Potter had been so confident in his findings he had called the stand-off himself. The Order had fought futilely for an hour just to end up decimated by her army of Death Eaters. They were no match from the start. He had immediately sought her in the midst of battle and she had taken pleasure in extending their dueling as if it was all a game to her. Because it was. The Dark Lady had led him in, dancing around his curses and cackling at his efforts to subdue her. She had taken the hint that he intended to get close enough so he could drive the final blow. The Gryffindor sword had to pierce her runic scar to undo the power that was never meant to be gifted to her. It was a very ambitious plan, she had to give him that. But it was desperate, flawed and doomed to fail. Once she got bored and his forces were down to the lowest number to hold the fight, she came to a halt at the Forest entrance and let him approach her. They were casting curses at each other from a short distance and Potter was not holding back on his intent to restrain her, stun her. Anything to get near enough. He looked drained. He had spared no magic channeled through his wand on his attempts to tackle her as he wielded the sword at the ready. But Hermione had only been feeding his confidence, backing up deceivingly, staging counterspells and protective charms, until she felt it was time to crush his high hopes and surprised him with her binding spell rendering him helpless on the cold ground.