Ch. 156

"I think we better start from the beginning," Moody rumbled.

Snape and Moody exchanged a quick look. "When you left the battle, the goblin reinforcements allowed our northern and central flanks to fall back far enough to reconnect with Rotan's southern flank. Once there, we realized that despite the help from the goblins, standing our ground outside would be almost impossible, so we decided to retreat into the building, to the inner defenses," the potions master recounted. "Rotan volunteered his regiment to cover our retreat."

"Once we gave up the northern cannons, we were overrun," Hiscophney added. "The ice people's weapons were the only thing keeping Voldemort's forces from rolling all over us, and once we fell back, we no longer had the weapons emplacements."

Moody nodded in agreement. "That was another reason we decided to get everyone inside. The Count here had his people set up the weapons inside so that we could take out anything that came through the door. Once the enemy realized that we were falling back, they came at us like bloodhounds after a wounded animal."

"They overran all of our sentries, crushed our frontline, and forced us almost to the doorway." Snape looked grim. "We lost several hundred people just from that. Rotan was one of them. He led a counterattack that bought us just enough time to bring the weapons to bear."

"How many did we loose?" Harry asked, unsure as to whether he really wanted to know the answer.

Moody shook his head. "We haven't counted all of the dead yet, but I'd estimate there's at least four thousand. Sixty percent of our forces are gone."

Harry was silent. He had expected losses, of course, but now that the fighting was over, and he realized the staggering loss of life that had been caused by just that one battle, he couldn't help but feel a rising sense of overwhelming guilt. "Dear lord…" he whispered.

"Voldemort's forces didn't get of scot-free, either," Moody told him. "They were almost entirely wiped out before they retreated. They never made it past the inner defenses, once we got them up."

Like that's any consolation, Harry thought bitterly. Four thousand people were dead because of him and his decision to fight it out with Voldemort. He shuddered involuntarily. He couldn't even imagine that number of dead bodies. Four thousand, that was the entire contingent the Ice people had brought to his aid. Just imagining all of them dead made him sick to his stomach.

"The goblins?" Harry licked his dry lips, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat.

"They got off pretty well. Lost a few ships, but since they were behind Voldemort's troops, they managed to dish out a whole lot more than they took." Snape replied. "Once we knew the fighting was under control, I took a number of people to go to Azkaban. You know what happened ten."

"Yeah…" Harry paused for a moment, before looking over at Tonks. The auror had been quiet up until now. "How are you, Tonks?"

"Fine. Ron packs one heck of a punch when he wants to." Tonks managed a weak smile. "I'm sorry I went missing so often, Harry. I really am… but Dumbledore told me that it was important. We needed to flush out the traitor." She shrugged. "Too bad we were tracking the wrong one."

"I'm sorry for doubting you. If I hadn't, then-"

Tonks waved him off. "You were right in doing so. For all you knew, I may have been the traitor, instead of Ginny."

"How is Ginny, anyway? Anyone ever figure out what happened to her?" Harry asked, his tone suddenly a few degrees colder.

"Voldemort put a very obscure, very old compulsion charm on her," Snape replied with a heavy frown. "We assume that she went out snooping around some of the seized Death Eater properties back when the Minister gave the order, and was caught then. We found traces of an erased memory that seem to confirm that theory. We purged the spell from her, not that it matters, since the dark lord is dead."

"Yeah… about that…" Harry began. "Are we really sure he's really dead this time?"

Snape and Moody looked at each other, unable to answer. Hiscophney shrugged and withdrew his hand from under his cloak, handing Harry the Rod of Dominion. "Considering the fact that you were holding this when we found you, and that his body is a pile of ashes, I assume it would be safe to say that he is quite dead."

"Dead as a doornail," Fred grinned.

"Dead as the Flungarian Waltz, even," George added.

"We found you unconscious down in the lower levels of Azkaban," Hiscophney continued. "Along with everyone else." He left unsaid that had they come a few minutes later, Harry or Bella most likely would not have survived.

"So… how long was I out this time?" Harry asked.

"Four days," Moody told him. "Considering the condition you were in, it's a minor miracle you're awake yet."

"What do you mean? Bella was much worse off than me."

"Nope," Moody shook his head. "Sure, it may have looked bad, but her wound missed all of her organs. She was suffering from blood loss more than anything else. You, on the other hand, were a right mess."

"Odd… I didn't feel like a mess." At least not until the end, Harry mentally amended.

"Well, you were, Potter," Snape smirked. "Four broken ribs, a punctured lung, shattered tibia and femur, broken collarbone, shattered elbow, broken wrist, internal bleeding, high-degree burns, extensive nerve and tissue damage… I would say that you have broken your own record for injuries sustained during a single day, Potter."

Harry was about to retort when he caught sight of the faint smile crossing the potions master's face. It was gone before Harry could be sure. Snape, smiling? Naaah . Harry chalked it up to hallucinations. He thought for a few moments. Bella was safe, which was a relief. Now that he could finally clear his head from the medication and unconsciousness, he could feel her presence, and true to Moody's word, she wasn't far away, peacefully asleep. Voldemort was dead… really dead this time. Deep down, he could feel it. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his soul. There was no rational explanation for it, except maybe the connection between them through his scar, that let him feel Voldemort's death. Reaching up to brush his hair aside, his fingers found smooth, unblemished skin. The scar was gone. So was Voldemort.

"That reminds me, Potter," Moody said, pulling a muggle gun from his cloak. "What by Merlin's beard is this thing?"

Harry blinked at the old auror, taking a moment to wrap his head around the question. "Uh… it's a gun, Moody. You know, to shoot people with?"

"Gun?" The auror queried, a puzzled look on his face.

"It's like a crossbow," Hermione came to Harry's rescue. "Only it doesn't need to be reloaded as often, and fires bullets instead of arrows. It uses a chemical charge to…" she trailed off with a blush as she realized that she had been about to get carried away. "Anyway," she said, clearing her throat, "that's about it. Though where Harry got one, I don't know."

"General Rotan gave it to me," Harry told them. "The Ice people make weaponry very similar to muggles. He gave it to me as a backup, just in case I ever needed it. Just like most Ice soldiers carry one along with their swords. I didn't actually think I'd have to use it." He looked down at the finely-crafted weapon. The chrome-polished barrel gleamed in the early morning sun, revealing exquisite detailing along its length. The weapon tapered off into an ivory-plated grip and curved trigger that made it seem like it was more an object of art than a tool of war.

"Thanks, General," Harry muttered quietly.

"You want to tell us what happened on your front, Potter?" Moody finally asked. He and everyone else wondered just what had transpired that had ended in Voldemort being reduced to a pile of ash and Harry and Bella being in the condition they had found them in.

"Sure…" Harry took a deep breath and laid out his final confrontation with the dark lord.