At seven in the morning, after a night of fitful half-sleep, Harry went to Dumbledore's office. Snape was clearly agitated, pacing, but Dumbledore was leaning against his desk, arms folded.

"Good morning."

"Morning. Everything okay?"

Snape clucked his tongue, expression remaining severe, as Dumbledore said, "Yes. Is everything regarding the D.A. in place?"

"Yep." Harry quickly ran through who was going where, when, and to destroy what. "We'll meet in the Hog's Head at eight."

"Great. Is there anything you need? Anything you want to know?"

"I've had a year to learn what I don't know." Even as he spoke, the air in the room seemed heavier than usual. "I doubt there's much left."

Dumbledore averted his eyes.

"What is it?" Harry glanced at Snape, whose eyes also snapped to the Headmaster.

"Harry," began Dumbledore, the name escaping him as a sigh, "there is something I have kept from you, something you must know before going into battle."

Harry had no idea what it could be; he had picked apart every aspect of reality, uncovered every secret worth knowing, forged a decisive path.

"I thought we weren't telling him—"

"It is not something I have shared with you yet, Severus. Please let me finish. I would have preferred to inform you before, but all of this happened quite suddenly. A large part of me would prefer not to tell you at all—to spare myself the pain, to spare you. Alas, I cannot."

"What is it?"

"You found all of the Horcruxes, except one."

Harry's heart plummeted. He could almost hear the next words, that the battle had to be postponed, that Voldemort would have enough time to figure out their plans. "Do you know where it is? How to destroy it?"

Dumbledore nodded, but this, apparently, was not a good thing.

"There is a reason Voldemort could send you the vision of Sirius, a reason you saw that Muggle murdered in your fourth year. It is why you can talk to snakes, why your scar hurts when you are near Voldemort or when he feels intense emotion.

"On the night Voldemort killed your parents, your mother protected you, sacrificing her own life to save yours. This directed the Killing Curse back at Voldemort, breaking a fragment of his soul apart. That fragment searched for a living soul to latch onto. It found you. Harry, you are the final Horcrux."

Harry's skin prickled with what felt akin to disgust, his insides writhing in protest. While he stayed completely silent, Severus let out a half-choked "No!"

Purely in response to Dumbledore's glassy eyes, which had just spilled over, tears began to run down Harry's face.

"As long as his Horcrux lives inside you, so does Voldemort live."

"So, you're saying I have to—have to die?"

Dumbledore didn't react immediately, but after a moment, he nodded.

"How long have you known?"

"After your first year, when your scar hurt—I had a strong suspicion."

"That long?" Severus let out a laugh that rattled Harry. "I thought—I thought we were protecting him. For his mother, for Lily."

Neither of them looked at Harry. "We protected him to be sure he could face the challenges he would encounter throughout his school years. He has proved essential to stopping Voldemort, as the prophecy predicted. This link between him and Voldemort has only grown stronger over the years, a sign of Voldemort's increasing strength. It is this link that must be destroyed to stop Voldemort."

"You—you kept him alive, just so he could die at the right moment?"

"You can hardly be shocked, Severus. There have been plenty of innocent lives taken at the expense of Voldemort, murders you have witnessed."

"And you? Potter's death is on your hands, not mine. You—you used me."

"How, may I ask?"

"I sacrificed my life, I spied for you and lied for you, to keep her son safe. Lily's son. And you tell me you have raised him like a pig for slaughter—"

"You care for the boy, then, Severus? In spite of everything?"

Snape shook his head, but it was in disbelief, not denial. "He is right there, Albus," he whispered.

"He will die, Severus. He deserves to know."

Snape looked at Harry, who felt a jolt course through him at his expression, one he had never seen before. "Of course I care for him. Of course I do." He ran a hand over his face and drew his wand. "Expecto Patronum!"

A silver doe burst from his wand and danced around the room. She sparkled through Harry's tears and bounded up to him, curious. He reached out to touch her, and his fingers felt warm where they passed through her ears.
"I wish it could have been different," said Dumbledore, and the doe vanished, "but it was necessary. After everything you have been through, it felt a betrayal either way, keeping it from you or telling you. There was a risk telling you would allow Voldemort to find out, however, I wished for you to not have your death hanging over your head."

"If I had known . . . I would've lived differently, I'd have . . ."

"Can you be sure? So you would not have dedicated your time to fighting Voldemort or spending it with friends, as you have these past several years?"

"I don't know. I have no idea." If he had known, everything would have seemed meaningless. Perhaps he would have feared the future.

"It was selfish of me to keep this from you. As much as I believed it to be for the best, I also did not want to confront the truth, let alone tell you myself. Similarly, you may or may not want your friends to know. I fear it may compromise the mission if they become too distraught or try to prevent your death."

Imagining Hermione and Ron's reactions to his death was too much to bear. He felt an odd distance from his fate but loathed the idea of his friends seeing his dead body. In Snape he saw the pain he imagined they would feel. "Thank you, for protecting me. And for helping the cause for so many years."

"Albus," said Snape, unable to look back at Harry, "if you had told me he would die—"

"You would have lived differently, too? You would have been less cruel to Harry and his classmates? You cannot blame me for that. If you wish to apologize, there is no better time than now. After, you and I must talk alone."

"Potter—Harry, I am sorry," said Severus, as Harry stood to leave. "I am." He held out his hand, and they shook on his apology, although it felt more like a goodbye.

Assuring them he could still make it to the Hog's Head, Harry stiffly walked down the stairs. He was so consumed by his thoughts that he hardly registered he was walking, and everything in his line of sight was as unreal as in one of Dudley's computer games.

It made sense to him, death. Living with the Dursleys before Hogwarts, there were long stretches of time he wished only to sleep, and only to wake up to spite his adoptive family. Now, he had Hermione and Ron—but they had each other, they could survive without him. Cedric and Sirius had died because of him, and it was only right that he would join them and his parents, and whoever else died in the final standoff.

He had been oblivious not to assume this was how it would end. What the prophecy had predicted was almost true: neither could live, and ultimately, neither could survive. Everything that had seemed like a gift was a curse; each day in the loop was a day closer to Harry's death rather than closer to the rest of his life. The loop had swallowed up a year, maybe more. What was the difference between life in suspended time and the afterlife, if he even believed in that sort of thing? Had he been in purgatory all along?

Malfoy was a tear in the dark fabric to which Harry would surrender himself. Once he was gone, Malfoy's future was uncertain: would he end up in Azkaban? Would he remain an entitled git?

Will he mourn me?

Trelawney's newest prediction rang in his mind: "The estranged will survive and reunite at the passage . . . The one who restored time will expire as the loved ones return." She had known he would die, but which loved ones were meant to return? The first half didn't make sense to him yet, either. At least the only death she explicitly mentioned was his own.

When he got reached the Hog's Head, Draco was waiting outside, fidgeting with his robes.

"Alright?"

"Yeah. Hey," said Draco, dropping the fabric in his hands, "what's happened?"

Harry was surprised to find his eyes were wet when he rubbed them. "It's nothing. You joining us, then? Let's go inside."

Draco stepped between him and the door. "If something's gone wrong, you have to tell me."

"You will be fine, Malfoy. Can you pretend I never—" He didn't have time for this. "Pretend I never fancied you. Pretend you never fancied me, if you'd ever even admit to that. It'll be easier." The frustration brought him out of his sorrow. "Let me through, for Merlin's sake!"

"I don't—you don't know what you're talking about."

If he decided to tell anyone, it had to be someone who wouldn't care enough to break. "Draco, I'm going to die."

"What?"

"In order for Voldemort to die, he has to kill me."

"But . . . why?"
"It's hard to explain. It's the only way the plan will work. This is just between me, Dumbledore, Snape, and now you, got it? I don't want anyone else to know, not even Ron and Hermione." He was tearing up again. "After it happens, tell them I was ready for it, and I loved them, okay? There wasn't time to write a note, and I'd rather not think about it . . ."

Draco grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him to the side of the building, out of sight. They stared at each other, though it was clear Draco had already decided what to do, cradling Harry's face as he leaned in to kiss him.

Harry tried to kiss Draco back, except his breathing was too unsteady, so he pulled away and just held him.

"C'mon, you were running late, weren't you?" said Draco, patting Harry's back, voice gentler than his awkward hand.

"Mhm." Harry blinked several times and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I'm sorry." Bracing himself to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Harry opened the door, and they both stepped through into the Hog's Head.

"What's he doing here?" said Ron, getting to his feet so fast he nearly knocked over his chair. Dean and Seamus stood, too, and Harry almost laughed. Would he have thought anything of the difference between the way the boys acted compared to the girls prior to living in the loop?

"Draco's going to go to the manor with you all. To help. So, please try to be civil."

"How can we trust him?" Unlike Ron, Ginny looked at Harry.

"You can't. But you can trust me. You'll see whatever he chooses to do once we're all there."

The next hour of conversation was made all the more uncomfortable with Draco knowing his fate; he tried to say everything he wanted to the others without giving anything away all while Draco stared at him.

"If something happens to me, I want you lot to finish what I started. I've left information with Aberforth that he will give to you or the D.A., depending on what is necessary."

Hermione mumbled something about the bathroom and left. Did they hear a suppressed sob or was it a sigh?

"I'm going to check on her," said Ron before leaving.

Harry glanced at the others, then at Draco, and said, "Can I have a word?" Once they were out of earshot, Harry asked him, "How are you holding up?"

"How can you ask me that when you're . . ."

"At least I know what's coming. Any uncertainty I had about the future . . . it's out of my hands, now." He checked his watch. "Ten minutes. I'll be back in a sec."

"Potter, you shouldn't have told me."

Harry paused. "That I'm going to die?"

"You're making it seem like I'm . . . special."

They looked at each other a final time. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself."

Draco nodded.

When Harry found Ron and Hermione outside of the bathrooms, they were locked in an embrace—not kissing, but grasping each other tightly. Harry cleared his throat, and they flinched, mostly separating.

"We were just—y'know, in case we don't make it . . ." Before Ron could finish, Harry wrapped his arms around them. There was no one or nothing more familiar in the world than his best friends, who possibly loved each other in a different way. He took in, for the very last time, the scent of Hermione's hair and the force of her hands on his back; the slight tack to Ron's heavily freckled skin from his nerves.

The three of them returned to the others, who were chatting idly. A couple people even laughed.

Harry handed the bottle of Felix Felicis to Hermione. "Before you go to the manor, I want you each to drink a few drops of this, enough to hopefully keep you safe."

At that moment, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn entered. "Good morning," said Professor Slughorn, with a nervous twinge that Flitwick responded to with a sigh.

Before Slughorn could manage an inspirational speech or make a comment about the best and brightest students, or perhaps chastise Harry for not utilizing the Slug Club, McGonagall cut in, eyes sharp with anticipation. "We received a message from the Order, they are headed to Hogsmeade as planned. Sprout and the other faculty are securing the grounds in case Hogwarts is targeted." She looked at the small group of students. "I suppose there is no point in convincing any of you to stay behind."

There was a crack behind Harry, and someone yanked his arm. The next thing he knew, he was shoved through the compressive tube of Apparation. He was too shocked to think beyond Malfoy Manor and the crumbling of their plan.

When they reached their destination, just as Harry glimpsed the manicured shrubbery in front of Malfoy Manor, he was knocked out by a close-range Stunning Spell.

Snape's voice brought him back to consciousness, seemingly a split second later, though it was impossible to tell. ". . . It will be a matter of hours before Dumbledore learns the Potter boy is gone. Or, you could lure him here."

Harry opened his eyes. Voldemort stood at the other end of a large ballroom, flanked by a dozen Death Eaters. Two cloaked figures lay on the marble floor where Nagini coiled and uncoiled, agitated.

Voice nearly a hiss, eyes slit with rage, Voldemort said, "Albus Dumbledore must die. Draco failed to complete his mission, so it is up to you, Severus. Deliver me his body."

"Yes, my lord."

"Narcissa!" Voldemort directed his attention to Draco's mother, who flinched at this address. "Give Potter your wand."

"My lord?"

"He cannot use his own when we duel. Give it over. Now!"

So this is how it happens.

Finally, Voldemort looked at Harry, and searing pain shot through him as the Horcrux came to life. "Stand up, boy."

Harry got to his feet, trading his wand for Narcissa's. Their eyes met only briefly, and he wondered if he could consider her sacrifices for Draco similar to his own mother's.

They both raised their wands, and before Harry could finish pronouncing the Disarming Charm, Voldemort's Killing Curse hit him in the chest.

Peace. That was the first disembodied thought that crossed his mind—but did he even have a mind? He must, if he was thinking. He was alone, and it was so quiet and solitary that he wished to have any of his senses back. He couldn't remember what it was like for there to be something until he became aware that he must be anchored to something, somewhere, and felt as though he were lying down.

Naked, was his next thought. Where are my clothes? Though this only would have concerned him if he believed there was someone else there, wherever there was. If he could feel naked, then surely he had—

Eyes. Upon opening them, he saw the shivering dark columns that composed his surroundings. The floor (was it a floor?) from which he now pushed himself up was black, flat, and stretched on for ages. A chalkboard on which to create a world.

There was a noise, a small writhing sound like a trapped animal trying to escape a box. Just as Harry wished he were wearing clothes, a folded bundle of robes appeared on the ground in front of him.

Slowly, the setting came into focus: he was in King's Cross. Or at least some spectral version of it. He followed the sound until he located it emanating from a bench. Somehow knowing no physical harm could come to him, he looked under and saw a baby so disfigured he remembered what nausea felt like.

Bloody, skin raw, the infant stretched its frail arms up, its face contorting with silent cries, expression moving with an unnerving clarity. He didn't want to help it. He knew he couldn't, regardless.

When he looked around, what he saw banished any thought of the pitiful creature under the bench.

Two figures emerged from the mist, one woman and one man.

"Mum? Dad?" Harry took a step forward, then another, then ran at full speed.

"Harry." His mother radiated an inhuman, all-encompassing warmth.

He nearly crashed into his father, laughing, nearly crying. How many times, as he looked at pictures of his mother and father, had he wished to hold them, to be held by them? "You look so young. I forgot how young you were, when . . . Is Sirius here, too?"

James' smile faltered. "No." He took a breath. "Harry, you're not dead."

"Oh. What? I'm dreaming, then? But the Killing Curse—"

Lily shook her head. "You are in between."

It took Harry several moments to wrap his head around this. "That thing under the bench—is that Voldemort?"

"I believe so. A piece of him. That part of yourself is gone now."

"We are so proud of you, Harry." Lily touched Harry's face. "Even if you had lost, we don't feel our deaths were in vain."

"You've seen me, then? You've been watching over me?"

"That's a difficult question to answer. It feels that way, but our awareness is different here."

"You know about the time loop, though?"

"Yes."

"And—about Draco?"

They both nodded, and Lily glanced at James. "We know about Draco. You care for him, and he cares for you. That is what matters most to us."

"Well, that's important," said James, "but it also matters that he's making an effort to be better. You shouldn't let him get away with mistreating you."

"Okay." Harry was unsure whether to laugh or cry. There were many times in his life where he longed for his parents' guidance, and now they were giving him advice about something so mundane. "And does it matter that he's a boy . . . ?"

Tears sparkled in Lily's eyes. "Of course it doesn't matter to us. Nothing you do could make us not love you, certainly not so trivial as that. We want you to be happy."

"If your friends give you a hard time at first, just hang in there, yeah?" James put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "If they're truly your friends, they will come around."

"So I can go back? To the manor, to the real world?"

Lily nodded. "If you so choose."

Harry didn't want to leave them, but he wanted to finish what he'd started. His life, that is.

"I never got the chance to say thank you. Li—Mum, your sacrifice protected me. And Dad, you gave up your life to keep me safe. Both of you, because of you—I have this life that makes me happy."

Lily's eyes sparkled. "There was nothing else for us to do, Harry. You're our son, and we cherished the time we had with you."

"We'd do anything for you, love," said James, "and if you have children, you'll find you would do the same for them."

Harry had so much to ask, and not enough time. "Mum, what would you say to Snape, if you could?"

"I might be inclined to chastise him for his cruelty. But I would thank him for protecting you, for his love, for our years of friendship. He may not have become the man I had hoped, but he has paid his dues."

"I think so, too. Only . . . what if he never forgets you?"

"Then I would pity him. You can mourn the dead, but do not pity us, for your pity does nothing. Pity those who live without love."

Harry scrambled to think of more questions, more uncertainties, more advice he needed.

"Remus and Molly can guide you, Harry. They have lived much longer than we have, and they both love you. And if anything happens to them, there are others you can trust to be there for you."

Harry saw the signs of resignation in their features. "I have to go back, haven't I?"

"You get to decide."

"I want to finish this. You'll be there with me?"

"Of course."

Harry looked at each of them again. Maybe they weren't real, but they felt real. What the Mirror of Erised had shown him had not—could not—come true. The feeling of happiness was more complicated than he had experienced when looking at his parents in his first year at Hogwarts. Was it possible to feel discontent and acceptance at once?

Their retreating figures disappeared back into the mist, and he was left alone . . .

Sounds of battle jolted Harry awake. He was aware of the grip on his shoulder and panicked—he had surely given away that he was alive—but it was Snape he sat in front of, not Voldemort.

"You survived." The weak relief in Snape's voice took Harry by surprise, as did the sudden embrace. "The battle just begun. Nagini is dead, the other Horcruxes have been destroyed. We must locate the cup before the Dark Lord finds us."

Dumbledore stood across the room, tracing the spines of the books on the large, looming bookshelf.

"Ah, I believe I found it. Your Parseltongue is required, Harry. And wear your cloak." He gave no sign of surprise that Harry had survived the Killing Curse for a second time.

Quickly pulling on his cloak, Harry crossed to Dumbledore, whose finger rested on the gold-embossed snake on the spine of one volume.

"Open," said Harry.

Dumbledore looked down at him. "You said that in English. Without Voldemort's soul, you no longer have the ability to speak in Parseltongue without concentrating."

"Right." Harry breathed in, then repeated the soft, hissing phrase he had first used in his second year. The snake flashed green and a portion of the bookcase shifted back, then up, revealing a glass case that contained Helga Hufflepuff's Cup.

"Allow me," said Dumbledore, then in a single motion, pulled the tiny gold knob on the outside of the case and reached inside to pick up the cup.

"Quickly, we will Apparate to the forest nearby to destroy it."

Dumbledore took Harry's arm, then Apparated to the woods just outside the manor.

The sun had set, leaving the sky a vibrant blue, which covered the manor grounds in a surreal glow.

Dumbledore set the cup on a slated rock on the ground, then produced—seemingly out of air—Godric Gryffindor's sword. "Use this."

Harry gripped the hilt, adrenaline steadying him.

"Now," said Dumbledore.

As Harry swung down, he realized he couldn't feel the protests of the cup in his head. The sword pierced the cup, and out from it burst a dark mass, which screamed before exploding in a spinning rush of smoke.

The brief moment of triumph ended abruptly; Dumbledore fell to his knees, pressing his damaged hand to his chest. Or rather, the end of his sleeve pressed to his chest—his hand was gone, and when he looked up, the burnt skin had crept up his neck.

"No . . ." Harry went to him and helped him to his feet, though his own legs felt weak. "Are you okay? Will you be able to go back?"

"I am nearing the end. But I must return. Severus . . . he must be the one to do it . . . Harry, put your cloak back on." He offered his arm, and they left the shell of a Horcrux behind.

Back in the manor, a firestorm had begun to swirl around Voldemort, forcing everyone back. Harry turned to see members of the D.A. Apparate into the foyer just as members of the Ministry appeared. Voldemort and his followers were outnumbered two to one.

It was too loud to hear, but Tonks ran up to the group and explained something to them, gesturing to the other room. Hermione covered her mouth with her hand and bent over; Ron's face went deathly pale. Kingsley Shacklebolt charged past, with Bill and Molly Weasley close behind. Draco looked like he wanted to run.

With a great wave of his wand, Dumbledore extinguished the fire surrounding Voldemort, filling the room with smoke.

Bellatrix reached to help Voldemort stand, but he shoved her away. Before he could steady himself for another attack, however, Snape touched his wand to Dumbledore's chest, and after saying something unintelligible, a flash of green light sparked between them, and Dumbledore collapsed, dead, into his arms. A flurry of cries rose from the room, and all the spells they aimed at Snape collided in the air. He had Disapparated with Dumbledore's dead body.

Harry felt as though the curse had cut through his own body. Voldemort cackled with triumph, turning to look around the room. "It's over. And you all are trapped . . ."

"ENOUGH!" Harry took off his cloak and pushed to the front of the crowd.

Sounds of relief and anguish were pierced by Voldemort's enraged cry, which sent those closest to him flying.

Shouts of "NO, HARRY!" and "DON'T DO IT!" rung in Harry's ears, but he ignored them and raised his wand.

"There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives . . ." Harry reveled in this, a calm resulting from the assurance that the end was near.

"And you think you will survive, then? You no longer have Albus Dumbledore to protect you."

"It doesn't matter. Even if I die—someone else will kill you. Anyone could kill you."

"But for whatever reason, it was meant to be you. You—the weak little boy who survived by accident, who can count his successes solely because of aid from others!"

"Was it an accident when my mother died to save me? An accident that the prophecy knew I would be able to defeat you?"

Voldemort's thin mouth curled into a smile. "Your naiveté amuses me, Potter. You think you have defeated me, but you merely made it easier for me to defeat you . . ."

"I'm glad you can have a last laugh. Because you have no idea that I've been planning this for ages. Draco Malfoy helped me, after everything you did to force him to fight your battle, to make his father pay." On an impulse, he added, "His mother helped, too."

"The Malfoys are a weak, pitiful family, and they will face consequences for their betrayal! Please continue, tell me everyone who turned against me; I will have to weed the garden before creating my new world order. With Albus Dumbledore now dead, it will be easy."

Harry grit his teeth. "Dumbledore was going to die because of Gaunt's ring and Hufflepuff's cup. He asked Snape to kill him. You trusted Snape, but he was loyal to Dumbledore ever since that night you killed my parents. He loved my mother, so he vowed to protect me."

Voldemort's eyes flared with anger. "It matters not. Dumbledore can no longer protect the wizarding world, and Snape fled before I could learn of his deception. There are still Death Eaters who are loyal to me. First, we will take the Ministry, and then more will join our ranks."

"Loyalty based on fear is not the same as loyalty based on love."

"Love? Again?" Voldemort's mouth twisted even more. "Ah, Dumbledore's favorite cure: love, the force above magic, the thing that has been the downfall of weaker witches and wizards for centuries. Love is a distraction, it is weakness—"

From somewhere in the crowd, a green jet of light hit Voldemort square in the chest. He toppled over, reduced to a mere husk.

A frenzy broke out as the crowd turned to see who cast the spell—but despite their curiosity, a ripple of joy overwhelmed any confusion, and the group, renewed, tried to capture panicked Death Eaters before they Disapparated. As the chaos lessened, save random shouts throughout the nearby rooms, people rushed to praise Harry. He withstood their words in dull shock, euphoria and loss hitting him in waves.

"Harry!"

He turned around, and seeing Ron and Hermione's teary-eyed faces forced him to process everything that happened. "It's over." The three of them embraced, half-laughing, half-crying.

"You were bloody brilliant," said Ron, voice cracking along with his smile.

"So you destroyed the Horcruxes, without any problems?"

"Er, I think all of us had a bit of a close call. Really, we were lucky for the Felix Felicis. Is it true you died?"

"I'll explain everything later. Who do you think killed Voldemort, though?"

"I dunno." Ron scratched his head; somehow, he looked more disheveled than either of them. "You don't suppose it was one of his own, do you?"

"Maybe. Speaking of, have you seen Malfoy?"

"I thought I saw him with his mother. Some of the Order were helping them repair damage and get people to St. Mungo's. We didn't really need his help, I imagined to pawn him off on Ginny."

At the mention of St. Mungo's, Harry's euphoria broke. "Has anyone died?"

Hermione touched his arm. "Mad-Eye Moody. Two Death Eaters, one person from the Ministry, I don't know their names. There weren't many people to begin with, though. Look, Harry, far more people could have died. You saved countless lives."

"Yeah, mate, there's no reason to feel guilty."

Harry knew if one of Ron's family members had died, he wouldn't have said that so easily. Rather than start an argument, he said, "I'm going to see if the Order could use any help."

"Alright. Meet us back in a half hour," said Ron, "and we'll Apparating back to the Burrow."

The Burrow. That was what Harry wanted most now, to feel as though he had a family to come back to, a place where he could feel normal and loved.

Before he found the Order, he spotted Draco, who stood in the corner of the ballroom, watching as Narcissa engaged in a tense conversation across the room with a few people from the Ministry. Catching Harry's eye, he approached in quick strides, stitched brows relaxing as he approached.

Draco grinned as he reached Harry. "You're alive."

"And you're free." Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, his vice-like grip acknowledged by a weak pat on the back.

When Harry released his hold, Draco clutched his sides, moaning. "For Merlin's sake, Potter, you nearly succeeded where the Dark Lord failed." He was trying to hide his giddiness but it snuck out in the rush of his words. "Someone so small shouldn't wield that much power."

"Small? You've barely got two inches on me. Anyhow, you could at least thank me."

"Right. I would say we're even, seeing as you didn't kill the Dark Lord yourself, I risked my life to help you . . . Speaking of, that was quite—er, what you said back there—and my mother—"

"Harry!"

Draco glanced at someone behind Harry; after spotting the source of the voice, he walked away with a sort of grimace, passing a very tearful Molly as he went.