An Ending

Summary: When it's over, Harry's looking for something. A little HPLV, mostly HD, short, mildly sweet, mildly twisted one-shot. Harry and Draco are both kinda OOC, but whatever.

Disclaimer: not mine. Though most likely the idea is.

Notes: I've started to change the order of these things, so it'll be summary, disclaimer, notes, or summary, notes, disclaimer, o even disclaimer, summary, notes. Interesting. And I have decided that instead of Tahoma, should use Century Gothic. Because Century Gothic is so much cooler. A cute HD fic, a little fluffy and a little gory, mixed in a way only I can do. Actually, a lot of people can. INDULGE ME HERE, OKAY!

An Ending

…

Harry unexpectedly punched Voldemort in the nose, knocking the tall, pale wizard backwards. Snatching up his archenemy's wand, he held it high and brought it down on his knee, snapping it cleanly in half, and tossed the two pieces to Dumbledore, who incinerated them instantly and then apparated away, as was necessary.

Long, pale, spidery fingers gripped the huge rocks, slowly propelling the ridiculously tall body off the ground and into a standing position, nose twisted at an odd angle, blood flowing freely from flared nostrils and a long, deep cut in the left arm, bleeding through the jagged tear in the black cloth of his hooded robe where the spell had bitten through both clothing and flesh. To Harry it held an odd significance he couldn't quite put his finger on.

They stood, staring at each other for a long time. Harry noticed Voldemort's eyes continually flickering to the scattered ashes that used to be his wand. Holding his own, Harry felt that it's usual warmth had dimmed a bit, perhaps from the loss of a brother, whether good or not.

It was a standstill. Harry, having his wand, had a slight upper hand, but it wasn't very much because they were both adept at wandless magic. Voldemort made to move and Harry lunged at him in a flying tackle, catching him just under the knees and knocking him backwards as he had always been good at when they played full-contact keep-away in those rare peaceful moments at Hogwarts, outside near the lake.

They grappled for several seconds, each trying to get on top, Voldemort trying to get at Harry's wand and Harry trying to hold his hands down to prevent him from using any wandless magic on him before he could do anything. They both knew very well that Avada Kedavra was impossible to use with wandless magic, but there were hundreds of other curses Voldemort could use to kill him, and many of them resulted in long, slow, painful deaths. Harry would prefer to stay out of the way of those curses. Besides, he had a plan. All he needed…was…to…get…the…upper…hand…

Finally! Quidditch had done something for him after all, unlike Professor McGonagall said when expressing her disapproval at him still playing 'when he should be practicing for the war'. He smirked triumphantly down at the sneering, snake-like face, and, pinning Voldemort's hands above his head with one hand, rummaging through the pockets of his robe with the other. For a second, he panicked as he wondered if he'd dropped it. Then he sighed in relief as he found it, loosening his grip just for an instant as he reached deeper to get it.

Quick as a cat, Voldemort took the momentary weakness as an opportunity, twisting out from under Harry and flipping him so that Voldemort was on top, smirking down as Harry had been seconds ago. Green clashed with red. Harry though briefly of the irony. Voldemort's eyes were Gryffindor-colored and his were Slytherin.

"We could have ruled, Harry," the Dark Lord said in a surprisingly soft voice, instantly catching Harry's attention, "we could have ruled the world, together, side-by-side. Instead, you stayed with your friends, the ones who whispered about you behind your back, the ones who lied to you and left you for dead with your relatives, refusing to take you in."

He leaned closer, smirk softening into something that could have been a smile had it not been so sweetly mocking. When he spoke again, Harry could feel cold breath against his ear, and trembled in revulsion. The long body covering his fit like a glove, and it felt wrong. "They knew what your relatives did to you, Harry, they knew exactly how they treated you, how they beat you and starved you and locked you up. Arabella Figg told them, you told them, and the rest they saw through magical cameras they had in your house."

Harry felt a surge of rage that he just managed to repress. Pansy Parkinson's words echoed in his head, in a soft, scorning voice that held a tinge of disgust. It had been after he once again rushed into a fight with Draco after the blond had mentioned Sirius. Draco had stepped back and sideways, letting Harry run past him and fall over. She spoke sadly but derisively, something only Slytherins could do.

"That's the problem with you bloody Gryffindors. You always just let the rage wash over you, pushing you headfirst into potentially dangerous situations. If you just paused and waited and clenched your teeth a little longer, you might see that it's not exactly clever to jump at someone who's totally ready for you to come at them, completely expecting you to do exactly what you do."

They left Harry to pull himself up, glad there wasn't a crowd, and think over what the girl had said. After weeks of thought, he realized that she was right, and that Slytherins were a lot deeper and cleverer than anyone thought. Maybe they had a reason for the deep disgust they held for Gryffindors. He wondered if Slytherins are taught all this useful information or if it just comes with the property.

The silky voice continued, snapping him out of his reverie. He expected to see disappointment in the flat red eyes, upset that the desired emotion hadn't affected Harry, but there was only detached amusement and a kind sort of smirk.

"They saw how you cried at night, they saw you faint from blood loss, they saw you burnt and beaten and whipped and tormented, insulted and almost broken. They saw the your uncle's friends come and take you and they heard you screaming your parents and Sirius' and Cedric's names in your sleep. They saw when he raped you and they saw your aunt yelling at Dudley for finally being nice to you and trying to help. They saw him help you, and they saw his father hurting both of you for his kindness. They saw everything."

Harry shuddered and stopped struggling, trying to concentrate on escaping instead of the words Voldemort was whispering in his ear, the words that were raising an odd sense of betrayal in him. It spread upwards through his throat, tasting minty and metallic and not all that bad. Reflecting on it, he realized that he'd always felt some sense of betrayal. His friends had never really been there when he needed them. Sure, when he was in trouble they were there, but when he was in trouble with himself, they were never there.

When he felt like breaking down, when he felt like just ending it and jumping out of the window next to his bed, when he thought about tying a rock to his leg and jumping into the lake, when he thought of just walking into the acromantulas lair and lying down and letting them get him, they were never there. When he broke down in sobs on his bed, when he excused himself to go to the bathroom in meals and class to check if his robe was still covering the open cuts on his arm the right way, they were never there. They thought everything was okay…they thought that he was just peachy, that everything was great.

He had never wondered why they didn't even try to see past the mask he put on every morning before drawing back the curtains on his bed, and now he saw that they hadn't even cared. They were too happy to see him okay that they didn't even try to see if something was wrong. Even perceptive Hermione, and Neville and Dean and Seamus, usually so adept at seeing if something was wrong, hadn't seen anything. Hadn't tried to see anything.

But he saw now. He saw how they had never really cared, how they just pretended to so that he could protect them. In fact, they had never been there for him, never cared, never wanted anything to do with him. Voldemort had helped him see this, Voldemort taught him how treacherous his supposed 'best friends' had been, Voldemort had shown him –

Harry shook his head.

What was happening to him?

Too late, he remembered Snape's warning. "He'll try to mess with your mind, make it seem like your friends are your enemies and your enemies are your friends, try and make you think that everyone you loved betrayed you. He'll probably use Sirius' name and maybe Cedric or your parents. He's an expert at a spell softer than Imperius so you can't tell it's there. It warps your will, making you think that he's right without being able to fight it off…"

He glared up at surprised red eyes, spat at the pale face, and, gathering his strength, pushed up with his biceps, tumbling Voldemort off him. He was on him in a flash, reaching into his robes for the small vial of pale green, translucent liquid that had lost him his top position earlier. Pulling the stopper out with his teeth and spitting it to the side, he tried to pry open Voldemort's mouth.

It was a lot harder than it looked. Desperate now (the potion only worked for three minutes after exposed to air), he used the cheapest shot he could.

He leaned down and kissed him, hard.

Back in the bushes, someone gasped and put a hand over their mouth.

The cool mouth opened in shock, allowing Harry to stick his tongue in. As quickly as he could, he pulled away and poured the potion through the wet lips. Voldemort swallowed reflexively and Harry grinned triumphantly.

The person in the bushes sighed in relief and sat back, suddenly faint. It was just a sneaky, underhanded trick. Nothing serious they hadn't known about.

He jumped to his feet, shaking himself off, and watched the effects of the potion on the suddenly prone body on the ground. It started shaking and twitching, its mouth opened in silent horror and its eyes snapped open, reflecting pain, terror, shock and deep dread. He watched, fascinated and repulsed, as the jerking movements became sharper and bigger, making it look like the dark lord was having some sort of seizure.

He turned over, still jerking in spasms of pain, coughing up blood, and then more blood, and then more blood than should have been possible. There were streaks of shimmering silver in the coppery red liquid, and with a jolt of horror Harry realized that it was unicorn blood. The silver shone, glowing unnaturally. It glowed brighter and brighter, engulfing the prone body, almost blinding. Then it was blinding, Harry took off his glasses and shielded his eyes as the light grew even brighter than seemed possible, filling the area and clearing the sky of all it's dark clouds. The moon shone brightly through but was outshone by the white light.

It finally died down, dissipating into tiny, twinkling stars of light, floating merrily in the air, leaving the slim, dead body of Tom Marvolo Riddle lying there.

His eyes were closed and a peaceful expression crossed his face. He looked like he was sleeping, but he wasn't breathing and when Harry checked, the pulse was just a dying flutter that soon faded into nothing. Harry sighed deeply, and looking regretfully at the body, reached for the sword at his waist, raising it only because he had to.

The red gem at it's hilt glittered in the moonlight as Harry brought it down to chop off the heir of Slytherin's head. He looked at the shining name inscribed on the blade and felt a rush of sadness. What did he have to live for now?

There was a crescendo rushing sound around him. He looked at the body and felt air moving towards it, pushing it into the ground. Out of the severed neck, a roiling black something emerged. It was wispy but ebony black, standing out starkly against the almost black night. It seemed to suck all light into it. Harry gasped, grasped his sword and swiped at it. It moved out of the way and pulsed in a way Harry took for laughing. He jabbed again, and a hole opened in its center. The sword slid neatly through and Harry threw it down, exasperated.

The little pinpoints of leftover light suddenly jerked in unison. Moving in small darts, they rushed together to form a perfect sphere of blinding light, which slowly descended on the blackness. The blackness ran. The light separated into pinpoints again and caught up easily, surrounding the dark and slowly closing in.

Harry suddenly realized that this was a battle he played no part in. Both he and the person in the bushes watched in awe as the light slowly closed in on the frantic darkness, not allowing it to escape. It didn't taunt or mock, just closed in, slowly, steadily, and finally it formed a sphere around the darkness. There was a moment of absolute silence where the light seemed to dim as the dark made one final attempt to escape, trying to rush straight through the light.

Then the light closed sharply, squeezing the darkness in, and Harry shielded his eyes again from one huge, blindingly bright flash of light as the dark was destroyed forever.

The light turned back into a sphere, turned to Harry with the hints of a smiling face on one side of it, popped into pieces and slowly faded away.

Harry fell heavily to his knees and clutched the sword tightly.

A great weight was suddenly lifted off his shoulders.

He closed his eyes and felt like collapsing, sobbing.

"That was a low, scheming trick that a Gryffindor should not be able to pull of like you did," a smiling voice said from behind him.

Harry jumped to his feet and spun, then instantly regretted it as a wave of dizziness hit him and he staggered, then caught himself and stood up, putting his glasses back on to focus on the black-clad form standing in front of him.

He blinked, confused. "Malfoy?"

"I really can't believe you actually kissed the dark lord." The blond continued, giving a delicate shudder. "Ew."

Harry smirked at him, getting it. "You're such a girl, Malfoy."

Silver eyes smiled at him, but the lips curved a grimace and the nose wrinkled. "Shut up, Potter."

"Note how he doesn't deny it," Harry said, raising his eyebrows and nodding knowingly to the nonexistent crown of eager students, waiting for an infamous argument that would undoubtedly lead to a fight.

"I'm not a bloody girl, you git," he said in a haughty voice that was totally ruined by the twinkle in his eyes.

"Is that the best you can do, Malfoy?" Harry taunted, backing away slowly as the Malfoy heir stalking predatorily towards him. He felt a small bout of apprehension, but kept the smirk on his face.

"Actually, it's not, you underhanded, sneaky, conniving, disgustingly Gryffindorish turd, and that was the cheapest fight I ever saw."

"It was rather anticlimactic, wasn't it?"

"Anticlimactic?" Draco raised an eyebrow at him, pulling out a small, handheld mirror and handing it to him. For the first time, Harry got a good look at himself. He was dirty and disheveled, covered with small cuts and scrapes from his falls. His right sleeve was singed and there were small burn marks all over his robes. He was covered with dirt and a huge piece of his robe had torn off at the bottom. He couldn't believe he hadn't remembered how many spells Voldemort had thrown at him before he punched him in the face.

Finally he looked up at Draco. "How did it work if someone else was watching?"

"The spell didn't say that no one could watch. It said it's better if no one's watching. Close friends are allowed."

"But…you and me…"

Draco laughed, causing Harry to look at him, surprised. He didn't think he had ever heard the Slytherin make such a human sound before. "It must have changed when our fights got more personal. I found that I was starting to respect you and know you a lot more than I hated you, and by the way you were acting, I guess you felt the same. We may not have talked like friends or gone out like friends, but the spell only takes personal feelings into consideration."

"Oh."

There was a brief silence as Harry thought this over and Draco watched him closely to see his reaction.

"I…" Harry stumbled over his next words. "I want…something's missing."

"What do you want, Harry?"

"I don't know. I want…I want…I want an end. It all feels unfinished. I thought lots of people would be dead, my friends and maybe Remus, but no one is but Voldemort and some Death Eaters. It feels unfinished. Something else has to happen, he has to come back and kill a bunch of people, or the dementors have to go insane and attack, or vampires or giant, freakish gorillas have to attack or something, just something that will make it-"

"Shhh," Draco interrupted the rant, putting a finger to Harry's lips. "Does someone have to die?"

"Yes! Someone has to die to make things right. Someone good has to die, because that's how every war is, that's how it works, someone good dies and then everything's okay and the hero can mourn and fall to his knees and scream 'WHY?' into the raining sky and-"

He was cut off when Draco kissed him. Draco wrapped an arm around his thin, muscled waist and pulled him closer and kissed him, softly. Harry thought bemusedly of how they fit together. It was over before it should have been.

"No one has to die," Draco whispered, and Harry honestly believed him.

The arm around his waist retracted itself, and Draco reached into his robes. Harry tensed, thinking maybe it had been a lie and he was just going to be fooled and killed, but Draco pulled out something that looked a lot like…the mirror Sirius had given to him.

Draco handed it to him and he looked into its swirling depths. "What is this, some sort of cruel joke?" Harry demanded.

Draco shook his head. "No. I promise…look, okay, while you were fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters with Dumbledore, someone told me about what had happened. I hadn't known, no one told me. My father told me he'd been injured seriously, but I didn't know he died or the circumstances."

He hesitated, glanced at the mirror and then continued. "I killed Bella. She…she wasn't right, none of the Death Eaters ever liked her, and I killed her. Stabbed her in the stomach. It took her half a painful hour to die, because her stomach acids slowly ate away at her insides until finally she died. They told me he went through the veil. I couldn't believe they were so stupid," Draco shook his head, "The veil doesn't kill people. It's in the department of mysteries because they don't know how it works.

"The Death Eaters have known for years. It doesn't kill people; it sends their spirits to a different dimension. There's a simple spell and potion to bring them back. Salazar Slytherin invented it, to send Demons through, when he was good. They ran to dig up his body and…well…" he gestured to the mirror.

Harry stared at it, disbelieving, unable to understand. "No one had to die…in fact, someone came back to life," Draco concluded, smiling softly. "How do you think Sirius kept sane for so long with all those beautiful memories? We were good friends. I visited regularly, but then you hated me and he knew so he just told you half the truth. We never laughed or smiled together, but we talked. He…" he trailed off, remembering.

As he spoke, the mist in the mirror faded away, slowly revealing a face Harry had missed more than anyone knew. Sirius grinned up at him. "Hi, Harry."

Harry threw the mirror aside and jumped at Draco, hugging him tightly and trying not to break down in sobs. Draco smiled and held him just as tightly, and they shared a timeless, unforgettable moment in which they were both completely happy.

After what seemed like forever, Harry looked up, grinning like an idiot, and said, "I hope Sirius doesn't feel neglected…"

"Not at all," came Sirius' voice, muffled against the ground, "actually, I'm quite happy here…I have my Remmy-poo, and we're happy." This statement was followed by a, "C'mere, you big mutt!" and a crash, and then rustling sounds and then wet sounds and then moans.

Harry looked away, eyes wide. "I'm traumatized forever."

He buried his face into the crook of Draco's neck, ridiculously happy, and hugged him closer, never wanting it to end.

…

There. That was so much fluffier than I meant it to be…I guess I'm just a sucker for fluff. That was like…shameless fluff. I've NEVER written shameless fluff before…actually I have…but that's besides the point. I still haven't finished the third to the misunderstandings trilogy …FORGIVE ME!

That one gave me a nice, warm, happy feeling in my stomach. Better go read something bitter and depressing, lest I run around smiling like an idiot for the rest of the day. I love how it turned from bloody to fluffy. I should write a sequel to this…