Beautiful Storms to Come

Lulling Those to Sleep

Before the day rose, Voldemort called for his Death Eaters and arranged an attack.

When the Death Eaters arrived, Dumbledore's forces were exhausted and sleepy, barely keeping their eyes open.

They looked at Voldemort. He glanced at them and said, "I used magic. Go."

When the Death Eaters rushed over, Dumbledore's forces could barely rush out and fight back. Lucius looked at his lord and asked, "May I ask what you did?"

"You may."

Lucius stared at Voldemort, who didn't answer. After a long time, Lucius asked.

"... what did you do?"

Voldemort looked at him and then back at the fight and said, "Cast them in a time bubble with some golems. They think they've been attacked for some weeks now nonstop."

Lucius was thoughtful, thinking to himself about how clever his Lord was without his soul being fractured. A simple and sure way of lowering morale and stressing the Light Side out.

Thankfully, whatever person his Lord's mate was, they were incredible at calming him down.

If it wasn't for the disaster where his Lord's mate was stolen, Lucius would've believed that the man his parents told him to follow had returned.

With a small smile, he looked back and tried not to stare at Sirius Black's maniacal spell casting and his mate's odd similarity to James Potter.

Remus Lupin was currently scuffling with a vampire as his werewolf pack howled and began tearing into Dumbledore's forces.

How Dumbledore convinced the vampires to fight with him, no one would ever know.

There was a loud noise and Dumbledore came rushing out alone, his wand out.

His mouth moved inaudibly and a spell came whirling towards them at rapid speeds.

The Death Eaters raised their wands and cast shields.

Voldemort looked at his glamoured hands and inwardly wondered why his fingers were so spidery. Unconcerned about the state of his surroundings, he finally lifted his wand and blasted the other side away.

The power rolling from him was practically drugs. The Death Eaters fell under his Dark Lord's thrall and surged forward, their magic intensifying and renewing.

This was a very easy battle.

Voldemort walked through the battlefield, hands behind his back as he gazed at the sky for Harry. There was not even a glimpse of his angel particle.

He worried but didn't let it show. Harry had contacted him, but he didn't know whether or not he was engaged in battle.

He could see flashes of light inside of the windows.

Harry better be safe.

He finally stopped in front of Dumbledore and avoided another spell. He huffed through his glamoured nose.

Dumbledore stared at him in barely concealed fury. For once, it looked reversed: Voldemort was the one who looked calm and poised and Dumbledore was the demented one.

A smug smile stretched over Voldemort's face.

Softly, he said, "It's over for you, Dumbledore. Surrender, and I won't have to kill you."

"Tom." He hissed. "How did you do it? Harry shouldn't— you both shouldn't be— How were you able to win?!" Dumbledore looked crazed and Voldemort felt even more smug.