Author's Note: How many of you were expecting to hear from me ever again? I bet I've lots everyone who ever followed me… Lol. Good times.

Anyway. Having gone through my first year of college, I feel as though I need to commemorate it with a little story cooked up from nothing but a title. I'm going to start writing and we'll see where it goes. I make no promises based on content, plot or characters. If they hop in on a bunny they'll end up in here.

Warnings: This will be a final battle dealie. People will die, there will be curses and blood and pain. Again, I make no promises to content.

His Dying Touch

Harry gasped and sat up quickly. He clutched at his chest, right over his heart. His lungs were burning, begging for air. Tears of shock poured down his cheeks.

As he regained his breath, he thought back to his dream. There had been bubbles, lots of him. And he'd been drowning, arms reaching for the surface of whatever body of water he'd been dying in. The sun streamed in, breaking up the wall of blue water and white bubbles with rays of green light. The beauty didn't stop the fear, though. His arms still reached up, fingers flexing; trying to grasp and something – anything – to get him out of his watery grave. As everything blurred together, as his body relaxed, succumbing to the oxygen deprivation, he'd woken up.

He breathed deeply, savouring the feeling of his lungs expanding. He opened the drapes on his bed and looked around the dorm room. The vibe felt different. Everyone was sleeping but he could taste the tension in the room.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he put his head in his hands. "I need to get out of here…" He muttered. He stood on shaky legs and cast around the room for his shirt and pants. After searching under his bed – and all the others – and in his trunk he stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips. Finally he sighed.

New clothes it is, he thought, pulling his Gryffindor sweater over his head. He began to unbutton his pants then paused. He looked down at the grey trousers he was wearing and then over to the sweater he'd thrown on his bed. After a moment he chuckled to himself and shook his head.

He left the dorm five minutes later, still dressed in the clothes he'd worn, and apparently slept in, the day before. His trainers squeaked lightly as he walked through the empty corridors. Frustrated, he started jogging, which made it worse. Growling, he started sprinting, which made it, again, worse. Finally fed up, he took off his trainers and his socks and stashed them behind a suit of armour just off the entrance hall. Unsure of why he was suddenly so frustrated, he jogged outside, heading straight to the quidditch pitch.

The grass was cold, the dew numbing his feet instantly. He barely spared a thought to the fact that it was the middle of July and, therefore, should not be cold. His breath came out in crisp white puffs as he sprinted around the large field. An hour later his face, his fingers and his ears got painfully cold, forcing him to stop. He walked slowly back to the school with his hands in his arm pits, trying to warm them up.

When he walked back into the school, he realised he was crying again. He felt like an idiot, crying for no reason.

"Crying again, Potter?" a soft voice asked him as he put his shoes back on. From his seat on the stairs, he looked up across the entrance hall.

"I think I have a right, Professor," He replied, looking the man in the eyes. He stood, wincing as his left shoe squeaked.

"You above all else, right?" Snape replied bitterly. "Go ahead and cry, Potter, woe is you."

Harry shook his head and walked towards his potions professor. Or started to, at least. Then his shoe squeaked. With a glare, he hissed, "silencio." He tested the shoe. Nothing. No sound. He smirked.

"Proud though I'm sure you are of your –" Snape sneered "– unique language. I'll have to ask you to speak in English. Merlin forbid us lesser beings can understand you."

Harry rolled his eyes. Without thinking, he replied, "Yah. Proud. That's what I am. I'm so glad Voldemort killed my parents because it means I get to speak to snakes!" He shook his head and turned to walk away.

"Detention, Potter!" He heard from behind him.

"I'm going to have to decline," He replied turning around. There was far too much to do. He had no time to serve detention. How will detention help me defeat Voldemort next week? He wondered.

"You can't decline a detention, Potter."

"Yes I can." Harry's voice took on a very reasonable tone. His entire body was relaxed, making him look not the least bit threatening. His eyes looked pleasant enough and his hands were clasped gently behind his back. "There's far too much to do, Professor. With Voldemort approaching, and my imminent death just around the corner, I have no time for detention. The entire world is depending on me, you know. And with you exposed as a spy, we have to work that much harder. And with my imminent death just around the corner, the Order especially needs me. And, let's face it; Dumbledore is far too senile to run an organized war. Making him follow my idea's, while letting him think they're his, is incredibly tiring. And with my imminent death just around the corner, the DA needs as much training as I can give them. They're only students, you know, and many of them have never fought anyone, except each other, in their lives. So you see, with my imminent death just around the corner, I have no time for detention. You understand." He smiled up at Snape's stunned face.

Placing his hand on his professor's arm, he leaned in and lowered his voice. "Just between you and me, Luna Lovegood rarely serves detention. She'd be more than happy to take my place." He patted Snape gently on the arm and stepped back.

"Potter," Snape paused. Then he shook his head and grasped Harry by he shoulders. "Harry, your 'imminent death' is not just around the corner. You will live through this war. Our battle plans are flawless, thanks to you, including the part where you kill Voldemort."

"To kill Voldemort, I need to die. We all know this. Some – Severus – just don't want to accept it." Harry smiled again. "I forgive you." Then he stepped away from the black haired man and returned to his common room.

If anyone had asked him the next day how he got to bed again, he wouldn't be able to tell them. If they had asked what he had learned in his classes over the next few days, he wouldn't be able to tell them.

But most frightening of all was hat if they had asked him, on the day of the final battle, what the plan was to defeat Voldemort, he wouldn't be able to tell them.

But he wasn't about to let them know that.

"You ready for this, Harry?" Ron asked softly the day of the battle.

The Death Eaters were gathered outside the wards, unable to enter. The younger students were hidden in the Room of Requirement. Any student from fifth year and above was crowded in the Entrance hall. The teachers, members of the Order and the aurors were on the grounds. When Dumbledore gave the signal, the wards holding off the Death Eaters would fall and the battle would begin. What happened next, Harry didn't know.

"Harry?" He turned his head. Ron was staring at him expectantly. "Are you ready?"

No, he thought. "Yes. Of course," he said. He smiled, trying to look positive. It apparently worked because Ron nodded and turned back to face the doors. They were closed and everything was silent but for the occasional whisper from a student. The majority of the upper years were there, save for most of the Slytherin's. They were on the other side, outside the gates. Their absence was obvious, creating tension in the hall.

"You should give a speech, Harry," Neville said softly. "The students need a pep talk."

Hearing Neville's words, the rest of the group turned to face Harry. He swallowed nervously. A speech, he thought, awesome…

"Uhm… So the death eaters? They want you dead." There was an audible inhale.

Hermione glared. "A pep talk, Harry, is supposed to be uplifting."

Harry bit his lip. "Right. So… The death eaters want you dead. And Voldemort –" a visible flinch "– Wants me dead. That being said, you should all know that the teachers and the Order and the Aurors will do their damnedest to stop that from happening. And if you watch each other's backs then you guys can also stop it from happening. You won't die. You might get wounded, but you will not die.

"As for me…" He shrugged. "I'm gonna kill Voldemort." There was a resounding cheer and suddenly, just like that, the air was lighter everyone breathed a little easier. They chattered away, explaining dramatically how they were going to defeat the death eaters. They all grouped together, leaving Harry to himself.

"I'm going to kill Voldemort," he whispered, "But I make no promises for my own life."

The battle had been raging all afternoon and well into the night. Bodies littered Hogwarts grounds. Blood turned the grass brown and the dirt to mud. If the fighters paused, they would notice the stench. The god awful stench of blood, burnt flesh, mud and sweat. Any positive vibes the students had brought onto the field vanished ten second into the battle. The minute the castle doors opened, a jet of green light hit Neville in the chest. He collapsed with a smile on his face. His was the only one.

Now, with countless students out of energy and therefore fumbling with their spell work, collapsing, Harry was out of ideas. For the past hour, Order member and aurors had been giving him an expectant look. There was a part of the plan – an important part – that he didn't know about.

He'd tried going straight for Voldemort but had been blocked off. He had tried spell casting in parsletongue but Dumbledore had shaken his head at him. He'd fought death eaters; he'd pretended to change sides, shocking the dark side and the light. He'd stopped fighting. He'd cast unforgivable's. He'd killed, he'd stunned, he'd wounded. To no avail. Dumbledore gave him a look. He was supposed to do something and he was supposed to do it now.

But what?

In anger, he reeled back and punched a death eater. Hard. Cartilage shattered under the force, blood spurting onto Harry's hand. Without pausing, Harry brought up his other hand, grasping a handful of the death eaters hair. With astonishing force, Harry simultaneously brought up his elbow and pulled down on the Death Eaters head. His elbow connected with the mans neck, eliciting a loud snap.

Harry stepped back in shock. Looking around, he saw Dumbledore's satisfied smirk. Many of his other professors wore the same expression.

Where did I learn that? Harry wondered as he instinctively hip kicked the nearest death eater. She screamed as her femur broke, sending her to the ground. Harry preformed similar attacks on many more death eaters within the next couple minutes. Next thing he knew, he was surrounded by a circle of death eaters. Some dead, most moaning in pain, all incapacitated. Harry laughed nervously before continuing his ruthless attack.

All too soon, however, Dumbledore was giving him that look again.

What am I missing? He screamed silently at the old man. Suddenly terrified, Harry began to wonder what he'd missed during the last week and a half. On top of that, he had to wonder what possessed him to keep his memory loss a secret.

As Harry ducked behind a tree to catch his breath, he noticed how cold it was. I was the middle of July and yet he could see his breath? He peeked carefully out at the battlefield. It was steaming. The heat of the blood and the chill of the air steaming up the grounds. He wondered how he hadn't noticed it before.

He took a deep breath, ready to plunge back into the heat of battle, when he was suddenly overcome by an onslaught of dizziness. His head swam and colors blurred together. He tried to focus his eyes alternately blinking quickly and squinting. For no reason he could tell, he gasped suddenly out of breath. Before he passed out, he managed to hiss out a spell, surrounding himself with impenetrable wards.

If he'd been lucid he would've wondered how he'd known to cast the spell. Then he would've wondered how he knew to cast in parsletongue. Then he would've wondered how he knew to cast the spell at all.

There were bubbles; lots of them. And he was drowning, arms reaching for the surface of whatever body of water he was dying in. Sunlight streamed in, breaking up the wall of blue water and white bubbles with rays of green light. The beauty didn't stop the fear, though. His arms still reached up, fingers flexing; trying to grasp and something – anything – to get him out of his watery grave.

Suddenly his feet hit something solid. He gained his balance and the water came crashing down around him. If he wasn't already soaked, he would be now.

He opened his eyes to find himself standing. Directly in front of him was the lake. Behind him, roughly ten feet away was Voldemort. Behind him was a glimmering blue – green wall. Behind that was the battle, on hold because of the show down that was about to take place.

Harry looked around, trying to get his bearings. His glasses were still on his face. His wand was still in his hand. His clothes were dirty. Hid Red jumper turned brown, his grey trousers now black. The ground he stood on was relatively clear of blood, muddy only because of the lake. Voldemort was sneering, holding his wand tightly. He was also shaking, whether from fear, anger, power or a lack of strength, Harry didn't know.

Harry nodded, not quite sure why, and said, "So, Voldemort, this is it." Then he mentally smacked himself. This is it?! You have a show down with a murderer and you open with that?

"Harry Potter," Voldemort's silky voice wrapped around him, stroking him in much the same way a black widow does before she strikes. "You will not live past tonight."

"I'm okay with that," Harry said reasonably, "because neither will you." He shrugged and took a step forward.

"You will die for a world that alienates you for the slightest mistake?" Voldemort took a step forward.

"No. I will die for a world that bands together against anything that threatens it." Harry took another step forward.

"I could give you glory, Harry." Another step.

"You already have," Harry tapped his scar, "And I didn't even have to join you." Another step.

Voldemort growled deep in his throat. "You will die, Potter. You will die by my hand, knowing that it was all for nothing."

Harry just took a step forward and said, "You know what, Tom, I wouldn't die for them," He motioned with his head to the group outside the barrier, "But I would die for me." With that he raised his wand. Distracting Voldemort was easy; all he had to do was make some ridiculous hand gesture with his wand hand.

Finally frustrated, the Dark Lord opened his mouth to growl out a spell. Before he could speak, Harry let his left hand fly, landing a smooth left hook across the man's face. Blood and spittle flew and Voldemort fell to the ground. Not pausing, Harry let his momentum take him to the ground, landing with one knee on Voldemort's neck and the other on the wrist of his wand hand. He placed his other hand on the man's other wrist, effectively pinning him.

"I'm okay with dying, Tom, because I know I'm taking you with me." Harry nodded with finality before hissing one more spell.

A flash of green light shot out of his wand where it was lying three feet away, hitting Voldemort straight in the head. The light passed visibly throughout his whole body before passing through his wrist into Harry's hand. The force of the spell caused every muscle in his body to tense up before a blast of green light sent him flying through the air. His vice grip in the now dead Dark Lord had them both crashing with a resounding crash through the ice on the lake.

The magical barrier fell as the ice broke and members of both sides rushed to the edge of the lake. The sun reflected off the surface, making the group squint. If they focused, though, they would just barely be able to make out a soft green light, sinking deeper and deeper into the depths.

If Harry had survived, he would have told Dumbledore about his memory loss. There would have been an investigation. They would have discovered a memory potion in his Pumpkin juice, every morning for a week, administered by Neville Longbottom.

If Harry had survived, he would have attended the funerals of Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Snape, Remus, Moody and Kingsley, just to name a few.

He would have helped round up the remaining death eaters, all of whom eventually died via the death curse passed through their dark marks. They all died, but not before claiming the lives of Sirius, Dumbledore, Trelawney and most of the younger students from a magical bomb they had managed to smuggle into the school.

If Harry had survived, he wouldn't have wanted to.

Author's Note: Uhm. I don't know about that ending. What do you think?

PS: This is not Beta'd. I used spell check. That's about it. Do not judge my unedited story too harshly.