A/N: Please welcome our special guest narrator: Harry Bleedin' Pottah!

Nope, not sorry.

Enjoy,

Vine

People like to describe anger with hot words. "She was boiling mad", "he was fuming", and so on. These people don't understand the anger of Voldemort.

His rage is so cold it burns. Dry ice. Frostbite. Diving into a frozen pond in your skivvies while being strangled by a cursed locket. That's probably why it's so difficult to explain to Hermione: It's a very specific derangement. At this moment, the burning cold soaks through me making its way into all of my hollow places to fill my bones.

The scar is killing me. Well, maybe not killing me, but causing me to wish I was dead so the pain would stop. It's a customized cruciatus curse for one. I wonder deep down if he feels this pain too, or if he's so accustomed to almost a century of the torture that it doesn't phase him anymore. It's going to be strange to feel my mind without him in it. I wonder which parts of me will remain intact, or if it's him that's been holding me together this entire time.

It's easy to think like this while casting two spells over and over. Petrificus, somnium, petrificus, repeat… for hours as the danger becomes increasingly weaker. There are only two tasks left in this morbid game, and they both include ridding myself of snake-people.

Yes, snake-people. Nothing surprises me anymore. I've learned to trust Luna with anything that sounds out of the realm of reality because nine times out of ten she's right. Wrackspurts? Sure. Lost crown that's actually a horcrux? Why not. Psychotic snake man is holding an imprisoned snake person as his pet and I should talk to her? Of course.

Oh, and let's not forget the least believable thing - "Hermione loves you, you know. You can be good enough for her. You really can." Maybe, Luna. Maybe you're right, or maybe this is the tenth time.

"Duck, Potter!" Draco screams, knocking me to the ground as a killing curse whizzes past my head.

I should wait until my life is in less immediate danger to think about this circumstance.

While I'm rolling out from under Draco's weight, a grating hiss scrapes along the outside of my conscious and ears at once.

"Harry Potter… Return to me before any more magical blood can be spilt. You've sacrificed so many to prolong the inevitable."

"No," I whisper assuredly, knowing he'll hear through whatever terrible connection he's created with me. "I haven't sacrificed anyone. These lives are all offerings to see you defeated. If you care so much about magical blood being spilt, you can surrender."

"Only I may live, Harry Potter… I am the Chosen One."

I rise to my feet to cast a silent expelliarmus and watch the flames spark as the yew wand flies into them. Every fighter still standing on our side begins shooting past the wall of fire, hoping to connect.

High above, his voice calls again, taunting us for our protective measures -

"One can't destroy what one can't comprehend…"

Lucky me for having such a special understanding of a homicidal, soulless dictator then, I suppose.

I glance back at Narcissa, nodding at her to cancel the Fiendfyre so we can see who we're fighting against. She shakes her head and mouths "No," looking pointedly towards Draco.

I sigh. Of course. Why would I think she would help me out of, I don't know, ethics or common sense when her darling little boy is being shot at.

I turn to Draco, who is still looming with a snarl over that ridiculously pointy nose of his. It's so difficult to have a civil conversation with him. I try - honestly, I do. It's just taxing - draining, really - to have to beat through all of his undeserved arrogance.

His cock-sureness reaches so far beyond what the average good-looking rich wizard possesses. He expects the world to bow before him like we should be honoured that he even exists. I always thought it was his father's protection or his money, but now he's without both of those things I know without a doubt it's just him. He gets excited over the prospect that he is who he is, or who he wants to be, I guess. I would gladly trade places with Draco if I could, then we would both get exactly what we've always wanted.

"Draco," I shout over the roar of the flames, gripping him on the shoulder in the midst of the battle as he did to me in the Room of Requirement, forcing my spine and chest to be as tall as possible as he looks down on me.

He doesn't snark back or send a sarcastic jab as I expect, instead just staring through me, waiting for something. I reward him with a quick answer for the uncharacteristic patience -

"Did you mean what you said, about taking care of my… obligations?"

I hate that he used that word. A child is not an obligation. A child is a person to be loved and cared for, and I would be honoured to do those things.

"Every word," he replies somberly.

I swallow my spit and each scrap left of my pride to ask this favour of him -

"Good. Take Hermione and Luna and get out of here. Your mother won't let down the Fiendfyre until you go, and I can't fight snake-face until she does."

The sweat dripping from his hair into his pale eyebrows gives him a look of unhinged desperation, like those muggles who are on drugs and wander around train stations asking for money. It's not becoming of anyone, but the vulnerability is gory and wrong on him. I realize I'm looking at the bare core of the boy with the perfect shell. It's so intimate, so soft and gooey and altogether unsettling.

"I can't leave you here to fight alone, Potter,"

"Please," I beg "I'm not alone, I'll have Ron, and your mum, and all that's left of the DA. Please, keep her safe, Draco. Don't let my baby die."

My voice cracks on the last few words. They were too large to pass my tongue, too impactful to have come from an idiot like me.

He nods once, running back to summon Luna. My soul gets twisted and pulled apart like modelling clay as they physically restrain Hermione. It takes both of them to hold her arms behind her back while she kicks and protests. Luna shoves Hermione's spare wand in her hair while Hermione looks at me in helpless defeat.

I mouth "go, please," over the chaos, and in return, she mouths "I hate you." I promise, 'Mione, you could never hate me as much as I hate myself, but I'll make both of us love me one day soon.

I turn back to Narcissa, who floats calculatedly overhead, scanning the battlefield and firing a protego every few moments. I catch her eye and gesture to the empty spaces around me. Draco is gone, Hermione is gone, it's time for me to hop out of the frying pan and into the fire - alone.

She takes a deep inhale as I turn to face our enemies. She releases the spell holding up the wall of flames to a shocking sight. There are only twelve or so Death Eaters left, all of them standing behind an enormous shielding charm. Some have fallen and lay askew across the ground, but it appears most of them vanished to the containment wards. I hear a cackling hiss from high above as I duck and roll behind a fallen pillar to summon my broom. Looks like this will be an aerial battle.

I fly upwards and send several of my fiercest disarming charms at him while the DA below starts going wild with hexes. I see a cloud of black smoke storm in out of my periphery as the twelve masked soldiers fall like dominoes. They land with metal clangs and heavy thuds against the ground, vanishing on site.

"Severusss…" Voldemort hisses "You dare to betray me? To defile your brothers in arms?"

The cloud of black passes between us as I'm knocked from my broom. My final expelliarmus connects as I fall, sending whatever stolen wand he's using into my hand. A split second from the ground a cushioning charm protects me, and I've never been more confused in my life.

The sky lights up in fireworks as spells fly from every direction towards the evil upon us.

"Nagini, kill!" are the final words from Voldemort's mouth as he shatters into ashes.

I glance around wildly, scanning every spare piece of ground for evidence of the snake. I see her coiling her way down a pillar to my left, preparing to attack. Time stands still as fifty wands are pointed her direction.

"Hold your fire!" I yell, remembering Luna's insane plan to talk to her. 'There will always be time to kill her later, if you have to.' she said. Merlin, I hope she's right.

The entirety of the DA halts on my command. They give me too much power for someone so unsure. The snake slithers towards me at breakneck speed, her gigantic fangs open and lusting to sink into my soft body.

I shout in parseltongue -

"Nagini!"

She stops in her tracks.

"Massster?" she questions.

"Yesss… yesss…" I lie, "I'm your Massster."

She dips her head, scanning me with her almond eyes. They shine like jewels in the dim light, twinkling in deep ambers and bright canary yellows around the black diamond pupils. I understand all at once the way many people get entranced by snakes.

"You have Massster'sss sssoul… As I have Massster'sss soul…" she drawls in a languid hiss.

Is she talking about the connection with Voldemort? Does he have her mind enslaved too?

"Where?" I ask her, for she probably knows better than I do. Maybe he made even more horcruxes, maybe she can sense them and will know where to find them.

She raises up her muscular body, standing tall like a cobra preparing to strike. All of the wands point towards her again, and I remind my comrades to hold their fire. She towers an entire floor above us, her light green belly exposed for the world to see. A dark green trail marks her, claims her scales as surely as he claimed my skin.

The scar. She has my scar. A perfect lightning bolt right over where her stomach should be.

"Here is Massster'sss sssoul…" she says "Does Massster require it from his ssservant?"

My heart is crushed to a million mirror pieces. She is offering her life to bring back someone who has imprisoned her so mercilessly, taken hold of her very mind for who knows how long. In eighteen years, I've experienced so many horrific visions, so many sleepless nights fuelled by his terror. How much more has she seen? What has this woman devolved into because of one man's reckless, indescribably selfish quest for power?

I gesture to Ron, who comes to my side immediately. I reach out my hand, and he hands over his string knapsack with no questions. I wrap my fingers around the hilt, feeling the rubies scrape at my palm like tiny shards of glass.

"Yesss. Well done, Nagini. It'sss time to ssset you free."

xoXOXox

It's dumbfounding that taking a sword to the face could relieve a headache, but it does a spectacular job. The freezing burn retreats immediately as the scar is removed. It hisses and writhes, screams my murder into the room of hidden things. Then it's gone.

Sure, I feel better for a moment, but I know it won't last always. There is going to be another terrible psychopath with blood-lusty plans lurking just beyond this side of good reason and sound morals. If not Grindelwald, then Voldemort. If not Voldemort, then who knows what. Maybe one of these crazed Death Eaters in Narcissa's wards, or maybe a Squib with a vendetta, or some other bastard who likes to kill.

It's at this moment I decide without a doubt to become an Auror once this mess is settled.

The Room of Requirement has expanded to fit all of our survivors, the caged Death Eaters, the population of Hogsmeade, and probably half of Wizarding Britain. Everyone is shaking hands and hugging, each group of people holding at least one person who is sobbing uncontrollably. Our losses were light compared to the Dark, but I'd like to believe Fred counted for more than all of their deaths combined. I don't want to walk over to the containment charms where the bodies are being held. I hate to think of the cost they paid to rid the world of this destruction.

Hagrid walks by me with a festering scar over his eye to clap me on the back, causing me to fly forward half a metre.

"Good on you, 'Arry! You sure showed ol' No-Nose where to stuff it!"

"Yeah," I reply with all the energy of a wet dishcloth, "Thanks Hagrid. Couldn't have done it without you."

He walks away to congratulate the rest of the crew as I stalk through the crowd. Kingsley orders everyone about in my stead. Good. I'm done with ordering and commanding. I want to go home and sleep next to Hermione and my child if they'll have me.

"They will be held in the cellars until the Ministry can erect enough cells for them," Kingsley instructs.

"Yes, sir," a tall auburn woman in special-forces Auror robes responds, "We have our brightest minds warding the corridors as we speak."

"Perfect," he says, "Take Lady Malfoy with you if she will go," he says, turning to Narcissa.

"I lament I won't be able to join you today, Agent Moon," Narcissa instructs the tall woman. "I must return with my family to lay my niece to rest,"

This conversation stalls me. Her niece. Tonks. She wasn't even fighting today!

"Tonks is dead?" I ask Narcissa.

"I'm afraid so, Mr Potter. She passed beyond the veil during childbirth this afternoon."

"A shame," Kingsley stoically interrupts. "She was one of our best. One of my favourites."

"Thank you," says Narcissa, nodding politely. "She was too good for this foul world."

"She was," I agree, unsure of what else to say to console her. "Where's the baby?"

"At my sister's home with his father. I have to locate my sister so we can enter the wards when we return."

"Have you tried accioing her?" I ask before thinking.

Narcissa stares coldly at me as if she could slap me for the ignorance in my words.

"I would think it imprudent, Mr Potter, to summon a person within a room filled with so many dangerous objects."

"Oh, yeah," I respond limply "Hey, have you seen Draco? He had Hermione and Luna with him…"

She waves dismissively at me.

"The three of them - pardon me, four of them - are in the infirmary with Severus. I assume you remember where the infirmary is located, Mr Potter?"

"Severus?" I gasp "Why are they with Snape?"

Narcissa steps closer to me, boring holes in my skull with her nonchalance. It seems there is a wall between her and me but only she can see through it.

"Yes, Severus, my son's godfather, who if I recall correctly greatly aided you in your confrontation of the Dark Lord. Perhaps you might deem him worthy of an acknowledgement on your way to visit your… betrothed." She stalls on the last word; lingers there as if it's a disgusting thing she could hardly bring herself to say.

"Yeah, thanks," I reply, making my way out of the room to check on Hermione.