Hey guys! It's been great seeing all of your views of my stories so far. I've been writing the next Middleman chapter over this last week and have the next KOTOR chapter outlined. But with the movie coming out soon, and my Harry Potter fandom quite adamant, I was inspired to write this story. I hope you enjoy it, and let's all enjoy the final movie! -LCB

I'm here, Voldemort. I'm here.

Harry thought the words as if he were speaking them out loud. They echoed within the confines of his mind with each step he took toward the forest. They seemed to spur him on even when his every limb felt like lead and that it was an impossible feat to keep moving them forward.

At the same time, the thoughts were sticking to the inside of his chest, filling him with a fear he didn't believe he'd ever felt before.

He was tired, exhausted even. He knew this was true. His shoulders, knees, feet, and head ached with fatigue. He felt so spent that he feared if he stopped moving for just a moment, he would collapse. He, Ron, and Hermione had been on the run for so long, so damn long, running for their lives, running for their very way of life. The man, the evil, that threatened it stood just ahead of him, he knew.

There Harry would see him again. The man who was no longer a man, but a cruel, twisted vessel carrying ultimate power, and ultimate evil.

A creature who killed without a second thought.

A heartless soul who tortured the minds and bodies of others for his own delight.

A dark master who bended every bit of his will into twisting all those around him to his cause, to the point where even those who followed him were too blind to see the endless abyss their lives were heading towards.

There, Harry would see the man who destroyed his life before he even had a chance to live it.

There, Harry would stare down the cold eyes of a murderer of countless souls, of his parents, of some of his friends, one who was threatening to destroy even more that he held dear. All because of him. All because this demon preached a score to settle with him, one that he would stop at nothing to settle, one that would sacrifice the lives of even more of his friends.

No more.

Harry chanted it in his mind over and over again as he crossed into the threshold of the forest, its dark and twisted trees seemingly ensnaring him in their clutches.

No more would anyone else suffer because of him, because he was The Boy Who Lived, because he was the one the Dark Lord wanted.

No more would families be severed, loved ones destroyed, dearest friends separated by the icy grasp of death, because of him.

It would be here that Harry would make his final act protecting those he loved, the world he loved.

It would be here that he would stand his ground.

"He's here!"

James always feared this day would come, and as his beloved wife clutched their son to her chest and screamed the words, he knew the night was here.

The night he would find them. The night that had been paralyzing he and Lily with anguish for months now.

The night they could no longer hide from him, and those that followed behind him.

The night he would kill them.

James had stood up in one lightning-fast motion as the dark presence seemed to engulf the world outside their home. He had heard from others in the Order and from victims' accounts what it would feel like.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled up, as if the very air they breathed was electrified. The house suddenly felt like it had dropped fifty degrees. But it wasn't the cold that came with battling a dementor, James knew. It was the kind of cold that wasn't discernible if it was coming from the world around you, or from within your own body.

It was a blood-chilling cold.

He was here.

He was coming for them.

James wheeled around and took his wife in his arms, his hands placed comfortingly on her shoulders as he brought her face close to his. They had precious few seconds left now. Lily's eyes were red from crying, and filled with fear. They were calling out to him as he held her, begging to know what they should do.

Impossibly, in that moment, James smiled. It was the same crooked smile he had always had since their school days at Hogwarts, when they first fell in love. He touched his forehead to hers. A strand of his constantly unkempt hair slipped in front of his face. Lily sniffled, and offered a weak, sad smile back to him. James looked down at the infant boy between them.

He was sleeping soundly, his beautiful eyes closed, warmed by the life of both his parents' bodies.

No more, son. No more running.

The cold was deepening. The night sky beyond their windows seemed to deepen to a pitch black, and James began to hear a rumbling slowly gathering speed, coming right for them.

He turned his eyes back to the woman he loved.

"Lily," he half-shouted, forced to do so over the sound of the rumbling. "Take Harry and go! Get upstairs, barricade the door and don't come down!"

Lily shook her head furiously.

"I can't leave you! I won't!"

James closed the distance between them and kissed her passionately once, soaking in the taste and scent of her, the woman he loved and cherished.

The woman he'd die for.

He could feel Lily's new, warm tears flow down his glasses onto his cheeks as she kissed him back. How he wished the power of the love he held for her and for Harry could save them in this moment. He cursed himself that, in this moment, he was just one man. One man facing a dark power that he knew in his heart he could not defeat.

He parted his lips from hers, and she slowly opened her eyes to meet his, sniffling loudly as she did so. He reached up and softly caressed her cheek.

No, he wasn't just one man. He was James Potter, a husband and a father, and his family's love stood with him.

They were united.

Now the house began to shake slightly. James heard the eerie rattling of dishes and glasses on the dinner table, and knew their time together was coming to a close. He grabbed Lily's shoulders while she held Harry and quickly guided her to the stairs that led up to their bedroom.

"You need to get to safety, Lily! I'll hold him off until the others from the Order arrive!"

They both stopped at the foot of the stairs. Lily shook her head silently as James instructed her, not wanting to do as he said if it meant leaving him here. Every minute that James saw his wife wish to stay by his side made the tightness in his chest harder and harder to contain. He felt his resolve would soon crumble. He was overcome by the danger of the moment, the thoughts of the next time he would see his wife and son again.

"Cast protective charms on the door, Lily."

He smiled crookedly again at her, though half-heartedly.

"You know the ones. Flitwick's class, our seventh year. Remember?"

Lily continued to shake her head slowly, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. The rumbling grew into full-blown shaking, as if an earthquake had suddenly erupted all around them. Books were falling off their shelves and smacking the floor with loud thunks. A cracking sound above their heads drew James' eyes up, in time to pull Lily and Harry out of the way as a piece of the ceiling came crashing down at the foot of the stairs, splintering into shards of wood and puffs of dust.

Then, instantaneously, like someone had pressed an off switch, the rumbling stopped. It was replaced by the most absolute of silences. James' lungs froze mid-breath. He snapped his neck toward the door.

Now, he was here.

"Lily, go! Go now! Get to safety!"

He kissed her once on the cheek, bent down to kiss Harry on the forehead, and pushed them up the first few steps. She turned back toward him, her eyes desperately pleading.

"Please, come with me."

James nodded up at her.

"I'll be right behind you."

Lily pressed her lips together and stifled another sob as she looked down at him. James offered one more smile, one that felt fruitless. He knew in his heart and in his mind that this was one battle he wouldn't walk away from.

"I love you."

That wasn't all he could say. All that he wanted to tell her in that moment could have filled night after night. He wanted to tell her everything she meant to him. He wanted to say how thrilled and proud he had been when she agreed to marry him and bear a son with him.

But now, they didn't have nights. They had mere seconds.

"I love you too," Lily breathed, before shutting her eyes tight as new tears formed. She turned and quickly ran up the stairs.

James slowly turned to face the door. The house was still stabbed with the petrifying silence. It was all-consuming. James had no doubt that it would even swallow up the sound of a pin dropping.

He centered himself in front of the door to their home, knowing exactly who was on the other side. He drew his wand from his pocket and held it poised and at the ready.

Here James would make his stand.

Lily, Harry, you're safe.

You're safe.

Harry knew they would be. They had to be. This was his fight now, his load to shoulder. Strangely, he was not surprised that it would end like this. After all these years, all those moments in which he, Ron, and Hermione were never quite sure they'd make it out alive, it had all come to this.

He was the one. He was The Boy Who Lived, the mortal enemy of He Who Must Not Be Named. In the back of his mind Harry had always known that, in the end, it would be him facing Voldemort alone.

Now, it was because of him that Fred was dead, and Dobby, Mad-Eye, Lupin, Tonks, even Colin.

They had all died fighting a battle that was meant for him, taken blows that he was supposed to and should have taken. This wasn't where any of them were ever meant to be, fighting for him. Yet they had done it so willingly, so passionately, his entire life. How could he be so important? How could his life take precedence over anyone else's? To this day the thought tortured him.

But Voldemort had given his ultimatum: Meet him in one hour, in the forest, away from the others.

Surrender, or he would charge upon Hogwarts and surely everyone else still holding out there would die. But Harry was certain Voldemort would make the charge anyway. He was a man who never honored his word. He lived only how he wanted to, and how he knew he would attain more power.

Which was also another reason why Harry was doing this. He learned through studying Snape's memories in Dumbledore's office that he himself was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, which meant Voldemort would never die unless he was dead first.

Harry nodded softly to himself as he continued his trek through the Forbidden Forest. Even if Voldemort attacked the castle afterwards, the others there would at least have more of a fighting chance to finally kill him if Harry was dead.

Harry closed his eyes as he walked. Through these past seven years he had lived through countless trials that should have killed him but didn't. He knew he had probably stared Death in the face more times than any young man his age. But the prospect of death had never been this real to him, this resolute. This time there seemed no way out. No hope.

And it scared him. Harry found himself suppressing a sob more than once as he made the walk to his enemy. He wasn't ready to die, wasn't ready to face a life without his friends, without the wizarding world that had become his true home more than any other.

Harry felt a pain roar in his stomach as the fear seemed to stick to the walls of his insides. It ached within every bone and every tired muscle in his body. It was a horrible fatigue, a desire to just get it all over with. It was a tightness that he felt within the bowels of his gut.

But the one thing that wasn't stuck was his mind, which raced with fears and doubts. What would it feel like? Would it hurt more than any injury he had ever suffered before? Would he know he was dying while it was happening? Would he have time to prepare one last prayer for his friends before it all ended?

Would the world just go black around him? Would it be like falling asleep? Also, Harry couldn't stop thinking about what would happen afterward. Where would he go after he died? Was there a life after this one? Would his consciousness even exist anymore?

He thought back to Nearly-Headless Nick and the other Hogwarts ghosts. Would that be his destiny after death? Forever just floating in the air with no means and no end? Or would everything just go black, and he wouldn't think anymore. He wouldn't exist anymore.

Did an eternity of nothingness await him?

Still, none of those thoughts were enough to make him turn tail and run back. This was his duty, the reason he lived still. He had to stop Voldemort if he could, or die trying. They had to be given a fighting chance. If Harry was to lose his life tonight, this is how he wanted to do it, in service to those he loved.

Ron. Hermione. Ginny….everyone. You're safe.

His thoughts of Ginny caused the tears to break free. He wanted in this moment more than ever to be with her. He wanted to know what it would be like to be with her without this war. He wanted a future with her, for everyone he knew.

But this was his future now. His final act would be to make certain that everyone in the Wizard and Muggle worlds would never have their lives destroyed again by this menace. Now Harry lived so they all could live.

You're safe.

James stood his ground. He'd never felt so terrified in his life staring at his own front door. Red rays of light began to shine all around the door, and James took his stance, ready to engage this dark one who had tormented enough souls in this lifetime.

A sharp crack resounded behind the door and it blew off its hinges, crashing into the living room. James covered his face as splinters of wood shot in all directions and the dust filled his lungs. When he let his arms down, he was greeted with the sight of Voldemort himself standing directly in front of him in the doorway.

He was dressed in a long, flowing black robe with the hood drawn up over his face. James could just barely make out the outline of a head. For a few moments, the two stood across from one another in total silence, their bodies frozen in anticipation.

Finally, Voldemort broke the silence. His dry, shrill voice pierced the silence.

"James Potter…..you would dare to stand against me?"

James didn't back down, pushing his lips together tightly.

"I dare to do quite a bit more than that."

Then Voldemort laughed. It was a grinding, maniacal laugh that sounded like two sheets of metal rubbing against each other. The dark hooded man's chest rose and fell with each cruel chuckle before he whipped out his wand and pointed it at James' chest.

"You ought to feel honored, Potter. I have come to kill both you and your wife myself, in person."

More shrieking chuckles didn't deter James. His wand was always held steady in front of him. A burning anger flared in his chest at the insult. He was ready.

"Forgive me for not rolling out the welcome mat."

James flurried his wand once and yelled with all his might.

"Stupefy!"

A red flare of magic burst from the end of his wand shooting straight for Voldemort. Voldemort swiped at the spell with his own wand, deflecting the blast away without uttering a single spell. The repelled spell smashed into a family portrait, making it burst into flames and fall from the wall.

James' eyes widened only for a second. He had heard that some wizards were so skilled in magic that they didn't even need to yell spells. They just controlled their magic with their mind. James knew in that moment just how powerful his adversary was, and a pinprick of fear welled up in his heart again.

He didn't have any longer to think as a sick-yellow flare burst from Voldemort's wand at him. James recognized the Expelliarmus Spell.

"Protego!"

James deflected that spell away also, the impact causing him to stumble back a few steps. The spell burst through the ceiling, leaving a pile of plaster in front of them.

As the dust settled, James saw Voldemort pointing his wand off toward the side. He looked in time to see the dinner table levitating in the air, then quickly turning over and flying straight for him.

His lungs froze as a wave of adrenaline shot through him. He had once chance. He shot his hand out in front of him.

"Bombarda!"

A blast exploded from his wand in time to split the table in two just before it hit him. Wood smashed into pieces all around him. James felt something smash into his head and throat and he nearly fell backward but caught himself on the bookcase behind him.

His vision was blurred, and he shook his head until the world around him cleared again. He saw that the right lens in his glasses had been blown apart by the impact.

Voldemort was still just standing in front of him. James wondered why the Dark Lord hadn't finished him off after the table smashed apart?

Then it occurred to him. Voldemort was just playing with him, as he did with all his enemies in the past before he killed them. This was the kind of sport Voldemort enjoyed, and it sickened James to know he was being treated so patronizingly. Voldemort fought as if this very battle was beneath him.

Just then James felt something warm trickle down his nose and the side of his face. He reached up to his forehead and felt a deep cut there, seeping blood down his face.

Voldemort laughed again.

"That will make a nice scar on your corpse, James."

Just then, a baby's cry was heard from upstairs. James looked toward the ceiling. The sounds of the battle must be scaring Harry.

James turned back to see Voldemort looking that direction as well.

No…..not them. Stay away from them! This battle's with me!

A desperate fire lit inside James. White-hot rage spread like licks of flame from his heart to his head to his fingertips. He would not get to them. They would be safe. James would make sure of it. Never again would this monster hurt anyone, especially Lily. Especially Harry.

James began firing off stunning spells in quick succession, his wand slicing at the air as his anger grew. The protection of his family would be met at all costs.

"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! STUPEFY!"

Voldemort twirled his wand in his hand, batting away the first two spells and absorbing the third. But the fourth was fired with such ferocity that it smashed against his arm and sent the hooded dark wizard stumbling back into the wall. The hood fell back and revealed Voldemort's serpentine face.

The creature emitted a low hiss.

"CRUCIO!"

"Protego!"

James put up his deflecting spell but suddenly a searing pain unlike anything else he'd ever felt spread up his wand arm.

"Arrrgghh!"

The pain was immeasurable, leaving his wand hand uselessly opening and his wand tumbling to the ground. James grabbed his arm and slid down the bookcase. Everything was on fire. It felt like his bones were splitting open and tearing at the muscles they were attached to. The very air around his arm had turned to flames, cooking him alive.

His arm spasmed again and again, quivering and trembling as waves of trauma pounded through his arm again and again, never-ending. Hot tears clouded James' eyes. The pain was unbearable. Briefly, his mind recalled the memory of the Longbottoms, and how they had been tortured by this spell. James didn't want to imagine what the pain would be like had more than his arm been affected.

Now Voldemort was approaching him slowly. James blinked tears away to get a look at his face. Shock filled his chest as he gazed upon a face that looked more like a snake's than a man's. The nose was gone, replaced by two slits. His eyes were red and his skin was pale, nearly snow-white, and hairless.

Without the shroud of the mask, Voldemort spoke in a much deeper voice, chuckling down at James as he approached.

"Pick up your wand, James. We're not done here."

Whirling wisps of light flew all around Harry like plumes of smoke, at first. They then began to glow and form into shapes. The shapes of people he loved, that he knew, that he missed.

Harry had invoked the power of the Resurrection Stone, bringing back the spirits of his loved ones and dear friends. Now all around him stood his parents, Sirius, and Lupin.

Harry looked at them all, his eyes welling up with tears. They were all dead because of him. His parents died protecting him from Voldemort. Sirius died trying to get him out of the Ministry two years ago. Now Lupin had died repelling blows that were meant for him.

He wanted to say something to them. He wanted to repent of the deaths he had caused them all. He opened his mouth, but a lump caught in his throat, silencing him. Instead, he hung his head and tried to shut the tears out, sniffing once.

"There's no need to repent, Harry."

Harry looked up to Lupin's spirit, who was smiling his tired smile.

"Everyone here, Tonks and I, were glad to do it. You are the hope this world has for a better tomorrow, Harry. That's worth fighting for."

"You are worth fighting for," Sirius chimed in.

Harry couldn't hold back the tears anymore. He hung his head again and let them flow freely. Hot streams carved lines down his face and fell to the forest floor. His shoulders heaved with each sob. The spirits of his father and mother flew to his side, both laying hands on his shoulders.

Harry looked into the ghostly yet beautiful face of his mother. His identical eyes to hers reached out to her for some sort of comfort that he had been deprived of for so long.

"Will…will it hurt?"

His mother smiled and rubbed his shoulder once.

"Your courage will carry you through, Harry. You only need to be strong a little while longer."

She squeezed his shoulder.

"You will be ready."

Harry stifled another sniffle and looked around at them all. He had missed them so much for the majority of his life. He had lain awake for countless night thinking of the words he would say to them if he was ever given the chance. Yet, in this moment, he was speechless. He thought perhaps that's the way it was meant to be.

They had come to comfort him, to be with him, to help him through this final trial before it was all over. This was the way he wanted it to happen. He knew he would be joining them soon, and he hoped the others would carry on without him, ending this war once and for all.

"Will you stay with me?"

His mother nodded.

"Always."

"Until the end," Sirius added.

This time his father spoke, squeezing his other shoulder.

"Harry, the night Voldemort found us, you and your mother were who I was fighting for."

Harry turned to look up at the face of his father. Though ghost-like, it still was not deprived of the confidence and strength his father had.

"Tonight, you are also fighting for those you love, and fighting with those you love. There is not a nobler cause in this world or the next than that, my son."

Harry knew in his heart that his father was right. There was no other way to finish off Voldemort. It had come down to the two of them, and how their destinies had been intertwined the night Voldemort tried to kill him when he was a baby.

This was the way it was meant to end.

Harry was ready to begin walking again, but James wasn't finished.

"While staring down Voldemort in our home, Harry, I had one regret on my mind."

Harry turned to pose a wondering look at his father, who smiled back at him.

"I regretted that I'd never get to see you grow up, never get to know the man you would become. But now I see you, Harry."

For a moment, Harry wondered if he could see tears well up in his father's eyes."

"And I can tell you now I couldn't be more proud of the man you've become, my son."

James defiantly reached with his non-cursed, non-wand arm and grabbed it. The wand felt awkward and clumsy in this hand, but that would not stop him. Nothing would stop him.

He slowly rose up, his legs screamed in protest. Every muscle in his body was spent from this duel. But his spirit was always willing.

When James finally stood up again, he leveled the wand at Voldemort.

"No, we're not done."

The ghosts of his parents and friends fell back behind him, and the way ahead was clear. Harry found himself at the front of a large clearing in the middle of the forest.

There in front of him stood what looked like hundreds of Death Eaters waiting to pounce upon the meager forces still defending Hogwarts, with one black-cloaked man standing in front.

Voldemort slowly turned around to face Harry. His demonic, serpentine face cracked into a smile.

"Harry Potter…..The Boy Who Lived."

Harry stared ahead at the murderer, the impossible force of darkness. He did not back down. He did not waver. He devoted every ounce of his willpower to showing no fear to Voldemort or his followers.

Voldemort raised and pointed the Elder Want directly at him.

"Come to die."

Harry shifted where he stood, planting his feet apart in a fighting stance and drawing his wand. This would be where he stood until the moment he was gone.

Voldemort raised his own wand, licks of green energy slinking up his hooded arm and pooling at the tip of his wand.

James knew this was it. This was the moment where he would stand his last ground.