I do not own any part of J.K. Rowling's charachters, plots, or anything from her books, or anything else. This is an alternate ending to the Deathly Hallows, and an "After the War" story.

This is also my first (possibly last) fanfic, so don't expect too much. I am still developing the main plot and need to edit chapter two. More or less, just redo it. The first draft I published was a totally rushed flop. This chapter would be longer, but i didn't want to quote much directly from the books, and the duel can't really last that long without being totally unrealistic. For best results, pick up the Deathly Hallows and read from the point he takes off his invisibility cloak and then switch over at the quote below. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Flaw in "The Flaw in the Plan."

The yell of shock, the cheers, the screams on every side of "Harry!" "HE'S ALIVE!" were stifled at once. The crowd was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Voldemort and Harry looked at each other.

* * *

The Sun had been rising steadily as they continued to taunt each other after Harry's appearance. The first rays of light were now peeking through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall; Torches were still blazing gallantly and defiantly in their sconces. The crowd was restless, completely surrounding the two, shaking visibly in anticipation of the inevitable duel to come. The Prophecy had come full circle; neither can live while the other survives, and both must die at the hand of the other, Harry realized. It even seemed like the Earth itself had come to a standstill.

"You won't be killing anyone else today, Tom," Harry spat, looking into those red slits with great disdain and loathing. "You won't be able to kill any of them ever again."

Voldemort hissed. . .

"And you're going to stop me?" Riddle sneered, "Harry Potter, you are no extraordinary wizard, with no extraordinary talents! I can read your thoughts, your fears and ambitions with relative ease, Potter, you are weak. . ." Voldemort cackled as he continued. "I master the Deathstick, the Wand of Elder, the Wand of Destiny! And you think you can kill me with that pathetic stick of yours? You don't even wield the wand of Phoenix feather!" He laughed again, a cruel, mirthless laugh, devoid of any joy, which held only rage. "I will take pleasure in killing you and mutilating your corpse, Potter."

Harry laughed. . .

"The Elder Wand doesn't answer to you!" Harry sneered, wearing a facial expression a Malfoy would be proud of. "It didn't in the Shrieking Shack and it won't now. You aren't a worthy master, Tom, and the wand chooses the wizard." Harry added, hoping he wasn't misinterpreting the signs, but only enraging Voldemort further. "Our fate rests on that." he thought.

"I killed Severus Snape!" Voldemort exclaimed, provoked into a temper, but holding his wand quite steady, relishing in the thought of killing the boy now, of freeing himself of this pointless Prophecy.

"Yes, and you killed Gregorovich and Grindelwald for good measure while on this stupid pursuit, didn't you?" Harry countered, smirking in spite of himself. "That wand will be your undoing."

"How - "

"It appears that you don't apply Occlumency as well as you think you do either, Tom, always the same mistakes, aren't they?" Harry interrupted, his arrogant smirk withering away into lines of disgust and hate.

"You dare challenge my skills, Potter?"

"Yes I dare, because that wand isn't yours, it never will be, Tom. And you don't realize that because you haven't read The Tale of the Three Brothers, have you? The wand will only choose a wizard who has accepted death as one who has mastered it." Harry proclaimed, his hairs standing on edge, waiting for the snake to strike.

"It matters not!" Voldemort shrieked, showing his obvious exasperation at the arrogance of the foolish boy that was facing him.

"It all matters, Voldemort, when you failed to kill me in the forest, the wand chose a new master, one that accepted death and walked to meet it, one that faced it and still survived, the Elder Wand is mine."

At this, Voldemort's fury boke through, and as the surrounding crowd gasped and shrieked, he cast the first curse. "Avada Kedavra!" But Harry was more than ready, and found himself transfiguring nearby rubble into a lion that willingly intercepted the curse. As the crowd winced, Harry went on the offensive, twirling the Hawthorne wand and manipulating the Gubraithian fire burning on the torches, forcing them to jet out towards his opponent like lassos, but Voldemort countered.

Everyone shuttered, retreating ever so slightly in fear, as Voldemort swished his wand through the air and the fire became one, mutating into a giant winged beast that soared and circled the Great Hall as Harry locked into position. As the Fiendfyre dove towards Harry, he mustered up his strength and bellowed, "Protego Horribilus!" conjuring the strongest shield he could before the dragon attacked.

The great Wyrm crashed upon his shield, weakening it, but also dispersing itself into a wall of flames in the attempt. Harry took aim before they could dissipate completely; pointing his wand at Voldemort, he shouted, "Infernus Vortexia!" Sending a great wirlwind of flames back towards its caster, but before they could meet their mark, they were dissipated. . .

Harry struggled under the pressure as the Elder Wand thrashed and twirled, almost in a blur of momevent, sending purple flames, green lightning, and curses at him. And Harry fought back with everything he had, but Voldemort was more of a match, sending, in a scream of fury, what felt like the power of pure force being sent hurtling towards him, the same force he felt two years ago in the Ministry Atrium, he knew what he had to do, and he knew what Voldemort himself had done. Focusing all of his energy into his defense, bellowed, "Inanimatus Conjurus!" and crouched behind the conjured titanium shield.

The audience gasped as the force of the spell cracked his shield, throwing him onto his back and leaving him panting for air. As Harry looked up, what he saw was horrifying; Voldemort gliding towards him like smoke on water, or more eerily, like that of a Dementor. Voldemort wielded his wand and conjured a flaming whip from the end, thrashing Harry across his shoulder. The crowd jostled as Voldemort struck again, lassoing him and tossing him across the Hall.

As Harry landed, he cast a cushioning charm (Arresto Momentum) and rolled onto his back, coughing up blood, in pain and barely conscious after the last twelve hours of constant battle that was fought overnight. He knew strategy was his only option, that Voldemort was too great for him. He climbed to his feet weakly as Voldemort approached. He had to take a risk, the only risk that could possibly work. . . The crowd was worried as Voldemort approached him, raising that wand with a dull, bored expression on his face. This was far too easy for him, a disgraceful challenge.

"Want me to finish it, Potter?" Voldemort sneered. "Want to be reacquainted with your dear mudblood mother?" he laughed.

Harry raised his wand. . .

"So be it." Voldemort hissed. A cruel smirk on his face, basking in that sense of purpose and rightness he always felt before delivering the final curse, before snuffing the life force from his foes, enjoying the anticipation of this last kill before being uncontested, before becoming truly immortal. Harry merely waited, praying for it to work, as Voldemort jabbed his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Prior Incantato!"

It was like the blast of a cannon went off, as Harry watched his golden flames engulfed the green, hurtling into the Elder Wand. Harry watched as echo after echo spilled out of his enemy's wand, recounting in reverse the spells of their duel; Voldemort was utterly shocked, this couldn't happen again! The spells he performed on the Sorting Hat and Neville oozed out. Voldemort screamed in frustration, trying in vain to break the connection, and then. . .

Everyone gasped as the echo of Voldemort himself poured out of the wand, and Harry broke the connection, knowing this was his only chance. "The boy!" it shouted, it's voice as deadly sounding as its counterpart. "The boy was a Horcrux, you fool!"

So shocked was Voldemort that he didn't even notice when Harry's scarlet jet of light blasted him off his feet, disarming him. He got up warily as Harry approached him, wielding the Elder Wand at long last, thinking of those he loved, of those who fell in the battle, and of his parents as he aimed his wand at Voldemort's heart. . . He jabbed with the wand. . .

"Avada Kedavra!"

And Voldemort fell to the ground, as crumpled and broken as Dumbledore had been at the foot of the Astronomy tower, and earsplitting roars echoed through the Great Hall; everybody engulfing Harry in a tight embrace. And though the war was far from over, the final piece had finally been set in stone; Voldemort was dead.

"Checkmate."

* * *

A/N: Check out the SuperCarlinBrothers' theory on the elder wand on Youtube, it makes a lot more sense than it being Harry's because he disarmed Draco, and the Elder wand can somehow sense that. #notmywandlore