Thanks to Megan, for betaing this for me. :o) Read on!
Aimée
I don't know how long I had been here… It seemed like a lifetime; more than a lifetime, even. It seemed like forever and a day.
My friends and I had been fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters for only six months, but it seemed so much longer. Ron and Hermione had been married only a month before we had been called to fight for the Light. We all knew by then our side had to have been in trouble; I, Harry Potter, had been protected against the harsh realities of War for as long as it had raged. I was a hero, after all. An icon to the wizarding population, and if I had been killed early on in the War, hope would have been lost. To need me to fight in the War was as bad as needing the Minister himself.
Unfortunately, the Minister had been killed seven months previous, along with sixteen other Ministry officials – including Arthur and Percy Weasley.
Perhaps that was why Ron came so willingly; he was out for revenge, just as I was. Mrs. Weasley had begged him not to go; the poor woman had already lost a husband and a child, and she wasn't willing to risk losing her youngest son as well.
Ron and Hermione joined the battles soon after I, and for a while, I had remembered why I was there; to protect my friends and loved ones from the evil that was Lord Voldemort.
The War was fought wizard against wizard, brother against brother, and in Draco Malfoy's case, Mother against Son.
The infamous Malfoy dynasty ; always follow the side that offers you exactly what you need to rise to the top and stay there. For Lucius Malfoy, this was joining the Death Eaters. He met his wife, Narcissa, inside the fold, and their only son and heir to the Malfoy fortune, Draco, was expected to do the same.
Indeed, on Draco's seventeenth birthday, instead of the new broom or owl most parents give their children, Draco received the Dark Mark.
He showed it to me once; it's quite a hideous tattoo, in the shape of a skull with a snake protruding out of it. I would have rather died than bear such a Mark. After Lord Voldemort killed his father, Draco couldn't have agreed with me more.
Just as Professor Severus Snape had before him, Draco turned spy against the Dark Lord for Dumbledore. It had taken me nearly a year to start trusting him.
Ron never did.
Two weeks ago, my two best friends since the age of eleven – the only true friends I had ever had - were captured and tortured by the Death Eaters and brought to Voldemort for information. I hadn't seen them since, and they were presumed dead by all.
Pity, by that time I was too battle-scarred to truly notice or care.
It's a sad thing when one's best friends are taken from him, but even sadder when he's incapable of showing any sort of grief for the loss of his loved ones.
Against my will (really, when is anyone truly for it?), my heart, mind, body, and soul had been hardened by the effects of battle to the extent where I hardly noticed another cut, another scrap, another death amongst my friends. No longer was my lightening-shaped scar the only one I wore; across my cheek ran a ten-centimeter scar, going from my jaw line to right below my eye. Across my wrists were horizontal slashes, three on each arm. I wasn't the only one who had tried to escape while fighting the War; Draco's arms boasted four, while Seamus Finnigan's had one set.
His body had been laid to rest two months ago.
I thanked the powers above each and every day that my Godfather, Sirius Black, had been two years over the age limit for soldiers. Although he had been eager and willing to fight, I had insisted he stay out of harm's way. He had served twelve years in Azkaban and had seen enough horrors for one lifetime; I didn't wish for his mind to become darker than it already was. He had already seen the effects of War, fighting against Voldemort nearly twenty-five years ago. Enough was enough.
Peter Pettigrew's body had been found lying next to Lucius Malfoy's, and all charges again Sirius had been dropped. He had received enough Galleons to live wealthy for well over three lifetimes, even with the wife and children he planned to have one day.
I opened my eyes slowly, habitually blocking the sight of bloody, broken bodies and the anguished cries of the dying. No longer was death a far off, rare happening; it was an every day occurrence that my mates and I were surrounded with.
I struggled to sit up, vaguely aware of the ditch I was lying in. I wished for the end to come soon, even if it meant my death. Months ago, I would have tried to control these thoughts, to not allow myself to think such things, but now I knew it was hopeless. There was nothing to live for.
I constantly asked myself why; Why was this happening? Why would God (if there was truly a God) allow such hate, rage, and despair to run amongst his children, until there was nothing left to hope for?
There were no real answers to my questions, only half-formed thoughts of hope I no longer allowed myself to think. It was obvious, there was nothing left to hope or to fight for. Voldemort had taken control of everything, and the men and women I fought next to were the last of the soldiers. It was either join Voldemort or die for a cause that no longer held any promise for the future or hope.
I was fully prepared to die.
I looked up from the ditch I was now squatting in, not at all surprised or scared to see six or seven Death Eaters standing around me, each with their wands pointed directly at my skull.
I came quietly, without saying a word. I knew it was my time, and I also knew I was the prize Voldemort had been searching for.
Well, congratulations. It took you twenty-one years, but you finally found me.
I cast my eyes downwards, still ignoring the moans and screams of agony surrounding me. Everywhere, there were bodies. I had given up trying to find Ron's or Hermione's; Voldemort would have had something special planned for my best friends.
I felt his presence before I saw him; White-hot pain flashed through my scar, but I barely noticed. I was serenely calm and felt nothing; my mind felt as if it were floating, and for all I knew, I very well could have been.
I felt my backbone curve as I bowed to the Dark Lord, much as I had back in our first duel, the night Cedric Diggory had died. He had been the first victim, but I most certainly wasn't the last.
I saw the corners of Lord Voldemort's mouth – or what could have been considered a mouth – turn up as I came into the light.
"Harry Potter," his icy words sent shivers down my spine. "At last, we meet again."
I said nothing; there was nothing to say, and I most certainly wasn't going to speak to Death Himself. It simply wasn't my place.
"I have been searching for you for eight years now, and finally I have found you. Look at yourself, Harry Potter. You have been defeated by the greatest Wizard to walk this planet. Even Dumbledore was eventually broken; you will soon be joining him, along with your friends and parents."
I stiffened at the mention of my mentor, who had died less than a year ago, and I clenched my hands into fists as Voldemort mocked my friends and family.
"As long as I am in a world where you no longer are the dominate ruler, I will be happy and free." Closing my eyes, I smiled in spite of myself. It wasn't a smile of happiness for the current situation, but a smile of relief as I finally realized what faced me - death and everlasting peace.
"I will always rule the world you're in, Harry Potter." Voldemort hissed, "I shall be immortal, and once I have conquered time, I will make sure you will be forever tortured, and your soul will never reach an afterlife – if there is such a thing."
I stood my ground, my head held high and feet firmly planted on the ground as he continued.
"I killed the girl first – she refused to speak. There was no reason for her to live anymore, she had served her purpose and brought your best friend to me. I thought, surely that would be sufficient enough reason for you to come after me. However, I see you have lost your Gryffindor – " he spat my ancestor's name "– edge. I waited for a week, Harry Potter, but you never came. Look around, Potter. Your redheaded friend is hanging around here somewhere."
For the first time since Ron and Hermione had been taken, I felt physically sick. I was no longer in control of my actions as I raised my head and looked up at the rafters above me; there, hanging nearly twenty feet higher than the floor, hung the body of my best and most loyal friend.
Something inside of me snapped; emotions came rushing through my veins as I screamed, and images flashed before my eyes as I watched Ron's body hanging limply from a noose.
The first time I had met Ron on the train – the journey to reach the Philosopher's Stone before Voldemort and Quirrel had – Defeating a young Tom Riddle – Ron and Hermione helping me prove Sirius' innocence – after the third task in the Tri-Wizard tournament, how they had helped me recover – the uprising of Voldemort's powers and how they stuck by me through thick and thin – their marriage – the first time we had fought a battle together and won – the last time I had ever seen them alive…
I suddenly remembered exactly what I was fighting for, and what Ron and Hermione had died for. Freedom and life among both Wizards and Muggles, free from the rein of Lord Voldemort. I had fought for my friends… my family… my loved ones… for freedom… for life… and for myself.
Without thinking, without stopping to consider my actions, I flung myself at Voldemort and grabbed him around his neck. It was the last emotion I had experienced; rage and the need for revenge.
As the bright green light that often haunted my dreams hit me, I knew it was the end. It was finally over… I would see my parents again, for the first time in twenty years. I would see Ron and Hermione, Seamus, Percy, and Mr. Weasley once more… I would be able to be myself, be human, and love.
For the first time in what seemed like eternity, I experienced hope once more. I knew as long as there was something worth fighting for, there would be someone willing to fight for it. There would always be Good and Evil, Heaven and Hell - nothing would ever change that. Eventually, the Good would gain control again and Voldemort's era of terror would be over. As long as there would be life, there would always be hope. The Good was always going to be there, and would never be defeated.
I was finally free.
It's getting colder in this ditch where I lie
I'm feeling older and I'm wondering why
I heard they told her it was to tell and live or to die
I didn't know her but I know why she lied
I didn't know her but I know why she died
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
And we won't go down
I heard them say that dreams should stay in your head
Well I feel ashamed of things that I said
Put on these chains and you can live a free life
Well I'd rather bleed just to know why I died
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
And we won't go down
And we won't go down
And we won't go down
And we won't go down
All I know is that fear has to go
This time around
I've started feeling like I don't want to fight
Give in to the given and put out the light
Cannons a blazing showers these moonlit skies
Then I remember and I know why he died
Do you know why I'd die?
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
And we won't go down
And we won't go down
And we won't go down*
*This Time Around, Hanson