(A/N: Wow. Seven reviews and ten alerts on the first chapter! That's pretty good for the Harry Potter section, considering, like, eight-hundred people update a day in the archive and my story was probably on the hundredth page after a couple of hours. Thanks for everyone who reviewed! I appreciate all your feedback, and I was pleasantly surprised to find I made a few of you cry. I've never really written much tragedy before. Mostly eternal conflict, humor and action so it was new territory for me. It made me feel accomplished and loved, so I really did appreciate it! All quotes and characters belong to JKR! Me don't own! Enjoy the chapter!)

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Voldemort was on the ground. This was curious. He did not remember collapsing, and had no recollection of impact. The last thing he remembered was Potter coming out of the forest, giving himself up, and then himself whispering the Killing Curse, the satisfying explosion of green light jetting out of his wand, hitting the boy, watching him go spiraling into the dust…

The boy. What had happened to the boy?

"My Lord…my Lord…" Bellatrix's voice breathed, dangerously close to his ear. A frown crossed Voldemort's lips. He did not like his followers so close to him. Regaining some feeling, he began to try and push himself to his feet, but found himself oddly weak and unable to do so without stumbling. What had happened? Had something occurred when he had hit the boy, and thrown him backward?

A surge of terror washed over him at this thought, something that Voldemort hated himself for feeling but was unable to prevent. The boy. Surely he was dead? He had hit him, straight on, with the Curse. But something had happened. Was it possible that he…?

"My Lord…" Bellatrix said again, interrupting his thoughts. Voldemort's eyes flashed irritably. "That will do." He said curtly, satisfied when the hoard of Death Eaters surrounding him quickly scattered at his words. All except Bellatrix, who still seemed determined to help him and show her allegiance.

"My Lord, let me—" Bellatrix's voice whispered, her hand coming into view as she tentatively offered to help him. A rush of annoyance coursing through him, Voldemort ignored the hand, pulling himself to his feet.

"I do not require assistance," he hissed, and Bellatrix hastily withdrew her hand. Voldemort grudgingly noted her bravery and loyalty, but did not acknowledge this to her. He was Voldemort, the Dark Lord, and the most feared Dark Wizard of the Wizarding World. He did not need help.

Ignoring Bellatrix's worshipful look, Voldemort turned towards Harry. His nemesis was lying; face down, in the dirt, his left arm bent at a weird angle, his features not discernable to Voldemort from where he was standing. He did not move, did not flinch. No signs of life were shown in the motionless shell of his seventeen-year-old enemy. Surely he was dead. But still…he had to be sure…

"The boy…" he whispered, not daring to let himself believe that Harry Potter was finally finished. "Is he dead?"

Complete silence met his words. No one spoke, all the Death Eaters focusing on the dead body of the Boy Who Lived. Voldemort too stared, hating himself for finding himself too afraid to go and see if Potter really truly was dead for himself. The truth was, he was terrified that he might not be, and that if he got near him Potter would jump out at him, kill him, and his glorious rein of the Wizarding World, the rein he had so carefully planned and waited for, would be lost. The thought of this, the fear of this happening, was too much, so he stayed rooted to the spot.

"You," he hissed, turning to the first Death Eater he saw, which happened to be Narcissa Malfoy, and flicking his wand in her direction. There was a bang, and a small flash of light illuminated the Elder Wand, followed by Narcissa's small shriek of pain. This act of inflicting pain made Voldemort feel better, more confident, and he pointed at Harry's motionless body purposefully. "Examine him," he ordered. "Tell me whether he is dead."

Tentatively, almost as if she was going into a pit of venomous snakes, Narcissa left the pack of Death Eaters and the protective figure of her husband, and made her way towards Harry. She walked slowly, eyes flickering back to Voldemort worriedly, as if he might kill her if she made the slightest wrong movement-which was entirely possible. Warily, she approached Harry, crouching down over his body, her long locks obscuring her face and the boys' from view.

Voldemort waited in tension as Narcissa examined the boy, leaning over him for what seemed like forever. But then, finally, she stood, turning back to him, her face unreadable.

"He is dead!" She declared.

And at that the deathly silence was broken, the Death Eaters breaking into cheers and yells of triumph, stamping their feet and sending jets of multi-colored light into the sky in celebration. No longer unsure, Voldemort's pale face broke into a wide, maniacal smile, his creepy red eyes glistening triumphantly in his followers' wands' light.

"You see?" he screeched in triumph over the noise, permitting himself to laugh a high-pitched, frightening cackle in celebration of his success, of his victory in killing Harry Potter. A thrilling feeling swooped in his chest, one that he had not felt in decades. The feeling of victory.

"Harry Potter is dead by my hand," he declared, raising the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the glorious wooden wand that had finally killed his nemesis, high in the air. "and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio!"

The Death Eaters all watched in delight as Harry James Potter's lifeless body began to twirl and flop around in the air, his arms and legs flapping uselessly. The famous round glasses fell from his face as he was flipped upside down, hitting the forest floor and shattering, a long crack down one lens. Finally, the body lifted a good ten feet off the ground, Voldemort flicked his wand and watched Harry fall, hitting the ground with a sickening and satisfying thump, much to the jeers and shrieks of laughter from his followers.

"Now," Voldemort said, smirking gleefully and enjoying every precious second of his victory. "we go to the castle, and show them what has become of their hero. Who shall drag the body?"

He looked around, sizing up his people, but stopped when his eyes fell on the great oaf Hagrid, still tied, sobbing, to a tree. "No—" He whispered cruelly. "Wait—"

He flicked his wand and the half-giant was forced forward, much to the laughter of the Death Eaters.

"You carry him," Voldemort sneered. "He will be nice and visible in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid." He smirked, relishing his fun in humiliating the Boy Who Lived, the so-called 'Chosen One' even further. "And the glasses—" He added. "put on the glasses—he must be recognizable—"

Avery gleefully grabbed Harry's glasses from the dirt and shoved them onto his face as Hagrid bent down to scoop up Potter's lifeless body, tears running down his gigantic face.

"Move." Voldemort ordered harshly, flicking his wand again and forcing the giant of a man forward.

The celebrating procession made it's way out of the forest, two of Voldemort's giants smashing trees as they went. Slowly, surely, the tall towering oaks thinned into smaller birches as they neared the edge of the forest. The Death Eaters had fallen into silence as they walked; the only sound now being the continued sobs of Hagrid and the crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot.

And then, finally, the reached the edge.

"Stop."

Voldemort's commanding voice rang sharply through the silent forest, a small twitch of his wand bringing Hagrid forcibly to a halt. In front of them, the dementors patrolled the tress, hooded faces turned towards them, the air chilled by their presence. As if on cue, Voldemort walked forward, brushing past Hagrid and Harry's dead body, bringing the Elder Wand up to his lips.

"Harry Potter is dead," he announced, his voice, magically magnified, reverberating loudly amongst the trees. "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."

He paused for dramatic effect, a satisfied smirk on his face. "The battle is won," he continued. "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, as will every member of their family. 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 will build together."

He finished his speech and lowered his wand in satisfaction, knowing his words were going to have quite an effect. "Come," he ordered, taking the lead and forcing Hagrid to follow. Stroking Nagini's head fondly, he made his way down the hill and towards the castle, followed closely by his Death Eaters, feeling secure with the great snake's body curled around his shoulders.

"Harry," Hagrid sobbed pitifully, causing Voldemort to smile again. "Oh, Harry…Harry…"

They walked in silence until the reached the front of the castle, its double doors wide. Voldemort then raised his arm again, excitement coursing through him. His moment of true victory had arrived. "Stop," he hissed, and his army obediently did so.

A smile began to play on his white lips as his enemies, Potter's dear loyal friends, began to rush out of the castle, firm disbelievement in his death crushed as they saw his dead body for themselves.

"NO!" Professor McGonagall's strangled cry was alien sounding, unbelieving and filled with horror and grief. Bellatrix laughed at her despair, enjoying every second of the other woman's uncontained mourning. Voldemort's smile widened, and he stroked Nagini silently with one long white finger, watching the event play out before him.

Next came the other two of the Golden Trio, faces ashen, staring at Harry with their faces filled with uncontrollable grief.

"No!"

"No!"

And then the redheaded, smallest Weasley girl rushed out, attempting to throw herself at the dead boys' body, but finding herself restrained by her fathers' arms. "Harry!" she cried, her voice chocked with emotion and grief beyond anything imaginable. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks as she kept trying to get to Harry, struggling hopelessly in her fathers grip. "HARRY!"

And then the whole crowd erupted into grieving, outraged cries, screaming and cussing violently at Voldemort and his followers, some trying to launch themselves at him, until—

"SILENCE!" Voldemort cried, unable to sit back and take their petty insults any longer. With a strong wave of his wand, a bang, and a burst of bright light, he cast a powerful Silencing Charm on the crowd, bringing about his cherished quiet. "It is over!" he yelled to them, forcing the realization of his victory into their unbelieving heads. "Set him down Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!"

Obediently, Hagrid gently put down Harry's limp body at Voldemort's bare, blood-caked feet. Voldemort smiled cruelly down at it. "You see?" he whispered, striding back and forth by the shell of his enemy, pointing to it triumphantly with the Elder Wand. "Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

"He beat you!" Ron's outraged cry yelled, breaking the charm and throwing the crowd into shouts and screams again until Voldemort, blood red eyes flashing, raised his wand again with another powerful bang, bringing silence into rein again.

"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds," Voldemort said, relishing the taste of the lie on his tongue. "killed while trying to save himself—"

He broke off suddenly, staring in slight amazement as a figure broke free from the group of Hogwarts' defenders and charged him head on. With a casual flick of his wand a loud bang filled the grounds, followed by a flash of light, and Voldemort sent the person sprawling to the ground, grunting in pain. Effortlessly, the Dark Lord caught the challenger's wand and examined it briefly, before throwing it away without a second glance.

"And who is this?" he hissed thoughtfully. "Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"

Bellatrix laugh filled the air at the sight of the challengers face, her cackle high and mad.

"It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord!" she chortled. "The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"

"Ah, yes, I remember," Voldemort said thoughtfully, looking down at Neville, who had scrambled back to his feet, unarmed, glaring unafraid at the Dark Wizard before him. "But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?" Voldemort asked, head cocked slightly as he studied the seventh year before him, glaring at him with hands curled defiantly into fists.

"So what if I am?" Neville said hotly.

"You show spirit and bravery, and you come from noble stock," Voldemort reasoned. "You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

"I'll join you when hell freezes over," Neville said, raising his chin and planting his feet firmly into the dirt. "Dumbledore's Army!" he shouted, and his cry was met by supporting cheers from the crowd, breaking Voldemort's Silencing Charm once more.

"Very well," Voldemort sneered, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head," he paused, his red eyes darkening, "be it."

Raising the Elder Wand dramatically above his head, he waved it in a precise pattern, causing a window to smash above them, shattered glass tinkling down the stone walls, and a matted brown object flew down from it and landed precisely in Voldemort's outstretched hand. Smiling, he waved it around, showing the bemused crowd the patched and ragged Sorting Hat.

"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School," Voldemort declared. "There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"

He pointed his wand at Neville, who suddenly became ridged and unmoving, and forced the Sorting Hat roughly onto his head.

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me," Voldemort said, smirking, and with a final flick of his wand set the Sorting Hat alight.

Screams of horror filled the crowd of watching Hogwartians as Neville's clothes caught fire, him unable to move a muscle to defend himself, frozen in one spot by the power of Voldemort's full Body-Bind Curse.

And at that moment, many chaotic things happened at once.

An uproar from the boundaries of the school was heard as hundreds of people came swarming over the out-of-sight walls and raced towards the castle, yelling mad war cries. And at the same time, Grawp came into view, yelling "HAGGER!" blindly and causing Voldemort's giants to charge.

The students and teachers, as well as Voldemort and the Death Eaters, fell into chaos as centaurs charged into the clearing, shooting arrows a plenty into the Death Eaters ranks.

And then, in one swift, fluid motion, Neville broke free of the Body-Bind Curse, the flaming Sorting Hat falling off his head as his bloodstained hands drew a silver, glittering jeweled sword from its depths.

And then, as if in slow motion, Neville lunged at Voldemort, yelling a deranged war cry, and swung the blade with all his strength, the sharp edge making contact with the smooth scales of Nagini's neck, slicing off her head in one clean stroke.

The head flew in the air, scales glinting in the light of millions of spells, and Voldemort's cry of fury was lost in the sounds of the battle raging around him. And then the head hit the ground, followed by its enormous body, and the final Horcrux was destroyed.

And then Voldemort turned on Neville, eyes blazing a furious red as he raised his wand to kill the boy who had destroyed the seventh bit of his sole and only friend.

But as he started to perform the curse, he was distracted by a loud yell of "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" and fell backwards in suprise as a bright silver hare burst forward, catching him off guard.

Neville turned, astonished, to meet the smiling face of Luna, wand still held high. "Did…did you just cast a Patronus at Voldemort?" he whispered in awe.

"He was going to kill you," she said simply. "I had to do something. Oh, and by the way, here's your wand." She held out the long wooden stick to him. Neville simply stared at it, before taking it gently. Had she really gone and retrieved it for him?

"You're unbelievable." he murmured, before the two of them turned and launched themselves back into battle.

~O~

Hermione ran through the midst of the battle, wand clutched tightly in her hand, tears cascading down her already wet cheeks. She was no longer paying attention to Voldemort, no longer trying to fight, only protecting herself or a friend when needed.

All she cared about was Harry. Harry. She had to find Harry's body.

"Ron!" she chocked out when she spotted him, dueling Yaxley alongside Bill. "Ron!"

He turned to her when he heard her, and upon seeing her anguished face, left Yaxley to Bill.

"What is it?" he said as he ran up to her, picking his way through the debris.

"Harry." She chocked, unable to say his name correctly through her tears. "We need to find Harry!"

Eyes beginning to water at her words, he nodded, and the two of them set off, barreling through the duelers and dodging the giants' enormous feet, struggling to get to the spot where Hagrid had put down Harry.

They reached it, by some miracle. Hermione let out a sigh of relief seeing that his body hadn't been trampled or crushed by the chaos, but letting out a strangled cry at the sight of him. Lifeless. Dead.

Ron was crying too, silent tears dripping off his chin as he bent down over his best friend. "We have to move him," he whispered.

"I…I know," Hermione managed to say, voice laced with emotion. "But to where?"

"Room of Requirement," Ron said automatically, bending down and carefully, gently, scooping his best mate's limp form into his strong arms. "Clear a path."

Obediently, Hermione nodded, walking ahead of Ron and Harry, clearing a path amongst the duelers and banishing their way of debris. Slowly, surely, the two of them made their way into the castle, fighting their way through Death Eaters to get to the stairs and make their way to the third floor.

As they slowly made progress, others joined them. Neville and Luna spotted them, throwing Avery across the room together with a powerful burst of light before hurriedly making their way toward them, helping Hermione's efforts to make their way through and keep Harry's body unscathed.

Next, George and Percy joined. And soon after Cho and Ginny, Ginny walking alongside Ron, unable to utter a spell from the force of her crying at the sight of Harry.

By the time the procession made it to the staircase, the majority of Dumbledore's Army, as well as many teachers and members of the Order of the Phoenix were with them, Hagrid having taken up the burden of carrying Harry from Ron.

The pack made their way up the moving stairs as quickly as they could, filing into the corridor on the third floor, facing the empty stretch of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls to do ballet.

Silently, the group closed their eyes, shuffling their feet back and forth three times, trying their hardest in their grieving of Harry to focus on what they needed.

And doing its part, the door to the Room of Requirement opened.

The myriad of grieving witches and wizards made their way inside, barely glancing at the spacious interior, filled with many beds to place bodies upon, the walls draped with the banners of all four houses.

Carefully, tentatively, Hagrid placed Harry down on the cot in the middle of the room, the biggest one of them all, and by far the nicest. As his body lay at rest upon it, a wooden headboard appeared and began to change, turning into a carved Gryffindor lion, proudly looking over the Boy Who Lived's unmoving form.

The group stood silently around the cot for a long time, mourning Harry, their greatest hero, until finally, Hermione spoke.

"We need to go back out there," she said, her voice cracking from the strain of speaking. "We need to collect more of the bodies, and bring them here."

"And then do…what?" Hannah Abbot asked softly.

"Retreat," Hermione said, causing the group to begin to mutter in surprise.

"Retreat?" Kingsley repeated, outraged. "Why should we retreat? We should stay and fight! Take our revenge! For Harry!"

Shouts of agreement met his words, and cheers of "FOR HARRY!" rang through the room.

"No," Hermione said firmly. "We need to retreat, to regroup. Don't you see? Fighting here, in our weakened, scattered state is pointless. We're outnumbered. And no one can stand up to Voldemort now that…now that…H-H-Harry's d-dead…" she faltered, her eyes beginning to water once again.

Silence met her words, and a couple people bowed their heads.

"Okay, so what if we retreat?" Neville said finally, breaking the strained silence, the Sword of Gryffindor still clutched tightly in his hand, stained with the blood of Nagini. "What then? Where do we go? What do we do?"

"We'll Apparate out," Ron answered, taking up Hermione's position since it was clear she could no longer go on. "Go somewhere. Um…I don't know exactly where…" he faltered, glancing at Hermione.

"The Forest of Dean," Hermione managed to get out. "We can stay there, in the tent. It's magical. It…it s-should expand…" she started to shake and Ron squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Is that possible?" Neville asked. "I thought you can't Apparate inside Hogwarts."

Ron shrugged. "You-Know-Who broke through the enchantments," he said. "The spell that pervents us from Apparting might be down too. It's worth a try."

"I'll test it," Hermione volunteered, closing her eyes and concentrating hard on the image of the Forest of Dean, trying hard not to let the image of Harry lying dead swim into her mind. With a loud crack, she disappeared, reappearing a few seconds later, hair slightly ruffled.

"It works," she confirmed.

"Right then," Ron said. "We'll go to the Forest of Dean and regroup. And then…then we can figure out where to go from there."

He fell into silence, and the majority of the group nodded in agreement, no one able to come up with alternative plan.

"Then it's settled," Neville said, face set with grim determination. "We'll go back out and collect as many bodies as we can and bring them back here. Find all the DA members, teachers, and Order of the Phoenix members you can and tell them the plan, and we'll meet back here in a hour."

He raised his wand. "For Harry," he breathed.

"For Harry," everyone echoed, putting their wands in the air, before dispersing to go find more bodies.

Neville then turned to Ron and Hermione. "How about you two stay here?" he suggested.

Ron frowned. "But I want to help!" he protested, slightly hurt.

"I know," Neville said, "but I know this Room, and how it works, better than anyone. Someone has to stay here, or this particular form of it will disappear, and no one will be able to get back in. Someone has to stay. Do you think you guys can, and make sure everything goes according the plan?"

Hermione nodded silently. Ron hesitated for a moment, but with a quick glance at Harry's unmoving form, he too nodded.

"We'll leave a house-elf here when we leave for the Forest, so we can come back," Neville said, thinking of everything. "I'll recruit one to stay here when I go back down to get bodies. We'll be back soon."

And then he too disappeared.

~O~

An hour later, the large group of survivors crowded back into the Room of Requirement, now filled with dead bodies laid ceremoniously on cots. Everyone was battle-worn and had some sort of cut or mark to show for their fighting, though none of them showed them off, merely standing solemnly next to each other, harboring their grief from the death of their loved ones…and Harry.

When everyone had gathered, Mr. Weasley took the stage. "How many of you have been to the Forest of Dean before?" he asked. A small number of people raised their hands, Ron and Hermione included. Mr. Weasley nodded and gestured for them to come stand by him. "These few people will be Apparating groups of three to the Forest of Dean. I want you all to get into groups of three and then get in a line and get ready to Apparate."

Slowly, the large amount of people sorted into groups and got in a crude line amongst the assortment of cots. One by one, groups Apparated out with a crack, appearing again in the entirely different setting of the Forest of Dean, Hermione setting up her magical tent so that as people arrived they could get inside.

Finally, after a good while, everyone had been transferred to the Forest, leaving only Ron and Hermione left together in the Room, the only other living thing being the small, pointy-eared house-elf Neville had recruited to stay and guard the Room.

Hermione stared at Harry, tears sliding down her cheeks once more. "I…I just c-can't believe that h-he's really gone," she whispered, and Ron nodded understandingly, pulling her into his embrace and holding her protectively, comforting her.

"I know," he whispered to her. "I know. And will make sure he won't have died in vain. We'll find a way to kill Voldemort. We will, I know we will."

"I hope so," Hermione whispered. "I really hoped so."

They stayed their for a good couple minutes, just mourning Harry, lying their peacefully with his mess of black hair cascading into his face, half-concealing his lightning scar. His glasses were still cracked from when Voldemort had played with his body back in the forest. Quietly, Hermione whispered "Reparo," and the lenses magically fixed themselves, leaving Harry looking like he might have just fallen asleep after a particularly busy day.

And then, finally, Hermione slipped out of Ron's arms, lifting her wand and pointing it into the middle of the room. She whispered something, so soft that Ron could not make out what she was saying, and a soft haze filled the room, blanketing the dead bodies, and giving them a fresh, minty smell.

"What did you do?" Ron asked.

"Put a spell on them, so they won't decay," she said quietly, turning to him, refusing to look at those they had lost for another second. "When all this is over…if it's ever over…"

"It will be," Ron assured her.

"Then we can come back, and bury them all…properly. And say our goodbyes." She glanced once more, sadly, at Harry, before firmly looking away and slipping her hand into Ron's. "Lets go," she whispered.

Ron nodded, and then the two of them Apparated away, leaving the slowly ending battle behind, and joining the others in the Forest of Dean.

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(A/N: Well, that's finished. Man, I had a hard time writing that. Makes me want to cry too. Can't say I'm unhappy that it's done, though. I'm tired at staring at my computer screen. This took forever, since I had to quote the book and look at it every couple of seconds…Anyway, I should be updating fairly often, since school is starting up soon—three weeks, oh no!—and I want to get as much of this story done as I can. So I will be writing ahead and updating as much as possible. So don't despair! And please review! :-D)