American Royalty III

Part 35: The Last Battle

The air was thick with the stench of blood, sweat, and the acrid smell of magic. The battlefield was chaos—cries, spells flying, bodies colliding—but amidst the war-torn landscape, Kit found herself locked in combat with two of the most vile and personal enemies she had ever known: Bellatrix Lestrange and Augustus Rookwood. The memories of their cruelty in the dark months of her captivity were raw in her mind, stoking the flames of rage in her chest.

Bellatrix, her wild eyes alight with madness, hissed as she swung her wand at Kit, but Kit dodged effortlessly, her celestial bronze armor gleaming with each movement. She could feel the power inside her, burning, urging her to fight, to end this—finally.

"Do you think I fear you, girl?" Bellatrix spat, a twisted smile on her lips as she sent another curse at Kit.

Kit gritted her teeth, twisting to avoid the curse, and with a flash of fury, she unleashed a barrage of her own spells. The wind howled as magic collided, the force pushing them both back. But Kit's focus was singular. Bellatrix had hurt her, tortured her, and she would not leave this place alive.

As she parried another blow from Bellatrix, a new figure entered the fray. Molly Weasley, fierce and protective, launched herself at Bellatrix, throwing herself into the fight. In a swift movement, Molly's wand struck Bellatrix with a powerful curse, the woman screaming as she staggered back. The rage in her face dissolved into terror as the curse hit her—and Bellatrix's blood stopped flowing in a final, violent stop.

Kit's senses prickled as she felt it—a life cut short by the woman who had loved and protected her children. Molly had done it. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead.

But Kit couldn't linger. Rookwood, still fighting with cold calculation, didn't give her a second's break. Kit's heart beat faster as she locked eyes with him, hatred bubbling to the surface.

"You!" she snarled in Ancient Greek, her voice venomous as she drew her sword back. "You're nothing but a coward!"

Rookwood's eyes narrowed in confusion as he blocked one of her attacks. "I don't know what you're saying," he sneered, eyes flicking briefly to the side, trying to anticipate her next move.

Kit didn't waste another second. She switched to English, her voice dripping with loathing as she translated her insult. "I said, you're nothing but a coward who hides behind his magic and never faces the consequences of his actions. You tortured me, you ruined lives, and now it's time for you to pay."

The words were harsh and final. Kit's sword moved faster than he could react, her movements sharp and calculated, born from the pain of years and the burning desire to avenge every cruel thing they'd done to her.

Rookwood staggered back as Kit's sword found its mark, cutting through his defenses with a savage force. His eyes widened in shock as she struck again, this time directly across his chest. He crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath, blood pouring from the wound as Kit stood over him, her eyes never leaving his.

He was dead before he could speak again.

Kit stood still for a moment, breathing heavily, feeling the weight of the fight around her, but there was no time to savor her victory. She felt it—the cold, familiar presence creeping across the battlefield, something that twisted her insides with a primal sense of danger.

Voldemort.

Her eyes flicked toward Nico, who was fighting in the distance. He caught her gaze and nodded—confirmation of what she had felt. It was now or never.

Kit's pulse quickened. She was done fighting on the front lines. She needed to end this, once and for all.

With a burst of speed, Kit rushed toward the courtyard, her sword still gleaming in her hand. The ground seemed to shake beneath her feet as she arrived at the scene, where Harry and Voldemort were locked in a deadly spell duel. Light flashed between them, sparks flying like dangerous fireworks, but Kit could feel it deep inside her—the sense that, even if the spell rebound, it wouldn't be enough to end Voldemort's life.

She waited.

Her eyes narrowed as she saw Harry's spell strike Voldemort, a brilliant flare of light that should have been the end of it. But Kit knew. She knew that even with the spell's strength, it wouldn't kill him. Voldemort wasn't just a man anymore—he was something far darker.

Kit's heart pounded in her chest as she reached deep into her own magic. She didn't need a wand; she didn't need to cast anything—she only needed to reach into the very essence of Voldemort's body, of his blood.

She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second and then, with a surge of power, she focused all of her energy on Voldemort's veins. She could feel the blood pulsing inside him, racing through his body, and in that instant, she knew what to do. She twisted her magic, a sharp pull on the strings of life and death, and made Voldemort's blood implode in his veins.

The result was catastrophic.

Voldemort's body shattered in a sickening burst, his form disintegrating into flakes, the dark lord vanishing into nothingness. The echoes of his screams lingered for only a moment before the silence settled over the battlefield.

Kit stood, her breath coming in heavy gasps, her eyes wide with disbelief at what had just transpired. Harry's form fell to his knees, exhausted but alive. Around them, the surviving Death Eaters seemed to hesitate, their fight suddenly lacking purpose. The battle had changed, and it was over.

The Great Hall was buzzing with the aftermath of the battle, the air still thick with the remnants of magic and the weight of the lives lost. Kit's heart raced as she scanned the room, her eyes desperately searching for the one person she needed to see, the one person who had been her anchor through everything. Connor.

She saw him across the hall, standing with their friends, his eyes scanning the room like he was searching for something—no, someone. And then his eyes locked with hers. For a heartbeat, everything else faded away. The chaos, the noise, the destruction—they all blurred as she sprinted toward him, her feet pounding against the stone floor.

The sound of her name escaping his lips barely registered as Kit reached him, throwing herself into his arms without a second thought. She barely had time to brace herself before he spun her around, laughter breaking from his lips as he held her tight, his grip never wavering.

The world spun as she clung to him, the safety of his arms the only thing that mattered in that moment. And then, without hesitation, his lips found hers, the kiss deep and desperate, filled with the relief and joy of having survived. It was everything they had fought for, everything they had sacrificed.

Kit could taste the salt of her own tears on his lips as they kissed, feeling the burn of everything they had endured, everything they had won. She didn't know how long they stood there, lost in each other, but when they finally pulled away, she buried her face in his chest, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"You know what this means?" Percy said loudly wrapping his arm around Annabeth.

"What?" Connor asked, just as confused as Kit felt, but the faintest grin tugged at the corners of his lips.

Percy, as usual, was grinning like an idiot. "Well, now that the war's over and we're all still alive, I'd say it's about time we start planning some weddings, don't you think?"

"Oh yeah!" Leo hollered, "Come on love birds, lets get you hitched!"