Chapter Two.

And so, the boy who lived came to die.

He was ready.

That is, he was as ready as one can be when they're about to die. Of course he wished he could have done certain things… like watch Hogwarts be rebuilt, and graduate. Mostly, he wanted to make amends with Ron, but his time had run out. Instead, he hoped that his friend would be able to forgive him, and that Hermione would find happiness, regardless of in what way, or with who.

Harry walked on through the forest.

Soon, there he was: the wizard who had been trying to kill him all his life. The wizard he'd been running from all his life. Harry had expected it to feel more… definitive. He'd even expected, deep down, to be more afraid. But then again, he had never feared Voldemort. Not even now.

Voldemort was just a man, like anyone else. And so was Harry, really. Despite the legends surrounding them both, they were both mortal men, and mortality must eventually end. Today just so happened to be Harry's turn.

When Voldemort spoke, Harry hardly listened. He focused on remembering the faces of all the people he'd ever cared about, and loved, and when the Dark Lord raised his wand, Harry closed his eyes to picture them more clearly.

Quicker than falling asleep, he reminded himself. Quicker than falling asleep. Quicker th-

It was. Much quicker.

But falling asleep had never felt this way. Avada Kedavra felt like lightning piercing the centre of his heart, scorching every nerve in his body, and boiling every organ within it. His scar burned furiously on his forehead as if it screamed in defiance. It was all over in a second, and still, it was a harrowing experience.

It was this realization, how harrowing it was, that made Harry question if he were truly dead. He wasn't supposed to think any more, was he? Wasn't death just… the end? A stop to all senses? But Harry felt, too. He felt warmth washing over his body, and the brightness of untainted white stinging his eyes, right through his eyelids.

And then he opened his eyes, and stood up, and Dumbledore appeared, looking every bit as alive as he'd did when he was… well, alive - and the two took a walk across an eerily clean version of King's Cross station.

It was up to Harry, Dumbledore said, whether he would live or die.

'I have a choice?' Harry asked.

'Oh yes.' Dumbledore smiled warmly. 'We're in King's Cross, you say. I think if you so desire, you'll be able to board a train.'

'And where would it take me?'

Dumbledore chuckled softly. 'On', he said, as if it made perfect sense.

Maybe it does, Harry realized. Maybe that's best. It's quite peaceful, here… and if Dumbledore's here, surely my parents and Sirius are, too. It sounded quite appealing. Not having to fight anymore, not having to live while running…

But then, what will happen to the others?

He imagined Hogwarts, destroyed and overtaken by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He could see its students, fighting tooth and nail against invincible odds, and their bodies spread across the staircases. He saw Ron's body, with anger still in his eyes over unresolved conflict. He saw Hermione's body, battered and bruised, as she'd not have gone down without a proper fight. He saw Luna, and imagined her father, who'd already lost his wife, and was now faced with the task of burying his only child.

No, Harry decided resolutely. That would not do.

But going back seemed like an impossible task, too.

'Voldemort has the Elder Wand', he said.

'True.' Dumbledore smiled sadly.

'And the snake's still alive.'

'Yes.'

'And I've got nothing to kill it with.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'Help will always be given at Hogwarts, Harry, to those who deserve it.'

Harry swallowed.

'Do not pity the dead, Harry.' The old wizard faded slightly as he stepped back into the blinding brightness. 'Pity the living. And above all, all those who live without love.' Dumbledore's eyes glittered as he said it, and the all-knowing smile on his face made Harry wonder if there ever truly was such a thing as death, and 'being gone.'

Before he could ask, however, Dumbledore wandered away. The brightness faded and Harry felt suddenly cold. He smelled the forest, its pine trees and its lakes, and then heard a woman's voice whispering somewhere above his head. She was inquiring about Draco.

Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry answered her question with a slight nod of his head.

Then she rose and proclaimed Harry's death. What followed was Voldemort's thunderous laugh, Bellatrix's cackling, and a pained groan that Harry guessed belonged to Hagrid.

As the others approached, Harry lay the stillest he'd ever lay. Not even a flicker of his eyelids would be allowed to him, now.

Meanwhile at Hogwarts, the castle had calmed. Voldemort had ordered his forces to stand down, and it was as if everyone in it had sensed what happened in the forest. Exhaustion and gloom were written on everyone's faces, accompanied by smears of dust and dried blood. Some survivors used their remaining energy to wander through the castle, shouting the names of their friends, brothers, and sisters. Most were found unconscious, in shock, or seriously wounded, but some were brought back dead, and others were never found at all.

Hermione tried desperately to find Ron. She wanted badly to talk to him about what happened, and even more so now that they were about to die. With Harry gone, she'd realized, they were as well as lost.

But he wasn't in the courtyard, or on the staircase where she'd last seen him, and not even at Fred's side. The Weasleys had stayed with their son since he was brought in, and Ginny said Ron had been there for a while but had wandered off eventually, muttering incomprehensible things to himself.

It worried Hermione, to say the least.

She made another round of the castle, and eventually found herself back in the courtyard. Neville was there, one of his hands wrapped around the Sorting Hat, the other around his wand. He was limping.

'Are you all right?', Hermione asked, feeling rather foolish for asking such an obvious question.

Neville looked up at her and smiled weakly. 'As well as I could, I reckon.'

Hermione nodded slowly and looked around. The courtyard had been ravaged. Where once there were small groups of students chatting and laughing, now there were piles of rubble and two ghastly dead trolls.

'Have you seen Ron?'

Neville shook his head. 'Not in a while, no'.

Hermione sighed softly and started back inside when she heard a faint groan coming from Neville's mouth. She turned and saw him standing over what she had presumed to be a dead Death Eater. The man was now stirring, groaning loudly.

'Petrificus Totalus!' A jet of white light burned through the air between the Death Eater and Neville and soon, the man lay frozen on the ground again.

Neville looked up at Hermione with a half-hearted smile on his face.

'Do you remember when you used this on me?'

Hermione remembered, and couldn't help but smile a little.

How young they'd been. How silly, and inexperienced, and still so serious. They'd needed to be, of course, but still. She suddenly longed for the Common Room, the roaring fire, and the company of her closest friends. It all seemed so far away, now. She wished she could tell her younger self to spend less time in the library, and more with the people that mattered.

'That was a long time ago', she whispered to herself.

Neville nodded and looked again at the Death Eater, poking at it with his foot.

'I thought I'd done it right the first time, though.'

'I'm sure you did', Hermione tried. 'You probably just-'

A few seconds of silence followed before Neville looked up frowning. He refrained from asking his question when he saw the look on her face, instead turning abruptly to see what Hermione saw. His breath caught in his throat.

'Harry'. It was a mere whisper. Caught by the wind and torn apart.

At that very moment, dozens of students and staff came rushing out of the castle, and finally Ron appeared, too. But now, Hermione had no desire to talk. She had no desire to do anything.

The collection of people, all with blood and despair on their faces, produced a sickening grin across Voldemort's face. He smiled widely, happily, even, and glanced shortly over the destruction that once was Hogwarts.

It meant nothing to him, Hermione realized when she saw the triumphant look in his eyes. It was always beneath him.

She hated him for all that he had done to Hogwarts, but she hated him more for what he had done to Harry. Her eyes flashed to her best friend's body, laying still in Hagrid's trembling arms, and a rush of nausea overcame her. Professor McGonagall must have seen it in her face, for she was right there beside Hermione in an instant, holding her up.

'Stand up, child', she whispered. 'Stand tall.'

But she couldn't. She couldn't possibly stand tall. I should've gone, she thought. Silly, stupid girl. You should have gone!

'Harry Potter-', Voldemort wailed, spreading his arms widely, 'Is dead!'

A piercing scream echoed across the yard and Ginny launched forward, held back only by the strength of her father's arms. Hermione felt the tears burn hot on her cheeks. What now? What can we possibly do, now?

'Harry Potter is dead!', Voldemort repeated, raising his arms in celebration. The black army behind him erupted in inhumane laughter. The Dark Lord himself skipped in excitement and laughed, and Ron promptly decided it was the ugliest thing he had ever seen.

'Come forward and join us!'. Voldemort glanced over the faces of the students before him, still smiling. 'Or die.'

The courtyard grew silent and despite her pain, Hermione felt proud. If they should die, they'd do so loyally. There wasn't a chance in hell that they'd betray their school, their friends, and their loved ones for an existence as cold and loveless as that of a Death Eater. She might've been a Mudblood, but she possessed more loyalty in her little toe than the whole lot of Death Eaters did together. She might die, but she wouldn't betray Harry, even if the Dark Lord would let her live.

Only Draco decided to step forward, but there wasn't any surprise when he joined his parents in the black mass. Ron felt furious and considered, just for a moment, killing Draco himself. Hermione saw, from the whiteness of his knuckles and the clenching of his jaw, but she felt nothing at all. Just numbness.

But then Neville stepped forward, the Sorting Hat clenched tightly in his fist. The blackness erupted in laughter again. They laughed at him, made fun of his name, but he stood tall all the same. He limped, and bled, but his will was strong.

'It doesn't matter that Harry's gone', he started.

There were some that protested. Neville didn't care.

'People die every day!', he shouted. 'Friends… family. Yeah. We lost Harry tonight. But he's still with us.' His hand reached out to his heart, and his eyes connected briefly with Hermione's. 'In here.'

'So is Fred', he continued, eyes flashing to Ron and George. 'Remus. Tonks. All of them. They didn't die in vain.'

Then he turned back towards Voldemort with sudden rage in his voice.

'But you will! 'Cause you're wrong! Harry's heart did beat for us. For all of us! It's not over!'

The Sorting Hat dropped to the ground, and out came the Sword of Gryffindor, shimmering impressively in the early morning light. The laughter stopped at once.

And at that very moment, like a perfectly orchestrated play, Hermione saw the lifeless lump in Hagrid's arms move. It dropped to the ground and twisted, spitting fire towards Voldemort and Nagini. A gasp with the magnitude of over a hundred voices broke out across the yard and Harry jumped, dodging fireballs as he made his way towards the castle's entrance.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she would've sworn she heard McGonagall curse in utter disbelief. Unfortunately, there was no time to ask.

A number of black masses shot up into the sky. Bellatrix screeched at them to come back, but they went all the same, having felt the odds turn against them, and not wanting to stay for the repercussions.

Cowards, Hermione thought. You absolute cowards.

Then someone grabbed her arm, shaking her from her daze, and she turned quickly to follow her friends inside.

'I'll lure him into the castle', she heard Harry yell. Neville flew suddenly overhead, the sword wrapped tightly in his hands. 'We have to kill the snake!'

Hermione handed him the basilisk's fang.

'Go', she whispered, smiling.

Harry looked at her hand for a brief second, nodded, and hurried deeper into the castle.

A rush of adrenaline flooded Hermione's veins. She grabbed her wand, her newfound courage, and ran.

There was no time for exhaustion. A battle had to be won.