Forsaken Bloodlines {HP x GOT}

Battle of Hogwarts Part 3

The battlefield was collapsing into chaos.

Spells collided midair like stars dying. The ground cracked beneath the pressure of ancient, opposing magic. Screams and the clang of stone reverberated through the ruins of the castle, swallowed by firelight and shadow.

And at the heart of it all stood Lyanna, her hands burning with raw power, her hair whipped by the wind. Her golden aura flickered wildly, like a dying sun fighting to stay alive. Opposite her, Voldemort hovered above the broken stones, his eyes fever-bright, his voice rasping with fury.

"You think you can destroy me?" he spat, his wand trembling as the air rippled with his rage. "You are nothing but a spark—one that I will snuff out."

Lyanna's jaw tightened. Her body trembled from exhaustion; her veins pulsed with the strain of having wielded too much magic for too long.

But she refused to look away.

"Then come and try," she hissed, her voice low, dangerous.

Nearby, Tom struggled to his feet, his face pale, blood streaking across his cheek. His magic, though formidable, was flickering now, drained from battle. He could feel her power still thrumming through the air—beautiful and terrible, the kind that burned everything it touched.

"Lyanna!" he shouted over the roar of magic. "Enough! Stop, you'll kill yourself—"

But before he could reach her, Voldemort turned sharply, his crimson eyes snapping toward Tom. A cruel, thin smile curled his mouth. "Ah," the Dark Lord murmured. "The ghost who wears my face."

He raised his wand. Black mist gathered at its tip—something far beyond the Killing Curse, something older, forbidden. The air screamed with it.

Tom felt it before he saw it: the pull of an ancient, soul-devouring spell that vibrated through his very marrow. His instincts screamed at him to move, but his body was too slow.

"No!" Lyanna shouted.

In one motion, she thrust out her arm, her fire bursting forward. A wall of gold enveloped Tom, wrapping around him like a cocoon. The ancient curse struck it—then tore through.

Lyanna turned in front of him, taking the full force of the spell.

The impact was like lightning. For a heartbeat, the world went white. Every sound was ripped from existence.

Tom's hand reached out, brushing her arm as she was thrown backward—her body arching as if struck by a god's hammer. A ring of golden energy burst outward, shattering the stones beneath their feet and throwing Death Eaters off their feet.

When the light faded, she was on her knees. Her breath came shallow. Her hands glowed faintly with embers that flickered out one by one.

"Lyanna!" Tom's voice broke as he knelt beside her. "Stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay with me."

She looked up at him, her lips pale, her eyes glazed with exhaustion—but they were still golden, still burning faintly. "You're safe," she whispered. "That's what matters."

"No... no, don't you dare—" Tom's hands shook as he pressed them over her wound. His magic reached out to heal, but it slipped off her skin like water against flame. "Don't you dare leave me!"

But she barely heard him. The world was fading at the edges, the sound of battle distant now, like an echo. The air grew soft and cold.

The last thing she saw before her knees gave out completely was Tom's face—terrified, desperate.

And then everything went black.

The silence was absolute.

No battlefield.
No fire.
No sound.