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Harry adjusted his glasses, a habit he had managed to produce after many tiring days of strategizing and training. He felt an uncertain anticipation of finally facing his life-long adversary for the final time, accompanied with pure unadulterated fear. He was no child and had no illusions about the battle. Harry knew that some of the people he knew and loved would not be able to survive through the Final Battle.
Voldemort, after all, was one of the most powerful Wizards in the world. He glanced nervously at his two best friends, Ron and Hermione - the only reason why he was not having an emotional breakdown from all the incessant stress. They smiled reassuringly back at him. Harry felt refreshed slightly, reminded that he was not alone.
Fondly, he fingered his pocket. A phoenix feather from Fawkes rested in it, as a token of luck. He would dearly need it. It was also a reminder of his mentor and surrogate grandfather, Dumbledore. Aside from the most basic of first aid kits, resided only a vial of restoration potion, which he hoped that he would not need.
He looked around, studying the expressions of the people around him. The Weasleys had sacrificed already so much, and it seemed so unfair that they had to give up more. They weren't the only ones; many families have suffered due to Voldemort. Harry felt a surge of hatred running through him as he was thought of all the people he loved who had died by Voldemort’s hand.
"Potter." Began Mad-Eye Moody gruffly.
Harry nodded, biting his lip. It was time.
The stench of death was everywhere. Screams filled the air as both sides fought against each other. Some abandoned their wands and resorted to fighting in a primal manner. Teeth, hands, legs, any weapon they had, they used against their opponent. Dignity and pride were deserted - all that mattered was the outcome of the war.
As Harry evaded the occasional stray jets of light, Harry scanned the battlefield for Voldemort. They both seemed to have spied each other at the same time.
“Harry Potter,” he said slowly, with a smirk on his face; as if relishing the moment. “Prepared to meet the same fate as your parents?”
Harry faced Voldemort with grim determination, laced with fury as he opened his mouth -
"KONGOUSHOUHA!"
Shards of what seemed enormous diamonds pierced through Voldemort, only the barest trace of a scream escaping his mouth.
"Ano... Gome- I'm so sorry," the girl in the green and white uniform said sheepishly, bowing apologetically to Harry and then proceeded to climb on the strange man with white hair and – ears...? The man’s attire was a strange red jacket-thing and carried a large sword. The man with white hair then began running after what seemed a strange demonic creature that had passed by unnoticed.
Ron - the first person to regain mobility; stepped towards Voldemort and prodded him with his wand. Many times.
"He's dead." Ron said, awed, as he rightfully should be.
And hell broke loose.
Somewhere else...
"(I can't believe Naraku came to this era! I thought you said it was safe here, Kagome!)"
"(I can't help it, it's not like I want him to be here anyway! I didn't even expect that he would go all the way to England if he came to this era!)"
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