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One moment, Harry was on the Riddle graveyard, with its marble headstones overgrown by weeds and shrubs, the next, he felt a sickening tug somewhere below his navel and was swirling towards an unknown destination.

Harry hit the ground, knees first. A familiar pain shot through his forehead, but he tried to ignore it and looked around. He was kneeling on a floor of semi-soft, plastic covered mattresses. In the distance, he could see people seated in an ascending way, separated by white horizontal lines. He carefully stood up and was startled by the touch of ropes against his back. The boy swivelled around, but they were only ropes, drawn from post to post and surrounding the mattress covered area. A boxing ring.

Where was Voldemort? He had been there in the graveyard, and they had been about to duel, surrounded by Death Eaters and the people on his side alike. Harry was frantically searching his surroundings, when hissing sounds from above made him quiver. Despite his first split-second of fear, it wasn't Parseltongue, but rather a microphone and badly tuned loudspeakers.

"Hello people in the audience, hello to you out there in front of your TV screen! We are Johnny Gomez and Nick Diamond and tonight's another night for Celebrity Death Match! A match like none of you has ever seen before!" A black haired man in a suit was talking into a big microphone in front of him. "I am proud to announce that tonight, we will witness a duel from another world. A world, hidden among our own. Yessss, there are still wizards in the world. And tonight, two of their greatest are here to duel in our show!"

***

The little girl shuddered. She was alone at home, her parents gone for an official dinner at her father's company. She shouldn't watch TV late at night, the bad stuff. But she wanted to see that show so badly. They were showing funny people in the night, made of clay. So she had sneaked into the living room to watch the show. She would be back to bed long before her parents would be home again. No harm would be done. Surely her parents would never find out about it. She turned her attention back to the screen.

The black-haired clay man had stopped talking and the other commentator took over. Also clad in suit and bow tie – her father had put on a similar set this evening – he had brown hair and a moustache.

"Thank you Johnny, for the intro. Now let's take a look at whom we have here tonight! In the left corner: He started his career as a young orphan named Tom Riddle. Snakelike, hungry for power and bloodthirsty, he became a legend for cunning and ambition. The Master of the Master Plan. You already know, who he is: Lord Voooldemort!"

The audience seemed to flinch at the last words. Even those who tried to applaud nevertheless, had a hurtful expression on their faces. Why would that be, the little girl wondered. Admittedly, the man in the left corner wasn't a pleasant sight.

Clad in dark robes, his tall body wore a deadly white face, with waxy skin tight on high cheekbones. He must have suffered from an accident, as his nose was almost completely taken off and reduced to its slits. His eyes gleamed slightly red.

The little girl suppressed a shudder. He isn’t a nice man, she thought. I'm glad he is only made of clay. Suddenly, her hands felt slippery with cold sweat.

Now the man named Johnny spoke up again. "And in the right corner we have his combatant: Harry Potter. Honoured by wizards, neglected by... 'Muggles' – now someone should have explained to me what that's supposed to mean! – he dedicated his life to save the innocent from evil. Also known as The Boy Who Lived, tonight he is fighting for his new title: Saviour of the Wizarding World!"

More shouts and applause erupted from the crowd. The dark haired young man in the right corner had a strained look on his face. He looked so much younger than his enemy did. The camera took a close up of his face. His eyes shone brightly green and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

He is nervous, she thought. Nervous and determined.

"And there comes Mills Lane, our experienced and tough-as-a-boot ring judge. He is about to start the fight." A bald headed man with a black bow tie above a brilliant white chemise stood in the middle of the ring. He closely watched the two combatants, so different from each other. "Let's get it on!" The fight was officially on.

Many of the people in the arena were shouting.

"You'll finally sniff it today, Muggle-lover!"

"Go on Harry, fight the bastard to his death!"

In the front row, a boy with freckles all over his face and a girl with bushy hair were clutching each other for mutual support.

Again that strange word, 'Muggle', she thought. Maybe her mom could explain it to her. Although she learned so many new things every day at school, there were still some words she wouldn't know. But Mom and Dad were clever; they knew almost everything.

"The two combatants are assuming their positions. They will duel with wands, thereby showing us what true wizards are capable of. Now, what will we see? Voldie's specialities are the Unforgivables, we were told. Will he amuse himself with – wait a moment – 'Crucio' or 'Imperio', before he finally tries to finish with 'Avada Kedavra'? He normally prefers deserted graveyards to the boxing ring. Will he have problems to adjust tonight?" The commentator chuckled.

"And as for Harry Potter: Will he be patient and wait to answer Voldemort's curses or is he about to try a strategical hex of his own?"

***

"Now, look at that! Do you know those guys?" 16 year old Cathy asked Roy, her boyfriend. At least that was what he would become tonight. They were sitting in the living room of Cathy's parents, who were on their annual trip to the coast, happily ignorant about their daughter's exploits. They wouldn't be back for another five days.

Roy, captain of the school's boxing team, lead singer of The Dreadful Four and two years above her, had broad shoulders and a nice face, with no spots or freckles. If she was going to lose her virginity, it should be to him, Cathy had decided. She had enough from not having done It. Enough of Marielle and Lisa teasing her. Tonight's the night, she thought. And on Monday he will kiss me in front of the girls. That should shut them up.

"I don't know these two. It's called Celebrity Death Match, not just pick-two-unknown-guys death match," she complained loudly, missing the annoyed expression on Roy's face.

"Who cares?" he asked, smiling at her. "Now, where did we stop?" He placed his hand a bit higher on her jeans clad leg. Her pink tongue swiftly licked her lips, and he leaned in for another kiss.

***

Harry drew his wand and stormed off to the centre of the ring. "I'm ready for you. Come and fight. You will die tonight!"

***

Frank Bennett awoke in his favourite armchair. Again! He must have dozed off after the evening news. The TV screen was still on, but the channel had changed to MTV. Must have hit the remote control in my sleep, he mused.

On the screen, several clay figures were jumping around in a boxing ring. Hey! That might be this Death Match thing Marty told me about. His grandson was twelve and immensely interested in dark stuff at the moment. The boy's mother wouldn't hear of it, but Frank, who had been pretty wild in his own time, listened to the boy and understood his fascination with evil.

***

Voldemort sauntered out of his corner, taking one elegant step after the other. Never letting his gaze off Harry, he addressed the audience. "Look who we have here: Harry Potter, boy hero... Ready to fight me, to take a life for a higher reason – Saving The World. Saving," he spat the last words, "blood-traitors, Muggle-lovers and Muggles!"

Voldemort took a few strides, keeping his wand trained on Harry. "Look at you, Harry Potter. Pathetic, I say. Look what they made of you... To them you are just a clay freak in a show, to amuse them on a night's thirteen minutes, interrupted by silly commercials. I have no illusions about that riffraff. That's why I can use them. I use their ugly existences to hurt, taunt and destroy you. Like this..."

Voldemort turned around almost casually and shot a jet of green light into the audience. It hit Ron in the chest. A look of utter astonishment on his face, Harry's best mate and companion for seven years fell lifelessly against the girl he loved. Hermione remained in her seat, frozen. Voldemort turned back to face Harry again. "Do you hate me now, Harry Potter? Tell me that you hate me!"

Harry's hands were shaking, but his grip on the wand was firm. "You evil, murdering bastard. I hate you. And I will kill you!"

Voldemort only laughed. "Go on, hate me. Fuel my power!"

Ron is dead, he killed him, Ron is dead, he killed him, Ron is dead, he killed him – it went round and round like a maelstrom in his head. He wanted to rush to his friend, look him in the eye, touch him, at least say goodbye. It would never happen.

***

Never stopping the kiss, Roy let his hands wander to the front of Cathy's blouse. He took his time with the buttons, until he finally cupped her breasts with his hands. The girl gave a small sigh. In her eyes, something curious and daring waited to be set free. She smiled at him again.

***

"Ah, that hurt, didn't it?" Voldemort's voice crushed into his pain. "Have you solved the problem of the last Horcrux, little boy? No? Let me explain it to you – a final favour for being such a pleasant toy in all those years.

"Know the weakness of thy enemy – it's an old rule of warfare. Most of the time, weakness and strength are different sides of the same coin. Your mother's love saved you once. Your strength is the love in your life, the love you give and receive. The old fool Dumbledore told you so, didn't he? But he neglected something important. He was too keen on turning you into a weapon against me. So, what is your weakness? It's the love you cannot give. That's the last of the Horcruxes. Not a physical thing, this one. It is unconditional love. I used the darkest magic to put the last shred of my soul into something that does not exist. And as there is no unconditional love, it cannot be destroyed."

"Yes, there is!" shouted Harry.

"Really?" asked Voldemort. "So, do you love Severus Snape, who killed Albus Dumbledore? Do you love Draco Malfoy, who infected the school with Death Eaters? Or do you only love those loyal to your cause, those blood treacherous Weasleys or that Mudblood Granger? Do you love that old fool, Dumbledore? Do you love that freckled heap of dead meat over there or that sobbing piece of trapped intellect?" Question upon question he mercilessly shot at Harry.

"Stop insulting them," Harry shouted between sobs. "Yes, I love Dumbledore and Ron and Hermione. And I hate Malfoy and Snape and above all you. You killed my family, my friends; you killed so many innocent people. You should die for it. And you will!"

An almost ethereal smile played around Voldemort's mouth. "Let me show you something, Harry Potter. Let me show you what happened to those you hate. You might want to reconsider." Voldemort flicked his wand and green smoke curled from it. A figure with dark hair and a crooked nose formed itself: Severus Snape.

"Do you hate Snape, even if I tell you that he has really been a spy for the Order of the Phoenix and that I killed him after he returned from his treacherous mission to my ranks?" Snape's face was a wooden mask of pain with his mouth dripping blood. "Do you still hate Snape, if I tell you that I not only killed him with the Killing Curse but rather tortured him for three days until he was reduced to a boneless mess on the floor, his throat raw from screaming? He wanted to say goodbye to Draco Malfoy, but as Wormtail had cut out his tongue on the second day..." Voldermort's voice trailed off. Harry stared at the green smoke, at Snape curling on the floor, his smoky face contorted in agony.

"You're a bastard..." croaked Harry. He was trembling all over. Something was wrong. This was not the way things were supposed to be. Dumbledore had been right to trust Snape. Maybe I should have tried to co-operate more... The colours in front of his eyes were swirling into a blur of pallid grey. As if he could read his thoughts, Voldemort flicked his wand again and went on.

"Do you hate Draco Malfoy? He was not strong enough to follow me." The Snape figure got company from a second, smaller one, with blond hair pasted to a wildly shaking head. Streaks of blood ran down its face as it stumbled clumsily around. "I had him listen to Snape's death, after he had clawed his own eyes out. Insanity is a treacherous thing, loyal only to your enemies. I had to get rid of him." He paused, waiting for Harry to react, but nothing came. "His father gave the bodies to the ravens. Funny how a blind man tries to fight birds that come to eat him alive."

The figures of Snape and Malfoy lingered in the air above the floor, their limbs moving uncontrollably.

***

They adjusted themselves side by side on the couch. Cathy's blouse and jeans were gone, as was Roy's shirt.

***

Harry was shaking with pity and anger. He had hated Malfoy, but he couldn't hate the pathetically struggling figure shown to him by his worst enemy. "You..." Harry's voice was merely a whisper. "I hate you. You treat them all like worthless pawns, no matter on whose side they are."

"What about you, little boy? You feel pity only for those on your side. I at least use them all alike. You are about to lose, Harry Potter. There is no unconditional love in the world. Your father died for nothing. Your mother died for nothing. You will follow them in every aspect of their miserable lives tonight. And after you've died, I will have your friends and allies. Every last one of them. Because who should protect them, after you are gone?"

Something inside Harry's head snapped. Stop talking. Don't let him lull you into helplessness and despair. Just kill him. Now. He trained his wand at Voldemort and stormed at him. He could hear Hermione screaming, but he barely recognised her words. Something about stop it, don't hate, makes him stronger – but it didn't make sense to him so he urged himself forward.

***

Cathy uttered a small sound as Roy entered her. Ignorant to the events on the screen, they both found a rhythm and adjusted to it.

***

The curse hit him in the chest. Like so many people before him, Harry doubled over and crumbled to the floor. But unlike the others, he still had a remnant of life in him. He tried to stand up again, to duel, to kill Voldemort and save his friends. He wasn't able to stand up, much less to do anything else. Every breath hurt so much. Sensing the inevitable coming, Harry stilled. He could feel his life fleeing from him.

I couldn't do it, he whispered to himself. I couldn't save them. I love them so much, but I had no unconditional love to give. And I couldn't kill him with hate. The pain was overwhelming. He could hear screams of terror around him. Ron, Hermione! To have them by his side, now, would have been the world to him. He had given his life but he couldn't save them. He had nothing more to give.

A last gurgling sound came from his blood stained lips, then he lay still. His open eyes stared towards the people in the audience. As if he was still trying to watch over them, almost out of habit.

***

The screen suddenly was tinged in a green light. Frank couldn't keep his eyes away. A short cramp in his chest brought his attention. Another stroke? His heart cramped again. Painfully this time. In the next moment, it was all over his body. His hands flew to his chest, clutching at the pain inside. He did a desperate little hop-dance in his armchair. And then was gone.

***

Roy lay on the couch, his relaxed gaze resting on a bowl of peanuts on the table. Cathy had disappeared into the bathroom. Girls could stay there for ages after the first time, he mused. Just another chick he had fucked tonight. Just another chick, just another chick, just another chick – for my dick. He was almost humming it. Might be a nice line for my new song.

Cathy returned from the bathroom, he could feel her eyes searching his face. "You're okay?" she smiled nervously at him. Why ruin the night? She will find out early enough. "Yeah, I feel great." "That's good." He took her hand, smiling back to reassure her. She smiled again, relaxing into his touch.

***

The key creaked in the lock. Her parents were coming home. The girl looked up, tears were streaming down her face. "Darling, what happened?" Her mother hurried towards her.

"I wanted to watch the show, the one with the funny clay people," she cried. "And then everybody..." she couldn't find the words, too deeply shocked. "I..." her face screwed up in another wail. "I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean to..."

"Darling, don't cry." Her mother knelt beside her small quivering frame. "Don't cry. It's only a movie."

On the screen, the clay figure of a dark haired boy was bleeding its guts out. Its – his green eyes were shimmering with sadness and a hopeless despair. In the back, the spectators were all fleeing from a tall guy in a black cloak, who shot a never-ending ray of green light from a small stick – a lightsaber? – into the audience. Some figures were fighting back, emitting green light from sticks of their own.

The woman angrily snatched the remote control and shut off the screen. That crap they are showing on TV! Again, she embraced her daughter. "Don't cry, darling. It's only a movie."