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AN- This is my take perhaps not on what will happen, but what I believe the war, had it been real and not fiction, would have done. A warning—it won't be the typical 'Harry-goes-to-fight-Voldemort-and-comes-back-perfectly-fine-because-love-saved-him' ending to the storyline. It is what would really, at least in my mind, occur.

Also—I believe that the final battles are never the climax that Hollywood makes them out to be. They are simply the culmination of the journey, and so the journey is indeed what makes the war.

Usual disclaimers apply.

"I care," Harry muttered. "How do you think I'd feel if this was your funeral... and it was my fault..."

You'd feel lost, empty, like you'll never be the person you were meant to be; like the world had simply collapsed all around you and there was no way to stand up; like life was water drowning you and the weeds and murk blinding you and holding you down, but at the same time you don't want to escape, you only want to drown too...

You asked how you'd feel if you were at my funeral, Harry. You never asked me how I'd feel at yours.

You'd feel like this.

I'm drowning on air right now, Harry. Drowning on your memories.

Isn't it funny? How all of us assumed that we would be the only thing to bring you down? And now, how all of a sudden, we are the hunted ones while you're six feet under?

Voldemort will be mortal tonight. We found the final horcrux exactly where you said it would lay—within your scar. When the final members of the Order meet tonight for your funeral, we will burn your body, and for the first time, Voldemort will be mortal to any of us. To any of his enemies. To any of his many, many forthcomings.

I doubt any of us here right now will be his end. Perhaps, even, none of those that now oppose him. But he will be careless, believing himself at least partially immortal, and make a mistake. Then he will fall.

By then, we will all be together.

The door shut quietly in the corner, and Ron clamored in. He slumped into a chair opposite me, his face pale and his eyes blank. He watched me almost blindly. "You're not going outside?"

I stared at him for a few minutes, not answering. I'm not sure my voice could have handled it even if I wanted to speak. Ron looked away from me and towards the window, where the night sky was illuminated with the bright fire outside.

Where Harry's body, Harry's scar, Voldemort's final horcrux—where all three of them lay burning, in the process of being completely destroyed by a fire that Harry himself had made us promise we'd set when he'd found out the truth.

"He hadn't been surprised," Ron muttered as though he could read my mind. He still stared out the window as though dead himself. "-it was as though he'd expected this to happen. He didn't even blink when he found out—he didn't get scared or run away or even try to deny it, he just accepted it and moved on and fought him anyhow..." He tampered off, not moving his eyes from the illuminated window.

We sat there for what seemed like hours, not speaking or moving or caring. Slowly, as the fire died down, people began to walk through the door—each as ashen and shaken as the next.

By the time the window was black again, there were around fifteen people sitting in various places in the room—some against a wall with their heads in their hands, others on the floor looking down, others still in the few chairs we'd had managed to wrangle from the muggle junkyard we were holding up in.

The door closed silently for the last time as Tonks and Hermione walked into the room. Tonks looked as though she's been trampled by a hippogriff, and Hermione as though she'd thrown up everything she'd eaten for the past month. She was leaning on Tonks as though she'd fall over and not get up if she moved. Her eyes shot to Ron, but he stared still at the window. Her face fell even more than I believed possible.

Moody moved to the center of the room and tried to clear his throat—but it was too dry, and it came out scratchy and dead. He shook his head, and spoke in a gruff voice.

"The Death Eaters know our location. We had to use a magical fire to ensure the destruction of the horcrux, and..." he stopped, looking around at the group of us. Hermione, Tonks and some lucky soul that had ended up with us all let out near-silent sobs. He lowered his gaze. "If you want to run, I understand completely. No one with think any less of you if you run and hide—we're as well as committing suicide tonight. If you can get away... find another group of us somewhere... tell them that they can strike, that he's mortal..."

The looks in the room said it all—no one felt there a chance that they would be able to escape, let alone find another group of rouge wizards in the world that the Dark Lord had created. No one would make it.

Moody looked around the room with a dead sense of hope about him, then moved to the window and stared out it intently.

Hermione moved over to Ron's chair and stood above him, tears running down her face. "I think... I think that we should go out there... and..." she leaned on his chair and put her head down limply, as though she hadn't the strength to hold it up anymore. Ron couldn't look at her.

I stood slowly and moved towards the door. No one stopped me or said anything.

The night was cool for the summer—though not completely unpleasant. A soft breeze seemed to give courage, and I used it to walk over to the softly glowing embers of the fire pit.

There was nothing there that would at all hint of Harry—simply scorched earth. A few feet away lay a simple box which held Harry's ashes—it was discarded as though no one could bear to bring it in or even acknowledge it. "People need hope to live," he'd told me when I'd joined the group six months before. This was right before the main series of attacks, and right before we learned the horrible, horrible truth—that Harry would have to die for Voldemort to be mortal—and due to the prophecy, only Voldemort himself could do it.

Of course Harry had gone to meet him one night, without our knowledge, and of course by the time we got there, Harry was gone. He believed that he had destroyed the only person with knowledge of the horcruxes... so he left the body behind to crush us...

There was a rustling behind me, but I didn't turn. "We can't leave him like this," Ron muttered. "-he doesn't deserve this... after all he's done..."

Hermione walked next to him, to my side. They were holding hands tightly, as though they would at any moment be ripped from one another.

"We should at least make a marker and bury the ashes, so that they don't make a mockery of it." Hermione said softly, her voice betraying her tears. She moved forward more, and muttered a number of incantations. Ron and I watched as a hole appeared in the ground and a small stone with a lightning bolt appeared, nearly hidden by grime. I smiled a bit—someday, somehow, in a hundred hundred years, some child would find this stone and bring it home, and his parents would scream and run out here and they would find their messiah...

"Our own little ray of hope," I whispered, smiling faintly. The others faced me suddenly—I hadn't spoken since his death. "This is our own little ray of hope, isn't it?"

Ron smiled weakly, and picked up the box. He hesitated for a moment, but then held the box close to him and spoke to it, saying words that only the two of them could hear. He passed it to Hermione, who then did the same thing, before offering it to me. I took it slowly into my hands and stared at it. Such a simple thing, so much hope, so much...

"I love you, Harry," I whispered, kissing the top of the box softly. "I'll see you tonight."

Ron and Hermione came over, and we all lowered the box together into the small hole. With a tear and soft incantation, Hermione covered the box and placed the rock on top, face-down.

The three of us stood there, together, holding hands around his grave. Hermione looked up and stifled a sob before speaking. "One last moment of peace."

We barely noticed as there was a loud explosion behind us, and as we turned, we weren't surprised to find hundreds of Death Eaters in leveled land, encircling us, laughing.

My only thought was that the other survivors, at least, died suddenly and without pain.

And that the three of us were completely and utterly alone.

Hermione grabbed Ron's arm and he held her close to him, and Ron grabbed me and tried to pull me close as well. The Death Eaters made the circle tighter and tighter—soon there were seven or eight thick, and then more, and more—they were five feet from us. Laughter echoed around from all directions, and Hermione let out a fresh sob. Ron's arm was gripping me so tightly that I couldn't feel anything in my shoulder.

As they stopped and went silent, a break in the circle appeared, and he came forward. Behind him were Bellatrix and Snape, maskless—and almost as though choreographed, the rest of them removed their masks.

"No reason to hide, now, is there?" Voldemort's cold, high voice sounded. "It's over, when you die..."

Ron stepped forward as though trying to be strong, but words failed. Some of the Death Eaters laughed, but for the most part, it seemed as though they were almost scared themselves. There had always been that something about us, our group, that had stumped them, and who was to say that this would be any different...

Hermione gathered up all her strength and looked him in the eyes. "Who's to say that it won't be you who dies?"

Voldemort laughed softly, almost lovingly. "I am immortal, foolish girl, there's nothing that can stop me."

Ron's face must have betrayed something, because Snape's face twitched for a second. He noticed me staring and quickly looked aside.

The Dark Lord caught the look on Ron's face and, though I'd have thought it impossible, he turned a shade paler. He whipped out his wand and pointed towards me before yelling out the incantation 'leglimens!'

-and Harry, walking through the door of the Burrow, blood streaked across his face, not expecting anyone to be there or awake, and his eyes widening in shock at the sight of me there-

"I tried to protect you..."

-pulling me into a corner as the Death Eaters ripped down the door and windows, as they killed mom and dad in the middle of the room-

"You're a part of this now... there's no choice... no backing down... I'm sorry..."

-waking up in the ruins of Godric's Hollow, remembering with a terrible scream that my family was dead-

"I love you... that's why he's going to use you..."

-Borgin and Burke's, Harry threatening to kill the man at the counter unless he handed over an old goblet-

"I have no idea what to do, where to turn... we have all but one... his pensieve, Dumbledore's—I have it, and I know he knew something about it... tonight, I'll figure it out..."

-was standing there, in the ruins once again, staring at the stars; the same as always but this time with a terrible, terrible look across his face. He touched his scar, softly, before lowering his hand and his head, still not realizing we were right there-

"I'm not afraid to die in this. I'm afraid of losing you."

-before he walked slowly back down the path, then realizing I was there, and giving me a weak smile-

"I am the final horcrux."

The spell lifted. Voldemort was now completely white, devoid of any human traces, but with a look of fear that I never could have imagined on anything as powerful as himself.

It was Hermione who reacted first, pulling her wand out and pointing it at the skeletal creature before her.

Before she could react, however, he had his own wand out and incantation yelled. Hermione's wand was thrown away, and she forced down to her knees.

Ron let out a yell, running to her side. I didn't move.

Voldemort held his wand outstretched to the point that I thought it would never be lowered again.

Ron looked up and, through his fear, threw himself upwards and yelled, "-all six of them! The goblet, the ring, the locket, the diary..." he slowed down. "...Harry..."

The Death Eaters all stared, confused by Ron's words, the memories, and their master's obvious fury and fear; but didn't say anything. They didn't move.

Voldemort, however, did.

There is no grace in death—especially one like Hermione's. She slumped over, and Ron let out a guttural cry, throwing himself at her. I still hadn't moved.

Voldemort laughed coldly, and whispered the incantation again.

Ron fell atop her, and as he did, their hands stayed intertwined. He kicked them apart.

His wand was raised to my face, but I didn't flinch or move my eyes from his face. The Death Eaters were all whispering softly towards one another, fearful of the look on both of our faces.

I couldn't move, couldn't bring myself to even care about what would happen to me—he knew he was mortal now, and the fear radiating off of him was worth every bit of humiliation and torture and eventually, death—that anyone could put me through.

I closed my eyes and smiled gently to the wind. It was all worth it.

I didn't open my eyes when I heard a sudden cry from all around me.

I didn't open my eyes when I heard a familiar voice to my side yell out the incantation for the killing curse.

I didn't open my eyes when I heard terrified screams from all around me.

I didn't open my eyes when I heard another, a female voice, yell out the incantation again, though I did this time see through my closed eyes a rush of green light...

"It's okay, you can open your eyes now," a voice said softly.

I opened my eyes. Ron and Hermione stood next to me, watching the scene play around us.

A scene in which Snape, Voldemort, Ron, Hermione and myself all lay on the dead Earth, surrounded by a group of hundreds, all completely lost and terrified.

"Never would have thought it would be this easy," Ron muttered, staring downwards.

Hermione scoffed. "You think that that was easy? Four years, twelve million people dead, the world in ruins..."

"It's over though." I muttered. "Remember last year when we were convinced it would go on forever, until the last of all people were dead?"

People were appearing all around us, people we hadn't seen in four years, people that we had never known what had happened, people we had known, people we had loved...

Snape walked to our side, followed by Dumbledore and the Potters and Sirius. The rest of the Order stood a few steps behind.

"Never again," someone whispered.

We all nodded slowly, and as they had appeared, everyone began to back up and walk away towards a soft light in the corner of the horizon.

I remained still, until everyone was gone—waiting.

Harry stepped slowly out of the light and folded his arms, watching me. I gave him a small smile before turning back to the scene below us. Almost everyone was gone, and a soft rain had started to fall.

"Such a simple end, wasn't it?" I muttered. Harry let out a soft sigh of agreement. "For a four-year battle, it only took a matter of minutes and one person to end it. There was no great climax, no great ending, no cheering winners... and tonight there will be no parties on the streets, no great gatherings... most people probably will never know for sure, and just with time will some people begin to realize that there are no more attacks, no more battles, no more death..."

The light grew brighter out on the horizon. Harry took my hand.

"What happens now?"

His grip tightened, and his smile grew.

"We go home."