The wards around Hogwarts were broken and she easily apparated to the familiar courtyard. Word had just reached her of the battle, and she could see it was ending. A few Death Eaters still fought, but most had fled or given up.

She wound her way through the debris, past bodies and blood and small fires, until she reached what she had come to see.

There, lying outside the ruins of the castle he'd once called home, was Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. His body had crumbled there from his rebounded killing curse and there was nothing but his distorted appearance to say he was anything other than an ordinary man who had died by ordinary means. She stared down at him until Aurors came to collect the body.

"Can I help you?" came a cultured voice as she watched two men cart the body of her longtime tormentor away. The accent was familiar, one that warmed her heart.

Elena spun about, smiling as she met the eyes of a woman around her age, perhaps a touch older. "Minerva McGonagall. It's a pleasure to meet you at last; Albus talked about you a great deal. He was proud of you."

The woman frowned, an expression fitting to her sternly beautiful face. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

"Elena Mullens," she said, extending a hand. "I came as soon as I heard of the battle. Alas, too late to help."

"Elena Mullens?" Minerva repeated. "My dear girl." Instead of a handshake, Elena found herself embraced by the foreboding woman. "You are welcome at Hogwarts any time. Albus told me much about you; I hope you will forgive the more personal details he shared, but he was heartbroken by what happened to you. Please, consider me a friend."

"I would count it an honor, thank you." She studied the other woman as they parted. "He trusted you, so I will trust you as well. Is Severus—"

"Dead, I'm afraid." Sorrow and regret flickered across Minerva's face. "And I just learned of his true loyalties."

Elena nodded. "He endured much."

"Though I loved Albus dearly, I'm afraid he often asked too much of those too young to have truly lived."

"Perhaps now that won't happen, and those who are left can rebuild." She surveyed the battlefield as the bodies were slowly carted away and the fires extinguished.

"Do you think that's possible? To go through so much and still be able to live in peace?" Doubt weighed heavily in that Scottish brogue.

Elena smiled over her shoulder, joy shining through the tears in her eyes. "I know it.

When she returned home, Donal was there. He was there as long as she'd allow it. Sometimes when she bade him good evening, he sat on her porch and passed the night there rather than leave her.

He stood, wringing his hands as she stepped lightly across the little path toward her cottage. There was a question on his face.

"It's over," she breathed as she laid her head against his chest.

Relief flooded him and he lifted her off the ground, spinning her in a circle with the enthusiasm of a much younger man.

"Put me down, you oaf!" she laughed, hitting his chest gently. When he had, she tipped her head and chewed her lip.

"What?" he asked, knowing that habit much too well.

"I think there is something…" He opened his mouth to ask again, but she laid a finger against his lips to silence him. "I know most of our lives have already passed. We're growing older. Your great-grandchildren will be having their own children before we know it. But I was wondering if, perhaps, you'd marry me?"

Donal threw back his head and laughed, tears spilling over his cheeks. "Elena, there is nothing more I would like in all the world than to marry you and spend the rest of my life by your side."

"Good. I already asked Minerva to do the honors herself."

"Minerva?" he said.

"Minerva McGonagall, the headmistress of Hogwarts," she responded matter-of-factly. She smiled shyly at the man who'd agreed to marry her. "She'll be coming tomorrow evening to perform the ceremony. I hope you don't mind that I took it upon myself to plan before knowing your answer."

"As far as I'm concerned, you can plan the rest of our lives to your heart's content, love. All that matters is that I'm with you."

She took his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles. "And I, you."

And though Elena was seventy-two when she wed him, and he was another decade older, they spent the next seventy-three years together and often told others, when asked how they managed, that they poured a lifetime of love into each day.

Notes:

I just want to thank you all again for reading along with me. And apologize for the previous weird formatting.

I wasn't sure how this would be received or whether anyone would care to read my take on the possible past of Tom Riddle.

I hope you all enjoyed the end. I researched quite a bit for this fic, to include wizarding lifespans. Apparently 150 isn't unusual, with up to 200 sometimes being possible for a very well-maintained individual (Dumbledore was 115 when he died and still had decades left had he not been cursed). Elena spent just over half her life with Donal. It may seem so little to wizards, but to use mere muggles, it's magic.

I hadn't intended her to ever marry. She was going to happily live alone and independent. However, when a (relatively) young widower and his three children appeared, he wormed his way in. He is, contrary to the worries of some, exactly the gentle, loving, patient soul he seems. I think he appeared because there is good in the world, and there are people who only want to give us love. And that's what Harry Potter is all about: love.

So in spite of everything, Elena's life was happy. It wasn't a story of abuse suffered; it was a story of coaxing love out of the shadows and basking in it instead of in darkness.

With that, I'm going on vacation (my second ever with my husband!) and my updates on To the Victors may slow down. I'm bringing my computer and I think my muse has just recovered from sprinting through this story, so it may not as well. We'll see.

Thanks again, lovely people.