Pain.

It may have been worse pain than Harry had ever felt before, but Harry knew pain. Before Callen and Hetty had come into his life, pain had been his constant companion for a long time.

He'd never let pain stop him before - he wasn't allowed to let pain stop him at the Dursleys', unless a bone was broken - and he wouldn't let pain stop him now.

With luck, Callen and the others had arrived, but he couldn't wait any longer and risk Voldemort killing him outright. He had to fight back, so he welcomed the pain of the Cruciatus curse, let it make his senses a little sharper, used it to forge his intent into three words he directed at the thing Voldemort had become.

"Langlock. Amputo. Diffindo."

The first spell stuck Voldemort's tongue to the roof of his mouth. The second removed Voldemort's fingers. The third -

Voldemort dodged so the Cutting Curse meant to cut him in half only took off his non-wand arm.

Voldemort's mouth worked, but thanks to Harry's spell, he could only make odd growling noises.

In the moments before the Death Eaters could rally, Harry aimed a second Cutting Curse at the ropes that bound him, and they fell free.

Harry was casting again even as he dodged away from the stone and cauldron. "Accio my wand and Voldemort's wand."

The two wands sailed into his hands, and in the same moment, a Death Eater's head exploded. Harry started, but relaxed as the realization hit him. Kensi. The team's here.

"Stand down by order of Her Majesty!" Callen's voice boomed across the graveyard without any spell to enhance it.

A hail of curses whizzing past Harry confirmed that the Death Eaters weren't about to stand down. Harry dodged behind the nearest gravestone, chain-casting Blasting Curses as he moved.

That was his last coherent memory, as a battle-cry sounded from somewhere off to his right and then a swarm of - goblins? Harry risked a second glance to confirm that yes, those were goblins in full battle gear, complete with deadly-looking swords - descended, and the magical fight quickly turned into a melee.

Behind the goblins, but only just, came Callen, Sam, and Deeks, all in tac vests with weapons and in Sam's case, wand, at the ready.

Callen made it to a spot beside Harry, enlarging the headstone where Harry hid. "You okay?"

Callen's presence gave Harry hope, but he knew better than to let his guard down until the fight was over. "Cruciatus Curse."

Callen's expression turned stony as he relayed that information to his team and stood to return fire.

Harry took a moment to snap Voldemort's wand before he, too, struggled to his feet and started casting - finger amputations and sticking tongues to roofs of mouths, every spell intended to disable his opponents so they could be captured, questioned, and tried for their crimes.

The Death Eaters, however, were casting to kill - whether with the Killing Curse or well-aimed Cutting Curses. Callen, his team, and the goblins shot, cast, and struck back in kind, though without the use of any of the Unforgiveables.

Then again, Harry mused as a Death Eater's body jerked with impact, a sniper's bullet was just as effective as the Killing Curse.

He lost track of the fight after that, focusing on protecting the man who had become his father as much as he did on protecting himself.

Finally, he heard the shouts.

"Clear!" from Sam.

"Clear," Deeks agreed.

The goblins didn't respond verbally, but the clang of pommels on shields was answer enough.

"Clear," Callen said finally, and started giving orders about securing the Death Eaters who were still alive and making sure to unmask all of them where the drone camera could record their faces. With Callen in charge, Harry allowed himself to relax, to give himself over to the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

He sank more than collapsed to the ground, but it was a near thing, and he leaned against the headstone, his muscles micro-spasming from the curse and his entire body shaking from shock and the injuries he'd taken during the fight.

The only treatment for the Cruciatus was time and rest. The fight was over. He could rest now. Harry's eyes drifted closed - but only for a few heartbeats.

"Harry." Callen's voice sounded far away and easy to ignore, so Harry did.

"Harry." The voice came more firmly this time and was accompanied by a gentle shake to his shoulder.

"Don' wanna," Harry mumbled, his eyes still closed.

"You have to, Harry," Callen said. "I wish you didn't, but you have to."

"Haveta what?"

"Finish it."

Callen's tone as much as his words caught Harry's attention and pulled his focus back to the world around him. He took a few breaths, more for the emotional comfort they provided than for any physical benefit, and forced his eyes open. Callen squatted before him, one hand still on Harry's shoulder, his expression grave.

"F-f inish what?" Harry asked.

"Voldemort," Callen said succinctly. "The prophecy."

"You d-don't b-believe in p-p-prophecy," Harry said.

"No," Callen agreed, "but others do. You're finishing this for them, not me."

They don't matter.

"Yes, they do," Callen said, informing Harry that he'd said that aloud. "Not to you or me or Nell or Hetty personally, but to the rest of the world. The rest of the world has to know that Voldemort's dead by your hand, or else sympathizers will be trying to bring him back, and nobody needs that kind of chaos."

Even with the Cruciatus making his thoughts spasm as much as his body, Harry knew Callen was right. He tried to stand, willing his twitching muscles to move, and finally pulling himself up using the headstone and Callen's outstretched hand for leverage.

With Callen's assistance, Harry stumbled the few yards to where Voldemort lay, his mouth working though all Harry could make out were incoherent shouts. Apparently, none of Voldemort's followers had hit him with a counter-spell or an Ending Charm.

He needs better minions.

"He needs better a lot of things," Callen said, confirming that Harry had once again spoken aloud without realizing it. "Starting with a soul."

Harry raised his wand - which, somehow, he still held - to finish the fight, forever, only to see that his hand shook so much he couldn't hold the wand steady. He frowned and focused the same will that had allowed him to rally enough to cast without a wand … and his hand still shook.

Maybe the effects of the Cruciatus Curse built up? Or maybe he was still in the after-effects of and adrenaline high and crash? He tightened his grip on his wand, but it simply shook harder.

Callen's hand covered his own. "You can't use that in your condition."

Harry nodded - or maybe it was a spasm from the curse - and Callen gently removed his wand from his shaking hand. A moment later, Harry's wand was secure in its holster.

"B-b-but -" Harry began, stopping when Callen slipped something else into his hand.

Callen's SIG.

In the scheme of things, the SIG didn't weigh much, but it weighed more than Harry's wand, and was easier to hold onto. His hand still shook, but the barrel of the gun didn't waver even half as much as his wand had.

I can do this.

"I wish you didn't have to," Callen murmured.

Harry nodded - or thought he did - took a breath, let it out slowly, and pulled the trigger. Twice.