What will save us today …

Rate: T

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Grey!Harry, AU, somewhat Grey!Voldemort, EWE, sappiness and OOCness

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: In this Fic Harry doesn't really hate Tom, he sees Voldemort and Tom Riddle as two different beings and is somewhat mature in his actions. Oh, and Harry is the only one who destroyed the Horcruxes and I decided that he killed Nagini during his visit in Godric's Hollow. I start at the ending of 'The Forest Again' and work from there to the end, I also jump a page or two if I think them irrelevant because nothing changes there, but it always starts with a sentence or two from the book and there is a line break in between. And please don't flame me because I didn't changed enough things. There will be large parts that are directly from the book. You've been warned!
Please read and review, for this is my first own fanfic to upload in like ever. Oh god I'm so nervous that this is utter rubbish.

bold means parseltongue

'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. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry thought of his parents, Cedric, Sirius, Hedwig, Lupin –

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 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 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..

'Don't mind it. You cannot help.'

He spun round. Albus Dumbledore was walking towards him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue.

'Harry.' He spread his arms wide, and his hands were both whole and white and undamaged. 'You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us talk.' They sat on the bench across from the one under which the child still whimpered silently. Stunned Harry looked at the headmaster. Dumbledore's long, silver hair and beard, the piercingly blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles, the crooked nose: everything was as he had remembered it. And yet …

'So I'm really dead …?'

'Ah,' said Dumbledore, smiling still more broadly. 'That is the question, isn't it? On the whole, my dear boy, I think not. A lot of negotiations takes place, you know, especially when you have mastered Death.'

'The Hallows?'

'Those, yes. Rather interesting artefacts, albeit dangerous, don't you think?' Happiness seemed to radiate from Dumbledore like light, like fire: Harry had never seen the man so utterly, so palpably content.

'So I get to chose? I could decide to go back or go on?' Dumbledore nods enthusiastically, smiling broadly at Harry.

'Oh, yes, my dear boy, you get the privilege to choose for once. All your life you dedicated to others, everything was dictated by the prophecy. Now you can be selfish for once and chose your future path.'

They looked at each other, the old man still beaming. Harrys eyes find the infant under the bench. 'It's the Horcrux, isn't it? What will happen to it?' The headmasters smile turns sad. 'Yes, I fear Tom is beyond either of our help.' Harry frowned, but let it go for now. 'But if Voldemort used the Killing Curse,' Harry started again, 'and nobody died for me this time – how can I be alive?'

'I think you know,' said Dumbledore. 'Think back. Remember what Voldemort did, in his ignorance, in his greed and his cruelty.'

Harry thought. He let his gaze drift over his surroundings. If it was indeed a palace in which they sat, it was an odd one, with lines of benches and bits of railing here and there, and still, he and Dumbledore and the stunted child under the bench were the only beings there. Then the answer rose easily to his lips, without effort.

'He took my blood,' said Harry.

'Precisely!' exclaimed the older man. 'He took your blood and rebuilt his living body with it! Your blood in his veins, Harry, Lily's protection inside both of you! He tethered you to live while he lives!'

The frown on Harrys face returned. 'I live … while he lives? But I thought … I thought it was the other way round! I thought we both had to die? Or is it the same thing?' said Harry, and Dumbledore smiled.

'You were the seventh Horcrux he never meant to make. He had rendered his soul so unstable that it broke apart when he committed those acts of unspeakable evil, the murder of your parents, the attempted killing of a child. But what escaped from that room was even less than he knew. He left more than his body behind. He left pat of himself latched to you, the would-be victim who had survived.

And his knowledge remained woefully incomplete, Harry! That which Voldemort does not value, he takes no trouble to comprehend. Of house-elves and children's tales, of love, loyalty and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing of it. That they all have a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth he has never grasped. Maybe once when his soul was whole, but never after his first Horcrux, the diary.

He took your blood believing it would strengthen him. He took into his body a tiny part of the enchantment your mother laid upon you when she died for you. His body keeps her sacrifice alive, and while the enchantment survives, so do you and so does Voldemort's one last hope for himself.'

Dumbledore smiled at Harry, and Harry stared at him.

'And you knew this? You knew – all along?'

'I guessed. But my guesses have, usually, been good,' said Dumbledore happily, and they sat in silence for what seemed like a long time, while the infant to whimper and tremble.

Instead of pondering this newfound bit of information he asked, 'Where are we, if you don't mind me asking, Professor?'

'Why, my dear boy, we are at King's Cross station.' Dumbledore told him. ' Though it has been some time since you last saw it, am I correct?'

Harry nods to the last sentiment. Quite some time indeed. 'It's the same, only,' Harry stopped speaking, glancing around once more, and then said, 'Only it's a lot cleaner and much quieter.'

'Oh it's very busy, Harry. Very much so, but since you still have a choice to make, you can't see them,' 'So I really am able to go back, but how do I go on, one way or the other?' The headmaster chuckled. 'You could get on a train you know. Just remember that this is your choice and yours alone. Be selfish for once Harry and do what you think is best.'

With that Dumbledore 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 thatHarry 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.

And with that clear for him Harry knew what he would do.

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 make your soul whole again, Tom, don't you worry.' 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 Dumbledore, Tom still in his arms. 'I want to live. Is that selfish of me?'

'No,' Assured him the older man. 'You have given more than any one had the right to ask of you. You've been so brave, so strong, and we are all so proud of you. Just lay the Horcrux down and mount your train, if you don't I fear it will come with you.' Added the headmaster as an afterthought. Harry walk in the direction of the train the child still held to his chest, before he glanced back with a serene smile and asked, 'One last thing, Professor, is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?'

Dumbledore's voice full of mirth sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.

'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?'

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. And he felt the shreds of Tom's soul as they cling to his. 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 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, instead he felt warmth and care and dare he say it love. At first he was confused until he felt the soul fragments of the very man who tortured him, protect him. 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. Tom's soul burned inside him, a talisman against them, as thought his father's stag kept guardian in his heart, but still stronger.

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 to 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 … But not before I fulfil my promise.' 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, Voldemort. 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 my mother live?'

The last came out as a whisper, and if Harry wasn't so focused on the man before him, he would have surely missed them.

'I know of thinks that you never spared the time to notice.I am you … more likely was. What did you thought would happen after you split your soul, Voldemort? You left a life vessel behind, more than that even, on this fateful Halloween you lost more than your body, a shard of your soul floating around, and nowhere else for it to go than to the only living being.

I was the Horcrux you never meant to make.

So here I am, and here you are,' Harry stepped closer to his nemesis with every word, switching back and forth between english and Parseltongue, 'and your knowledge is still woefully incomplete.

You know and understand nothing, Voldemort, of house-elves and children's tales, of love, loyalty and innocence. That all this has a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth you never comprehended. Maybe once when your soul was whole, but never after the first Horcrux, the diary.'

Voldemort's steps faltered for a moment and realisation crossed his face before he schooled face blank, just his piercing red eyes betrayed his fear. But Harry had seen it, hoped for it.

'This is your one last chance, Tom, I am your last chance,' said Harry, Voldemort's hand was trembling on the Elder Wand. Harry still held Draco's wand at his side. The moment, he knew, was seconds away. Still no one had voiced Harry's sudden reappearance, but it wouldn't take much longer.

'You asked if it is love again that will save one of us tonight. But what will save us today is forgiveness.

I forgive you, Tom.'

Even spoken softly his words rang over the sound of battle and an eerie silence came over the Great Hall. People stopped duelling mid-spell and stared in shock at the supposed saviour of the light. Mere feet were between the two wizards now, and Harry took another step forward.

'Don't fight this, Tom, don't fight me.' The man stood still shell-shocked, wand half raised as if in conflict whether or not to hex the boy six ways to sunday or not. Harry's gaze softens further his former nemesis at arms length.

'I forgive your past, I forgive, your wrongs, I forgive your foolishness.' Inching closer still.

'Don't …' came the broken whisper, as Voldemort's barriers fell and fear was evidentially written over his face, for all, witches and wizards alike, to see. The teen now reached for the bane of the magical world, enclosing him in his arms like he did with the Horcrux. And Harry whispered in his ear just for them to hear:

'I forgive you, Tom, and came to give you back your soul, like I promised. Let go Tom, it's alright now.'

Smiling serenely, as Tom's soul released him with a last gentle caress, while first sobs wracked the body in his arms and tore his last barriers down, as he wept and regretted and was human.

Tentative the former Dark Lord returned the embrace and Harry only tighten his hold on Tom, before he leaned back to gaze in the blue and watery eyes before him. Harry took a step back and smiled, while looking in the tear streaked, nonetheless smiling face of Tom Riddle.

And with that Voldemort was no more.