Gamble with Death
Rating: T (I'm paranoid)
Genre: friendship/ romance (I really only hinted at pre-slash … really)
Warnings: AU, EWE, OOCness, Master of Death!Harry
Disclaimer: Harry Potter never was, nor will it ever be, mine. I don't own anything at all. But you all know that already so why must I write this again?
A/N: So again I twisted the battle of Hogwarts to my liking. I start at the end of 'The elder wand' and work from there. The fight stays mostly the same Harry still dies and comes back, and then battles Voldemort, so I'll probably skip where I can. Harry goes to the shack alone and when Snape 'died' he calls Death to save him. I use many parts, like really many parts, directly from the book, so don't sue me. Some will probably find parallels to my other fanfic, and I don't give a damn because it's a 'what if' situation as is the other FF. Bear with it or leave. You've been warned!
"Look … at … me …" Snape whispered.
The green eyes found the black, but after a brief moment the dark pair closed again. The hand holding Harry thudded to the floor, and Snape moved no more.
Finally tears roll down the boys face, he had already seen to many death that day, and he sobs over the still warm body.
He couldn't accept this, he wouldn't accept this. Snape couldn't die.
Not now, not for him.
Eerie words came to mind and before he knew, he had spoken aloud.
"I call upon you Death! Hear your masters bidding!"
Instantly the temperature in the shack dropped, and an otherworldly figure appeared. It was cladded in black robes that hid its face from view, and with a raspy voice it spoke.
"You called master?"
The voice send shivers down ones back, but Harry hadn't time for this.
"I beg of you this mans soul, for his soul might be tainted but his heart is pure."
The words came to him without a thought but he knew he had to keep to this traditional words, otherwise, he feared, Death would leave.
"I fear, young master, that I can not help you. The Hallows recognize you as their master, yet you have just one in your possession. But we could make a bet of sorts? Know thought that the stakes are high."
"Name your price and I'll pay it. Whatever you chose count me in, as long as you save his soul." The look of desperation evident in the boys face.
Death seemed to contemplate this and for a long moment there is utter silence.
"I shall release the soul in question, if you can bring me the tricksters soul before dawn. For far to long I yearned for the tricksters soul, but time and time again he deceives me of my prize. If you however can not fulfil my requirements I will not only take this man but you as well, and even if you accomplish what I tried in vain, you must see to his mortal body. I will release his soul, but if his body gives in – I will no longer be at fault.
A soul buys a soul, it is as easy as that, for even in this realm everything has to have its price. Well, young friend what is your answer?"
A tense nod and the presence vanished.
For a moment Harry remained kneeling at Snape's side, simply staring down at him, until quite suddenly a high cold voice spoke so close that Harry jumped to his feet, the flask gripped tightly in his hands, thinking that Voldemort had re-entered the room.
Voldemort's voice reverberated from the walls and floor, and Harry realised that he was talking to Hogwarts and to al the surrounding area, that the residents of Hogsmeade and all those still fighting in the castle would hear him as clearly as if he stood beside them, his breath on the back of their necks, a death-blow away.
"You have fought." said the high, cold voice, "valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery.
Yet you have sustained heavy loses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.
Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat, immediately.
You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.
I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself.I shall wait one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."
Harry felt the weight of this 'bet' settle alongside his destiny. He glanced down at Snape's body, cast a quick stasis charm and, Invisibility Cloak in hand, hurried back to the tunnel entrance.
He hurried back trough the tunnel, and Harry wondered whether Ron and Hermione could still hear Voldemort ringing in their ears, as he could. Midway he could hear footsteps coming his way and recognized his friends whispered conversation.
Nevertheless wand at the ready he continued on. Hermione was the first to spot him,and reading the determination in his eyes, shake her head frantically. "Don't listen to Him."
With a sigh Harry said, "Let's just get back to the castle, if he's gone to the Forest I can set a few things straight." None of them talked for the rest of the way.
Small bundles seemed to litter the lawn at the front of the castle. It couldn't be long until dawn, two or three hours at most, yet it was pitch black. The three of them hurried to the stone steps. A lone clog, the size of a small boat, lay abandoned in front of them. There was no other sign of Grawp or of his attacker.
The castle was unnaturally silent. There were no flashes of light now, no bangs or screams or shouts. The flagstones of the deserted Entrance Hall were stained with blood. Emeralds were still scattered all over the floor along with pieces of marble and splintered wood. Part of the banisters had been blown away.
"Where is everyone," whispered Hermione.
Ron led the way to the Great Hall. Harry stopped in the doorway.
The house tables were gone and the room was crowded. The survivors stood in groups, their arms around each other's necks. The injured were being treated up on the platform by Madam Pomfrey and a group of helpers. Firenze was among the injured; his flank poured blood and he shook were he lay,unable to stand.
The dead lay in a row in the middle of the hall. Harry could not see Fred's body, because his family surrounded him.
Without a word to Harry, Ron and Hermione walked away. They joined Bill, Fleur and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron's shoulders.
While they moved closer Harry got a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred: Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.
The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, as Harry reeled backwards from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see whom else had died for him.
He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. Lupin, Tonks … He yearned not to feel … he wished he could rip out his heart, his innards, everything that was screaming inside him …
The castle was completely empty; even the ghosts seemed to have joined the mass mourning in the Great Hall. Harry ran without stopping, clutching the crystal flask of Snape's last thoughts, and he did not slow down until he reached the headmaster's office. The gargoyle didn't even asked the password, simply slid aside, revealing the staircase behind.
But when Harry burst into the once familiar office, he found a change. The portraits that hung all around the walls were empty. Not a single headmaster or headmistress remained to see him; all, it seemed, had flitted away, charging through the paintings that lined the castle, so that they could have a clear view of what was going on.
The stone Pensieve lay in the cabinet were it had always been: Harry heaved it on the wide basin with its runic markings around the edge. The memories swirled, silver-white and strange, and without hesitating, with a feeling of reckless abandonment, as though this would assuage his torturing grief, Harry dived.
(Enter here, Pensieve memories. I'm to lazy to type them, they stay, after all, unchanged.)
Harry rose up out of the Pensieve, and moments later he lay on the carpeted floor in exactly the same room, snippets of the conversations still echoing in his mind:
'Keep her – them – safe. Please.' 'And what will you give me in return, Severus?' 'Anything.'
…
'Are you intending to let the Malfoy boy kill you?' 'Certainly not. You must kill me.'
…
'Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary … Part of Voldemort lives inside Harry … And while that fragment of soul remains attached to, and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort can not die.'
…
'So the boy … the boy must die?' 'And Voldemort himself must do it, that is essential.'
Finally, the truth. Lying with his face pressed into the dusty carpet of the office where he had once thought he was learning the secrets of victory, Harry understood at last that he was not supposed to survive. His job was to walk calmly into Death's welcoming arms. Along the way, he was to dispose of Voldemort's remaining links to life, so that when at last he flung himself across Voldemort's path, and did not raise his wand to defend himself, the end would be clean, and the job that ought to have been done in Godric's Hollow would be finished: neither could live, neither could survive.
But Dumbledore hadn't taken into account that he would find out the truth about the Resurrection Stone hidden within the Snitch, that he would master the Elder Wand. Maybe … if the odds were in his favour, this would save him.
Rumour has it, after all, that the Master of Death can not die, if he isn't willing to.
He felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest. But it would have to stop, and soon. Its beats were numbered. How many would there be time for, as he rose and walked through the castle, out into the grounds and into the Forest?
Yes, he would take the Killing Curse, he would stay still and wait for the end. But he refused to stay dead for long, he had to settle a bet after all.
Slowly, very slowly, he sat up, and as he did so he felt more alive, and more aware of his body than ever before. He felt his fingers trembling slightly and made an effort to control them, although no one could possibly see him; the portraits on the walls were empty after all. This cold-blooded walk to his own destruction, even though only temporarily would require a different kind of bravery. His breath came slow and deep, and his mouth and throat were dry, but so were his eyes.
Dumbledore's betrayal was almost nothing. Of course there had been a bigger plan; Harry had simply been too foolish to see it. How neat, how elegant, not to waste any more lives, but to give the dangerous task to the boy who had already been marked for slaughter, and whose death was inevitable as it was.
And Dumbledore had known that Harry wouldn't duck out, that he would keep going to the end, even though it was his end, that Harry would not let anyone else die for him now that he had discovered it was in his power to stop it. The images of Fred, Lupin and Tonks lying dead in the Great Hall forced their way back into his mind's eye, and for a moment he could hardy breathe: Death was impatient …
Like rain on a cold window, these thoughts pattered against the hard surface of the incontrovertible truth, which was that he must die. I must die. It must end.
He looked down at the battered gold watch he had received on his seventeenth birthday. Nearly half of the hour allotted by Voldemort for his surrender had elapsed, it couldn't be long until dawn.
Harry stood up. He did not look back as he closed the office door.
The castle was empty. He felt ghostly striding through it alone. The portrait people were still missing from their frames; the whole place was eerily still, as if all its remaining lifeblood were concentrated in the Great Hall, where the dead and the mourners were crammed.
Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak over himself and descended down the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall. Harry took one last glance at the entrance of the Great Hall. He felt he would have given all the time remaining to him for just one last look at the people he loved; but then, it was better like this.
He moved down the steps and out into the darkness. It was nearly four in the morning and the deathly stillness of the grounds felt as though they were holding their breath, waiting if he could do what he must.
Hagrid's hut loomed out of the darkness. There were no lights, no sound of Fang scrabbling at the door, his bark booming in welcome.
He moved on, and now he reached the edge of the Forest, and he stopped.
A swarm of Dementors was gliding amongst the trees; he could feel their chill, and he was not sure he would be able to pass safely trough it. He had no strength left for a Patronus. He could no longer control his own was not, after all, so easy to die.
The long game was about to end, the Snitch had been caught, it was time to leave the air …
Snitch … the Resurrection Stone. His nerveless fingers fumbled for a moment with the pouch at his necklace and he pulled it out.
I open at the close.
This was the close. This was the moment.
He pressed the golden metal to his lips and whispered, 'I am about to die.'
The metal shell broke open. The black stone with its jagged cracked running down the centre sat in the two halves of the Snitch.
And again, Harry understood, without having to think. It did not matter about bringing them back, for he would join them for a while. He was not really fetching them: They were fetching him.
He closed his eyes and turned the stone over in his hand, three times.
He knew it had happened, because he heard slight movements around him that suggested frail bodies shifting their footing on the earthy, twig-strewn ground that marked the outer edge of the Forest. He opened his eyes and looked around.
They were neither ghost nor truly flesh, he could see that. They resembled most closely the Riddle that had escaped from the diary, so long ago, and he had been memory made nearly solid. Less substantial than living bodies, but much more than ghosts, they moved towards him, and on each face there was the same loving smile.
Sirius was tall and handsome, and younger by far than Harry had seen him in life. He walked with springy steps and an easy grace, his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.
Lupin was younger too, and much less shabby, and his hair was thicker and darker. He looked happy to be back in this familiar place, scene of so many adolescent wanderings.
Lily's smile was widest of all. She pushed her long hair back as she drew close to him, and her green eyes so like his, searched his face hungrily as though she would never be able to look at him enough.
But the face he longed and feared to see most was missing. As Snape was neither here nor there, it was only natural that he wasn't with him. But Harry wished for his guidance, for harsh truths, but he knew that Snape would only be here when he truly and eventually died. So to not see him was a blessing of sorts. It meant he still had time.
'You've been so brave, sweetheart. You are nearly there.'
'Snape … You have forgiven him, haven't you?'
The question had fallen from Harry's lips before he could stop it, and he felt rather childish for asking in the first place. His mothers smile grew impossibly wider and her eyes twinkled knowingly.
'A long time ago.'
'Maybe … I'll tell him that if both of us survive this.' A smile tugging on his lips.
A moment they stood like this in silence. Thoughts wandering a mile a minute.
'I didn't want you to die,' Harry said. These words came out without his volition. 'Any of you. I'm sorry –'
He addressed Lupin more than any of them, beseeching him.
'– right after you'd had your son … Remus, I'm sorry …'
'I'm sorry too,' said Lupin. 'Sorry I will never know him … but he will know why I died and I hope he will understand.'
A chilly breeze that seemed to emanate from the heart of the Forest lifted the hair at Harry's brow. He knew that they would not tell him to go, that it would have to be his decision.
'You'll stay with me?'
'Until the very end,' said Sirius.
'They won't be able to see you?' asked Harry.
'We are part of you. Invisible to anyone else.'
Harry looked at his mother.
'Stay close to me,' his voice not more than a whisper.
And he set off. The Dementors' chill did not overcome him; he passed through it with his companions, and they acted like Patronuses to him, and together they marched through the old trees that grew closely together, their branches tangled, their roots gnarled and twisted underfoot. Harry clutched the Cloak tightly around him in the darkness, traveling deeper and deeper into the Forest, with no idea where exactly Voldemort was, but sure that he would find him. Beside him, making scarcely any sound, walked Sirius, Remus and Lily, and their presence was his courage, and the reason he was able to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
A thud, some other living creature close by, had Harry stop under the Cloak, peering around and listening.
Two figures emerged from behind a nearby tree: their wands flared, and Harry saw Yaxley and Dolohov peering into the darkness.
'Time's nearly up. Potter's had his hour. He's not coming.'
'And he was sure he'd come! He won't be happy,' added Dolohov.
'Better go back,' said Yaxley. 'Find out what the plan is now.'
He and Dolohov turned and walked deeper into the Forest. Harry followed them, knowing that they would lead him exactly where he wanted to go.
They had only traveled on mere minutes when Harry saw light ahead, and Yaxley and Dolohov stepped out into a clearing that Harry knew had been the place where the monstrous Aragog had once lived.
When Dolohov and Yaxley rejoined the circle, Voldemort looked up.
'I thought he would come,' said Voldemort in his high clear voice, his eyes on the leaping flames. 'I expected him to come.'
Nobody spoke. Harry toke a last look at his companions before he slipped the Resurrection Stone back into the pouch on his neck and out of the corner of his eyes he saw Sirius, Lupin and Lily vanish. His hands were sweating as he pulled of the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it beneath his robes, with his wand. He didn't want to be tempted to fight. He was scared, even though he was almost sure that he would survive. But the thought of dying without fighting back, no matter if he ultimately stayed alive or not, was against everything he ever knew.
'I was, it seems … mistaken,' said Voldemort.
'You weren't.'
Harry said it as loudly as he could, with all the force he had to muster: he did not want to sound afraid. At that moment he felt that nobody mattered but Voldemort. It was just the two of them.
Voldemort has frozen were he stood, but his red eyes found Harry, and he stared as Harry moved towards him, nothing but the fire between them.
'Harry Potter,' he said, very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. 'The boy who lived.'
None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting: everything was waiting, and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry thought of Snape, Lily, Remus, Sirius, Hedwig –
Voldemort raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the piercing red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he betrayed his fear –
He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.
He lay face down, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody else was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.
A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore, he had a sense of touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too.
Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious that he was naked. Convinced as he was of his total solitude, this did not concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly. He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them he discovered that he had eyes.
He lay in a bright mist, though it was not like mist he had ever experienced before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapour; rather the cloudy vapour had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be.
He sat up. His body appeared unscathed. He touched his face. He was not wearing glasses any more.
Then a noise reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him: the small, soft thumping of something that flapped, flailed and struggled. It was a pitiful noise, yet also slightly indecent. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was eavesdropping on something furtive, shameful.
For the first time he wished he were clothed.
Barely had the wish formed in his head, than robes appeared a short distance away. He took them and pulled them on: they were soft, clean and warm. It was extraordinary how they had appeared, just like that, the moment he had wanted them …
He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement? The longer he looked, the more there was to see. A great, domed glass roof glittered high above him in sunlight. Perhaps it was a palace. All was hushed and still, expect for those odd thumping and whimpering noises coming from somewhere close by in the mist …
Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes. A wide open space, bright and clean, a hall larger by far than the Great Hall, with that clear, domed glass ceiling It was quite empty. He was the only person there, expect for –
He recoiled. He had spotted the thing that was making the noises. It had the form of a small, naked child, curled on the ground, it's skin raw and rough, flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under a seat where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath.
He was afraid for it. Small and fragile and wounded though it was, he didn't want to approach it out of fear to harm it further. Nevertheless, he drew nearer, ready to jump back at any moment. Soon he stood near enough to touch it, yet he hesitates. He felt like a coward. He ought to comfort it, but it just looks so utterly broken..
'So full of compassion even for something like Him. Yes my dear friend … this is the last Horcrux.'
He spun round. Death was walking towards him, still in pitch black robes.
'So you discovered this tidbit of information, didn't you? And you even thought to bring all the Hallows in your possession.'
'So I'm really dead?' he had been so sure that he wouldn't die.
'Oh no, your far from it. Yes, you took the Killing Curse head on, but you didn't want to die and this my young master makes all the difference in the world.
I can't take you with me if you aren't willing to go. And quite frankly I wouldn't even advice you to come with me. I would have to send one of you back. There was after all just one Killing Curse, but you have two souls inside you, even if one is so utterly maimed as this one,' here Death glanced at the wailing child under the bench, 'I can't understand how the Trickster is able to live with a soul as broken as his, but he still holds on to life persistently.'
'What will happen to him if I go back, he … wouldn't suffer, would he?' Harry asked almost unsure. 'No unnecessary harm will come to him. He was after all part of you for over a decade. One surely could proclaim him as much part of you, as part of the Trickster. I won't hurt him and he will wait for you when your time comes to join me in this realm,' Death stated confidently.
With that Death turns away from Harry. And Harry with nothing to do but think, stood up and walked towards the crying child. He glanced at the Horcrux, still curled up under the bench, and with some hesitation he reached down to pull the child out. It looked not older than a year, the age Harry was when the Horcrux was created, and it was dirty and bleeding, the product of a broken, splintered soul. The child stilled once Harry touched him, eyes wide and watery and glancing up with so much trust that Harry nearly dropped it again.
Well, Harry supposed he was the only person this Horcrux would have known for his entire life, who else would he trust?
It looked so innocent and lonely that it was hard to comprehend that it was the soul of a madman. But it wasn't Voldemort's soul, Harry reminded himself, it's Tom Riddle's.
While he thought about what to do he had cradled the child in his arms and the infant stared at him in wonder, as if it never in his life was held like this which he probably wasn't. 'I promise I'll come back sometime, Tom, don't you worry. I won't forget about you, but I have to go back. I must save someone dear to me, you see? You will be well looked after of that I made sure. It will be disconcerting, being alone in my head, but I think this is for the best don't you think Tom?' Harry cooed at the child, that smiled at him, as though unsure what to do.
'I want to go back,' Harry said, turning back to Death, handing Tom over.
'Then we will part for the present. Hopefully I won't see you in many decades.'
'I hope that too. But I must hurry, I have a bet to win, if I'm not mistaken.' Harry grinned one last time at Tom and Death, then he turned and walked straight into the bright mist until he couldn't see his most faithful companions any longer.
He was lying face down on the ground again. The smell of the Forest filled his nostrils. He could feel the cold hard ground beneath his cheek, and the hinge of his glasses, which had been knocked sideways by the fall, cutting into his temple. He did not stir, but remained exactly where he had fallen, with his left arm bent out at an awkward angle and his mouth gaping.
He had expected to hear cheers of triumph and jubilation at his death, but instead hurried footsteps, whispers, and solicitous murmurs filled the air.
'My Lord … My Lord …'
It was Bellatrix's voice and he didn't dare open his eyes to see what happened.
He would get one chance, and one chance only, for his plan to work. He had to be patient. Something has happened when he was hit with the Killing Curse. Had Voldemort, too, collapsed? It seemed like it. And both of them had fallen briefly unconscious and both of them had now returned …
'My Lord let me –' again Bellatrix, but Voldemort cut her of harshly. 'I do not require assistance. The boy … is he dead?' Something akin to fear rang in his voice.
There was complete silence in the clearing. Nobody approached him, but Harry felt their concentrated gaze, it seemed to press him harder into the ground, and he was terrified a finger, an eyelid might twitch.
'You,' said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small shriek of pain. 'Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.'
Harry did not know who had been sent to verify. He could only lie there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and wait to be examined, but at the same time noting, small comfort though it was, that Voldemort was wary of approaching him, that Voldemort suspected that all had not gone to plan …
Hands, softer than he was expecting, touched Harry's face, pulled back an eyelid, crept beneath his shirt, down to his chest and felt his heart. He could hear the woman's fast breathing, her long hair tickled his face. He knew that she could feel the steady pounding of life against his ribs.
'Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?'
The whisper was barely audible; her lips were an inch from his ear, her head bent so low that her long hair shielded his face from the onlookers.
'Yes,' he breathed back.
He felt the hands on his chest contract; her nails pierced the skin. Then it was withdrawn. She sat up.
'He is dead!' Narcissa Malfoy called to the watchers.
And now they shouted,now they yelled in triumph and stamped their feet, through his eyelids Harry saw bursts of red and silver light shoot into the air in celebration.
Still feigning death on the ground,he understood. Narcissa knew that the only way she would be permitted to enter Hogwarts, and find her so, was as part of the conquering army. She no longer cared whether Voldemort won.
'You see?' screeched Voldemort over the tumult. 'Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio!'
Harry had been expecting it: knew his body would not be allowed to remain unsullied upon the Forest floor, it must be subjected to humiliation to prove Voldemort's victory. He was lifted into the air, and it took all his determination to remain limp, yet the pain he expected never came. He was thrown once, twice, three times into the air: his glasses flew off and he felt his wand slide a little beneath his robes, but he kept himself floppy and lifeless, and when he fell to the ground for the last time the clearing echoed with jeers and shrieks of laughter.
'Now,' said Voldemort, 'we are going to the castle, and show them what has become of their hero.'
A little later, Harry sensed, by a freshening of the air that they had reached the edge of the Forest.
'Stop.'
Harry thought that Hagrid must be forced to obey Voldemort's command, because he lurched a little. And now a chill settled over them where they stood, and Harry heard the rasping breath of the Dementors that patrolled the outer trees. They would not affect him now. The fact of his own survival burned inside him, a talisman against them, as thought his stag kept guardian in his heart.
Someone passed close by Harry, and he knew that it was Voldemort himself because he spoke a moment later, his voice magically magnified so that it swelled through the grounds, crashing upon Harry's eardrums.
'Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.
The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered. Come out of the castle, now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live, and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.'
There was silence in the grounds and from the castle. Voldemort was so close to him that Harry did not dare to breath.
'Come.' said Voldemort, and Harry heard him move ahead, and Hagrid was forced to follow.
Harry speed between duellers, past struggling prisoners, and into the Great Hall clutching to his Cloak tightly.
Voldemort was in the centre of the battle, and he was striking and smiting all within reach. Harry could not get a clear shot, but fought his way nearer, still invisible, and the Great Hall became more and more crowded, as everyone who could walk forced their way inside.
Voldemort was now duelling McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley all at once, and there was something fragile in his face as they wove and ducked around him, unable to finish him –
'Protego.' not more but a whisper but the shield charm expanded in the middle of the hall, and Voldemort stared around for the source as Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak at last.
The most onlookers were too occupied with their opponents to notice him, and the few that did were shocked into silence. So there they stood, between battling witches and wizards left and right and for a moment they just stared at each other in silence.
'So, who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?' asked Voldemort like others after the weather. It was almost pleasant conversation, given the circumstances.
'Nobody,' said Harry simply. 'There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good …' Voldemort and Harry looked at each other one last time, before they began, at the same moment, to circle each other.
'One of us?' jeered Voldemort, his red eyes locked on emerald ones as if searching for the truth. 'You think it will be you, do you, the boy who lived by accident?'
'Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?' asked Harry. They were still moving sideways, both of them, in that perfect circle, maintaining the same distance from each other, and for Harry no face existed but Voldemort's. 'Accident, when I didn't defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned here?'
'Accidents!' hissed Voldemort, his voice a blur between parseltongue and english, but still he did not strike. Maybe he sensed the truth behind Harry's words, maybe he was merely curious. But Harry seemed to have other plans and changed the topic before Voldemort ran out his thin-wearing patients.
'I know thinks you don't know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important thinks that you don't. Want to hear some, before the end?'
Voldemort did not speak, but prowled in a circle, and Harry knew that he kept him temporarily mesmerized and at bay, held back by the faintest possibility that Harry might indeed know a final secret, but he had to act soon or all this was going to spiral downwards …
'Is it love again?' Voldemort sneered at him. 'Dumbledore's favourite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him from falling from the Tower and breaking like an old waxwork? Love, which did not prevent your oh so wonderful childhood, Potter – Love, which wasn't enough to let Severus Snape live?'
'I know of thinks that you never spared the time to notice. It doesn't work for you, the Elder Wand. Aren't you curios why he still defies you?'
'Severus Snape is dead! I killed him, I saw his dead body lying crumbled and broken at my feet.'
'Yes, right now he is dead, but he was never yours to kill. Severus Snape wasn't yours,' said Harry, 'Snape was mine, mine from the moment you started hunting down my mother and me. He defied you to his last breath –'
'Severus Snape killed Dumbledore, and I killed Snape. The plan of your oh so noble headmaster went wrong.'
'Yeah it did. But still the wand doesn't work properly for you, because you killed the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore –'
'Snape killed –'
'Aren't you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! For one: Dumbledore's death was planned between them. And two: the Elder Wand recognised a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid hand on it.'
Voldemort's chest rose and fell rapidly, and Harry could feel the curse coming, feel it building inside the wand pointed at his face.
'The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.'
Blank shock showed in Voldemort's face for a moment, but then it was gone.
'Then I will kill him, after I am finished with you.'
'But you are to late,' said Harry. 'You missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. So here I am, and here you are, and it all comes down to this, doesn't it?' Harry's voice merely a whisper. 'Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does … I am the true master of the Elder Wand.'
Harry heard the high voice shriek as he, too, yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:
'Avada Kedavra!'
'Expelliarmus!'
The bang was like a cannon-blast and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead centre of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort's green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning through the air towards the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upwards. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy's shell.
One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The first rays of sunlight found their way into the castle, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light.
And while everyone else was celebrating the end of the war Harry feared that the end was to late. That he yet again lost someone dear to him. He slipped under his Invisibility Cloak and made his way over to Ron and Hermione.
'It's me', he muttered, crouching down between them. 'Hermione, I need some Dittany, or something similar. You still have some in your handbag, haven't you?'
'Yes, but Harry why …? … Never mind, you'll just have to explain later. Here take the handbag with you there should be Dittany in there somewhere, as well as one or two Blood-Replenishing-Potions, and a few other things', and with that Hermione handed him the handbag. As always she seemed to know exactly what Harry would need. With a quiet thank you Harry left and made his way trough the cheering masses. Out of the Great Hall and through the damaged Halls of Hogwarts down to the Whomping Willow.
'Death! Show yourself, you have unfinished business,' muttered Harry.
'Ah … so you really did it. You gave me the Tricksters soul just at the brink of dawn. A moment later and it would have been you I had to take with me. I see, you have at long last got hands on your rightful property. Use it wisely.' Death smirked at him.
'You promised me a soul.' Harry stated dully.
'He shall be yours as soon as you reach him.' With that Death left and Harry made his way trough the tunnel yet again. No one had come here after him and hadn't he known that he was gone for several hours Harry would swear that time stood still at this place.
He hurried over to Snape, canceled the stasis charm and began to pour potion after potion down the professors throat. And when finally the last potion was administered Harry sagged down beside the man. All he could do now was wait and see.
His eyes closed on their own accord and Harry finally fell in an exhaust sleep.
A/N: Whoever wants to write a sequel or develop this plot further is allowed to do so. It would be awfully nice if the author of said sequel would send the link to their story in a PM. Thank you.