking proud of herself for this brilliant proposal. "We'll be the power couple of the universe."

"Power couple?" Kori tilted her head, as though considering this for the first time. Then, her eyes lit up like a lightbulb went off. "No, no, no. We are not just a power couple. We are... the Destructive Triumvirate!" She said it with such dramatic flair that it almost made me want to break out into applause. Almost. "Three powerful, loving women by your side, Harry. We could destroy entire worlds together!"

I slumped further in my chair, praying for a miracle—any miracle—to pull me out of this mess. "Destructive Triumvirate? Really? This is my life now?" I muttered to myself. But of course, no one was listening to my frantic pleas for mercy.

Deedee practically clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, I love that! Imagine it: Harry and his trio of powerful women, saving the world, looking fabulous, and wreaking chaos all at once!" She gave me a wink that felt more like an omen. "We'll be the talk of the multiverse."

"Please," I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Can we not turn this into some sort of branding exercise?"

Kara grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "Hey, buddy, you started this. You've got to roll with it now."

Kori slapped me lightly on the back, grinning like she'd just made a life-changing discovery. "Yes! You are doing so well, beloved! We will all adapt!" Her Tamaranean accent made everything sound 100% more cheerful than it had any right to be. "It will be like... a shlorvak! Yes? One of those dreams that seems impossible but are oh so worth it!"

"A what?" I raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure whether she was speaking a different language or just inventing new words to torment me.

Deedee stepped forward again, wearing that 'I'm about to ruin your life in the best way' smile. "Honestly, Harry, you're Death's Beloved now. You've got this. You'll figure it out. And besides, you're lucky." She leaned in as if delivering a secret. "You're never getting rid of us."

"Great," I said flatly. "Just what I wanted. A cosmic love lockdown."

At that exact moment, Luna, who had been quietly observing everything with a faraway look in her eyes, decided to grace me with her wisdom. "Harry, it is like the Hallow's Curse, yes?" she said, tilting her head with that dreamy, cryptic vibe of hers. "You are bound to all of them now. You cannot escape them—not really."

I sighed, feeling like my head was going to explode. "Thanks, Luna. Just what I needed to hear. Another reason to question my life choices."

Deedee chuckled softly. "See? Even Luna gets it! You're stuck with us, Harry. But don't worry... it's going to be fun."

I took a deep breath and tried to think happy thoughts. If by 'fun,' you meant 'a rollercoaster of intergalactic love and chaos that will leave me questioning my life at every turn,' then sure, yeah. I'm totally on board.

Kori grinned, brushing her hand through my hair like I was a kitten. "That's the spirit! We'll make this work... together." She gave me a wink that should've come with a warning label. "It's going to be like... shlorvak, Harry."

I stared up at the sky, contemplating the fact that this was my life now, and maybe it wasn't so bad. After all, I wasn't fighting a god at the moment. Small victories, right?

I just hoped the next universe-shaking crisis didn't involve me being the center of some love-fueled apocalypse. But hey, that's probably asking too much.

—

I needed a break. From the love life that was more like a cosmic game of Jenga, from the endless string of eye-roll-worthy relationship speeches, and—let's be real—from the entire existence of the Death Eaters. So, what did I do? I walked away from it all, because nothing screamed "Harry Potter is done with today" like wandering over to the blackened, smoldering remains of Voldemort's evil little power trip.

I didn't even know how much of him was left after everything. All I could see was a smoking pile of... well, something. It looked like a badly charred marshmallow that had been cooked in a fire hotter than the one time I accidentally caught my broomstick on fire. Yeah, that was a fun day.

Anyway, I was still thinking about how I was going to navigate the whole "cosmic love story" situation when I heard Moody's voice cut through the smoke like a rusty chainsaw.

"Potter!" he bellowed, not bothering to use his usual polite tones. "I don't know what kind of mess you've gotten yourself into, but you better get used to it."

Yeah, thanks, Moody. I really needed that pep talk.

I took another look at the smoldering remains of Voldemort. It was definitely him. There was a little flicker of something that might have once resembled a nose, but no, it was mostly just charred remains and the lingering stench of evil. I mean, there had to be a better way to go out, right? But this? This felt like the sort of end that only a guy with a serious flair for dramatic evil would choose.

As if he were some sort of cosmic villain turned crispy nugget. Classic.

"Potter, focus!" Moody barked again.

I turned to see him standing next to Green Lantern, who had somehow decided that just holding a massive green energy bubble around a few hapless Death Eaters was the best way to keep things under control. The bubble itself was glowing ominously, and I'd swear I could hear a muffled whimper from inside.

Narcissa was pacing, a look of absolute disbelief on her face like she'd just discovered her life was a reality TV show. Bellatrix was completely out of it—catatonic, her eyes blank and unseeing as though she'd gone off to some dark corner of her mind to have a private chat with whatever was left of her sanity. And Draco? Poor guy looked like he'd just figured out his entire life had been a series of bad decisions. I couldn't say I blamed him.

I glanced back at the smoldering remnants of Voldemort. It seemed... oddly fitting.

"Are you just gonna stand there, or do you need a hand?" Green Lantern asked, flicking a glance at me.

I shook my head. "No, no. I'm just taking in the moment," I muttered. "This feels like one of those cinematic endings that you never really expect to happen... until it does."

"You're lucky, kid," Green Lantern said with a smirk. "I mean, I can't really say that I'm not enjoying this."

I shot him a grin. "Couldn't agree more. I've never been more ready to walk away from something in my life."

Moody gave me a hard look, still grumbling about something in his private thoughts. "There's still work to do, Potter. Don't go getting all sentimental on me now. We've got a lot to clean up."

"Right, right," I sighed, my mind already elsewhere. I'd take care of the post-apocalyptic hero stuff later. Right now, I was just glad to be standing on this side of the chaos.

And with that, I took one last glance at the mess that had been the Dark Lord. His defeat felt anticlimactic, which, after everything, was exactly how I felt about the whole situation.

---

Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!

I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!

If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!

Click the link below to join the conversation:

https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd

Can't wait to see you there!

If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:

https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007

Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:

https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s

Thank you for your support!