Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter belongs to our queen, JK Rowling!

Otherwise, this story is a work of fiction, and any non-HP original characters, their names and adventures are purely a product of my imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and fictitious. This story does not take place in our Muggle world as we know it, but in a world entirely its own.

Chapter Twenty-Six:

The Right Thing

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He felt pain.

It started in his head and spread out, burning through his whole body. His brain was collapsing in on itself. Painfully, agonizingly, collapsing. He couldn't see. His very mind was screaming. He only realized that his hands were pressing his glasses against his eyeballs – pressing so tightly, as if the pain of shoving his eyeballs back through his skull would be a welcome distraction – when she pulled them away. Her face was a blur. A light. One warm speck in a world of infinite darkness. He saw her lips moving, forming words. But he couldn't hear. His ears were not working. He could make out nothing but a dissonance of unidentified noise.

She was whisked suddenly away, her face vanishing from his line of sight – one moment there, the next just gone. His lips half-formed the motions of her name.

The power within Ella is your strength. His head throbbed. The errant thought vanished. For a moment he didn't know where he was. When he was. He almost didn't know who he was.

He was hoisted up roughly by two sets of hands. His body screamed silently in protest. One will break. One will fall. His head felt like it was breaking.

Equal footing.

"…the circle. It's time..."

The voice cut into his mind like a drill, fragmenting the senselessness. His eyes refocused somewhat. He saw Death Eaters everywhere he looked. They were surrounded. He was pushed roughly forward. He stumbled. He saw Ella, hanging limply from the arms of a tall, hooded man. Fear struck him.

"Almost time now, Harry." The familiar voice in his ear let him know that she was one of the two who were forcing him forward. Arabella. His neighbor who was not his neighbor. Who was an Auror. Who was a Death Eater. He felt the rage of betrayal well up within him.

The passageway sharpened further still. He could see each individual stone upon the floor, the edges cracked and weathered. Salazar Slytherin built Shadow Hogwarts to be his refuge. Stone by stone. To start anew. To destroy Gryffindor. To take what was not his. And Voldemort has remembered. Voldemort has persevered. He couldn't make sense of the thoughts.

They had arrived at a set of double doors, intricately carved with delicate patterns. He saw the curved outline of a snake. Its eyes glistened in the torchlight.

The doors opened.

Cold. Bone-numbing, glacial, unbearable cold. It washed over him – seeped into his very bones. Awoke his mind.

He looked around frantically to see the courtyard of his nightmares, and his heart jumped into his throat. Despite all their plans and disguises and the battles – which seemed pitiably trivial now – that they had won, he found himself, after all, at Voldemort's mercy. And there was no Dumbledore to save him now. No Portkey to escape with. No Time-Turner to try again. He had failed to save his friends; had led still more friends into danger. Would be he responsible, again, for the death of someone he loved?

He saw Voldemort then.

His tall, thin, terrifying form stepped toward Harry from the other side of the courtyard, and his head exploded with pain again. But it was a different pain – a familiar pain. A scar-shaped pain. And he pushed it aside as he looked within himself for courage. For Ella. For Ron and Hermione and Robert. For Daniyel. He would not give up. He would fight to the end, until every last hope was extinguished – until there was no way forward. He glanced around the courtyard again and saw Ella, restrained but alert now, her dark eyes holding his briefly. He saw Ron, scowling as he was held back, a wand at this throat. But he didn't see Hermione. He didn't see Robert. He didn't see Daniyel. He had not used up all his cards then. Not yet. There was still a chance.

"Harry," Voldemort said, his voice a familiar hiss, "I hear you have been busy. Escaping from your cell. Attacking four of my own with your… band of followers. I am almost impressed, Harry. But I should expect no less of you, after all. The last Heir of Gryffindor… how sweet it is." He stepped closer, until he was mere feet away. The pain in Harry's forehead doubled. "No more waiting. It is finally time."

He turned away from Harry, addressed the courtyard at large. "Our first attempt was not successful, my friends. We were hasty. We did not wait – I am told – for the proper alignment. But it is no matter now. Harry Potter will be dead by morning." He turned back to Harry, stepped closer to him – until the red slits of his eyes made up most of Harry's field of vision. Harry struggled not to flinch. "Either. Way," Voldemort hissed, directing the threat to Arabella, who stood behind Harry's shoulder, still gripping his arm roughly.

"Of course," she said reverently. Her voice was cool. Calm. "It will work, My Lord. I swear it."

"Good," Voldemort breathed. He turned away from her. Stepped towards the edge of the circle. "Bring him to the altar."

Harry stumbled as Arabella and the other Death Eater holding him pushed him roughly forward. His mind whirled furiously as they approached the edge of the circle. He was running out of options. What could he do? Could he… His mind suddenly froze. In their wavering walk forward – in which the Death Eaters were pushing him, and he was doing his best to stumble, to slow them down – Arabella had shoved at him roughly and he felt it, fleetingly but unmistakably, in the pocket of his robes. Somehow, incredibly, inexplicably, he still had his wand. Had he shoved it there before he had fallen? They must not have searched him properly.

Just then, as he was weaving half-formed plans in his mind, the Death Eaters thrust him forward once more, and one of his feet touched the groove of the circle carved into the stones. There was an immediate pulse of power that started at his feet and shot upwards, originating from the carving in the stone. He felt it wash over him, and then, almost at once, awareness flared up within him. So clear. So simple. He understood.

If the end – the Union – came tonight, he would not simply stand aside to be the sacrifice. Equal footing. He needed to… He was reeling in his newfound revelation, and he almost didn't see as Ella fixed her eyes, which blazed with anger – or was it magic, was it her strength? – in his direction and screamed "Incendio!" and not so much a jet as a surge of fire burst forth, burning the arms of the man who held her back, and crashing into the Death Eaters who held on to Harry from behind with the fury of a storm. He wrenched free from their grasp as they screamed in surprised agony, plunged his hand into his robes, grabbed his wand, and screamed, "Expulso!"

They were both thrown back, along with the flames, towards the swarm of Death Eaters outside the circle. Ron, taking advantage of the confusion, shoved back hard with his head and ripped the wand out of the hand of the man holding him in one smooth motion. The hooded man staggered back, shocked, and Ron hit him in the chest with a well-aimed Stunner, then whirled to join the battle.

At the same time, another Death Eater raised his wand and shot a jet of red light – not at Harry, or Ella, or Ron, but at Voldemort himself, whose snake-like face was twisting in fury

"NO!" Voldemort screamed, deflecting the spell with ease. "You will not do this, Potter! No!"

He threw himself into the fray, his wand raised, ignoring the rogue Death Eater altogether, and before Harry could defend himself, could even raise his wand, Voldemort had hit him with a force of fury that knocked him down – that took the breath out of him, and forced him deeper towards the center of the circle. He scrambled back, panting.

"I have waited too long!" Voldemort hissed, advancing on Harry.

Behind him, Harry could see more spells still, crisscrossing across the night sky as the fire burned. The scene was oddly reminiscent of a battle long ago. He saw Ron, dueling with a cloaked and hooded figure, jumping aside to avoid spell after spell. He saw Ella, her eyes still blazing in fury and determination, magic bursting wildly out of her hand. And then there was Hermione (where had she come from?) twirling this way and that, shooting spells into the crowd, pausing only to shout his name in encouragement. And Robert – he saw the blue glow of his sword first as he swung it, too quickly to follow – slashing here and there, keeping hooded figures at bay, spells inconceivably bouncing off it. They weren't giving up, his friends. They would fight to the end. Against all odds. And so would he, he knew. So would he.

He gathered his courage and turned to face Voldemort. Turned to face the man who he had been running from – and to – his whole life.

"You can't kill me, can you?" Harry spat, raising his wand. "You need me alive, don't you? For your Union? Stupefy!"

"Don't be foolish, Potter," Voldemort hissed, knocking Harry's spell easily aside and forcing him back several feet towards the center of the circle with his wand. "You think you can defy me? I will finish you regardless." He took one more step and deliberately crossed the line separating the stones. The outline of the circle glowed to life.

"GLACIES!"

Harry heard Daniyel's shout and, as he instinctively took his eyes off Voldemort's advancing form, he saw the ice coming for them in a fury of wind and sleet and snow. He raised his wand abruptly and screamed "Protego!" as he watched the ice storm devour everything in its path with a furious savagery – Death Eaters and the remnants of Ella's Fire-Making Spell alike falling before it. When it hit the outer perimeter of the circle, however, there was a tremendous BANG, as if it had hit something solid, and then it burst outward, rebounding off the edge. The perimeter of the circle flashed with blue and white light, and ice burst into being around it, forming a tall, glacial wall, separating them from the Death Eaters and his friends outside.

Voldemort laughed softly. Then he aimed his wand at Harry once more. "Crucio."

The force of the Cruciatus Curse shattered his Shield Charm and hit him like a thousand stabbing knives. He screamed in agony, his mind flooding once more with memories of the graveyard, of Cedric – until it was not just his body but also his mind that was screaming in torment. When it lifted, he staggered to the side, his whole body shaking. He weakly raised his wand, focused on Voldemort, and conjured several arrows into being, shooting them in Voldemort's direction with a shaky breath. Voldemort cast them easily aside.

"Pathetic," he said, his tone amused. "This is child's play, Harry. You think your schoolbook hexes and conjurations will work against me? Me? Who has studied Dark Magic more powerful than you could ever imagine?" He laughed again. His laugh was cruel. And cold. "Your friends are putting up quite the resistance, Harry. I'm not sure how you're all doing it, but rest assured, I will find out, after I deal with you. They've even been kind enough to give us the time needed for our little Union – without distractions. I thank them."

Harry stumbled back, panting. The circle around them had begun to glow. He aimed his wand at Voldemort again with a shaky hand and cried, "Confringo!" The stones at Voldemort's feet exploded and he moved effortlessly aside. Chunks of stone pelted him, but he seemed not to notice.

"Enough!" Voldemort hissed. "I am done playing games, Harry. Get on the altar." As he spoke, he pushed Harry back with the force of his magic, and Harry struggled uselessly against it as it forced him toward the platform. Voldemort slashed his wand violently through the air, slicing across Harry's arms and chest until he nearly screamed again, and blood trailed down his robes. He staggered back further, his back pressing up against the platform, his blood smearing the ground.

He strained against the spell with all his being. He would not give Voldemort the satisfaction of killing him so easily. He focused on Voldemort, tried not to think of Ella, Ron, Hermione, Robert, or Daniyel – doing their best outside the circle – hopefully still alive. He lunged sideways, rolled away from the platform. His body was screaming in agony. Voldemort would not go in for the final shot, he knew, not yet. He had planned too long, wanted this too much. Simply killing Harry would not offer the same satisfaction.

"Oppugno!" he gasped, shoving his wand at the broken chunks of stone scattered across the ground. They flew at Voldemort with the force of bullets, and he hissed in rage.

"ENOUGH!"

With one sharp jab of his wand, Voldemort hoisted Harry abruptly into the air and brought him down, hard, against the stone platform table. Harry gasped, the breath knocked out of him. His head banged into the stone with a resounding crack. His vision momentarily darkened. He lay there, panting, his eyes glazed, pain beating down on him. It took him several moments to realize that Voldemort was speaking.

"…let the battle of the serpent and the lion end this night!"

His eyes refocused to see bursts of red and green light crashing together above his head. It was as if Slytherin and Gryffindor themselves had risen, to fight it out once more – centuries later. And perhaps they had. He felt a tremendous pressure bearing down on him. A gale had whipped up around them. Voldemort was laughing.

He fought against it, the pressure holding him to the table. He realized that it was impossible to not be afraid. That it was acting despite your fear, doing the right thing anyway, no matter how hard – how impossible it was, that made you brave. How many other children would grow up without parents, if he didn't fight this, right here, right now? He shifted slightly on the table, just a little bit closer to the edge. The pain was getting stronger. His scar was on fire. Voldemort's laughter filled his ears.

"You are not the only one," Harry hissed through gritted teeth, "who took something from me. I have something… of yours… too." He focused on moving – focused the entirety of his will on it. The pressure diminished slightly. He shifted more. His arm slid off the table. He turned his head, until he could see Voldemort in his line of sight.

And behind Voldemort, he saw a figure appear, blurry at first but growing more substantial all the while. The figure walked through the wall of ice enclosing the circle as if it weren't there, and then through the intangible barrier of light that surrounded them – passing through it all as if it were an illusion. And hell, maybe it was. He smiled weakly. For a second, he wasn't sure if it was Daniyel, or simply a manifestation of his own will; which had concluded that he could not possibly do this alone.

But then Daniyel, who was covered in blood and bruises and was inarguably solid, raised his wand and aimed it at Voldemort and yelled "Glacies!" once more, and Voldemort, wholly unprepared, screamed as several thick shards of ice stabbed through his torso from behind. It was a horrible yell; long, and drawn-out, and screaming of unimaginable torment. Dark black blood burst from his robes in a torrent, and he collapsed to his knees, momentarily stunned. With a final effort of will, Harry rolled off the table and landed on the ground, staggering back to his feet quickly. Adrenaline pumped through him as he stared between Daniyel, who looked horrified at what he had done, and Voldemort, whose face was twisted in pain and rage, but who would recoup in moments, if he didn't do something, if he didn't finish this.

"Get him – get him on the table!" Harry gasped at Daniyel, who nodded, his face set and pale, and brought forth another ice storm, which lifted Voldemort off the ground and flung him unceremoniously onto the platform, where the magic of the Union bore down upon him immediately and held him in place, as it had just held Harry.

The glowing lights around the circle were flashing more feverishly now, the red and green energies constantly colliding, exploding in bursts. The wind blew harder, faster. It flapped their robes about unceasingly, and staying on their feet was a battle.

"What do you think you're doing?" Voldemort hissed, and Harry could see him fighting against the pressure that held him down. "The Union will not work for you. Fool! It is too late."

"Yes," Harry said softly, "it is. You're wrong… Tom. You don't understand. You've never understood. Are you really… that arrogant?"

He stepped back, until he stood at Daniyel's side. Voldemort glared at them both, his snake-like eyes uncomprehending. Furious.

"You took my blood," Harry said. "You thought that was all you needed? To call forth the Union? To fulfill the prophecy? But you gave me something too, don't you remember? The night you first tried to kill me. When your curse backfired, and you broke. You put something of yourself in me then. And now that's enough. 'Equal footing, both with chance to draw favor. The circle, untethered, will choose which will waver.' You didn't see that part, did you? It can go both ways, Tom. It doesn't say it will be me, who dies upon the stone table."

Voldemort glared at him with such fury that had Harry been in any other mindset, he would have quailed in fear just from the gaze alone. But he was tired. He was broken. He was shattered, and afraid, and filled with remorse at what he knew must be done, but he also accepted that sometimes the hard thing was the right thing – sometimes the only thing to do, and that there was no one else to do it. And he wanted it to be over, not just for himself, but for his friends, and everyone he loved, and even for everyone he didn't love, or didn't know, and for all the children he hoped would never grow up without parents again – and if he could somehow protect that, he would. So he didn't step away.

"If the Union does not kill you, Potter," Voldemort spat, pointing his wand at Harry from where he lay on the platform, "then I will do it myself! Avada Kedavra!"

"Protego!" Harry shouted, falling back onto the spell that had somehow saved him before – even if something else had been in play to make it effective.

"Glacies!" Daniyel cried out at the same time, unable to stand back and let Harry face this alone, their voices joining together, their spells forming a harmony.

Harry's shield burst into being around them, and Daniyel's ice fused with it, expanded it, until it formed a solid icy wall, moments before Voldemort's Killing Curse crashed into it. The spell rebounded, unable to break through the icy shield, and shot up into the sky, where it collided with the flashing greens and reds of the Union. They watched, momentarily frozen, as the lights merged, swelling until a single multi-colored glowing sphere formed out of the dissenting energies.

And then that multi-colored sphere abruptly tore at the stone table, and engulfed it in a flash of blinding light.

When it faded, Voldemort lay still upon the stone, his body pale and withered, and unmistakably – finally – dead.

A/N: Well, there we are... I can't quite believe it, but the Battle of Shadow Hogwarts is finally drawing to a close, and this TP journey is nearing an end as well... which makes me really sad, I must say, but we still have seven chapters to go, which should answer the questions you guys probably have, so don't run off just yet!

I just want to take a second to thank you all again! TP has finally passed the 50 follower mark... Wow, that's so exciting! I couldn't get a single person to read this thing when I was actually writing it, and now there are over 50 people who are reading it, that's pretty fucking amazing. Thank you, guys! I really can't even say what that means to me.

Anyway, not to get sappy, so here is my latest fanfic rec! A Second Chance For Happiness by original-star-girl-78. Ok, so this is, of all things, a Snape/Ginny story set 10 years after the war, which is - I think - a slightly odd pairing that would generally make me raise my eyebrows a bit, BUT it is so well done and has such a strong plot, that I binge read almost the entire thing in 2 days. Really good story! I do love when a writer is so good, that they can make me enjoy something I wouldn't normally like. So that said, check it out, and have a good weekend!

Rina