(A/N - Okay, I hope this isn't too confusing or boring or whatever. Please READ AND REVIEW!!! Thanx.)
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. They all belong to J.K. Rowling :)
It was a damp, chilly Christmas Eve in Griffindor Tower, and Harry Potter was sitting amongst his dearest friends. Most people would assume this scene: Fred and George daring others to eat their newest batch of "food", Ron and Hermione playing chess by the fire, Ginny watching them all from afar, hugging a book to her chest, and Harry himself taking in the feeling of peace in an armchair close to Ron and Hermione. None of this was happening, however. For starters, Fred was not in the room, but in Ron's dormitory writing a letter to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; George was sitting down, back bent over, head in his hands, thinking solemnly; Ron was leaning against the fireplace, a confused, baffled expression on his face; Hermione was cradled against the arm of Harry's chair; Ginny was positioned behind Harry, a hand on his shoulder; Harry was sprawled out in his chair, gaping at something that he was holding tenderly in his numb fingers. Voldemort's wand. p
Hermione brushed something that looked suspiciously like tears from her eyes, and spoke, "Snap it, Harry. Just get it all over with. He's not truly gone until you break it. Shatter the power. Remember what Dumbledore told you." p
Harry couldn't remember what Dumbledore had said hours ago, and he didn't care. He just wanted to remember Dumbledore. Who in his opinion, was the greatest wizard that had ever lived. And it hadn't been until Dumbledore's final moments that Harry discovered the strange connection with him and that man. Harry felt the sting of tears coming. It was hard watching your grandfather die. p
"Yeah, go ahead with it, Harry. Get it over with," Ron said. p
But Harry couldn't. The wand he was holding symbolized something. His life. He was born for this moment he was sure, but things would be different after the stick in his hands was broken. Nothing would ever be the same again. He would no longer be Harry Potter. He'd be average. Then a voice in his head reminded him that he'd never be average and that he needn't worry about that. He hated himself for a brief moment. He didn't want to want the fame, but he couldn't dwell on this. There was no time for that. Voldemort's very soul was in the wand he was holding, and it had to be destroyed before it was too late. And Harry had to destroy it. He remembered back to the forbidden corridor in his first year, the chamber his second year, the graveyard his fourth, the forrest his fifth, the cavern his sixth, and the place where Voldemort had met his second downfall only hours ago. p
"Please, Harry, get rid of Tom," Ginny cried. p
Everyone in the room stared at the wand. Voldemort was in the wand. Harry had Voldemort in the palm of his hand for the first and last time. He had to do it, but he was afraid. He was afraid something would go wrong and that Voldemort would escape. Harry looked up into Ginny's eyes. They were shining with tears, as were Hermione's. Ron's breathing has hollow and shallow, and George couldn't bring his eyes to meet Harry's. p
Hermione looked at her best friend with adoration. She was thinking of when she first met the famous Harry Potter. She had expected him to be full of himself. How wrong she had been! She almost laughed to herself. The small, messy haired boy next to her had thrown himself in front of her as one of Voldemort's killing curses aimed for her heart. She thought it was all over, but then realized that Harry didn't give up that easily. She didn't know how exactly, but Harry had a special power in him that saved him, and Hermione didn't think it was any sort of magical power. She couldn't explain it, and didn't care to think about it at the moment. p
Ron gaped at his best friend. Ron had proclaimed that Harry was the bravest person he'd ever met, and that he'd never be jealous again, and after that night, Ron didn't think he would ever be jealous of Harry's life again. He'd hate being Harry Potter, but loved to be his friend. A glimpse of the dying Neville Longbottom ran across his head, and Ron thought of how Harry had blamed himself. Harry'd been tormented by his own thoughts for years, but this last year. . . p
Ginny stared at her hero, and decided that the title "hero" needn't be added to Harry's name. The name Harry Potter itself shouted the word "hero" to all who heard or spoke it. And Ginny knew that no matter what happened when Harry snapped that wand in two, Harry Potter would be a name no one would forget. p
Harry clutched the wand in his fist, and was startled when yellow and green sparks shot from it. He was able to use Voldemort's wand. This couldn't be good. p
"I better break it now," he murmured to the people around him. p
So, with shaking hands, Harry held out the instrument that had caused such pain in the world, prepared to break it, when -- it began jumping in his hands and shooting out sparks of fire. Everyone watched in amazement as the wand began to disintegrate before their very eyes. All the spells ever performed by that wand emitted from it in shadows. Harry knew of this effect all too well, many times had it happened when he'd dueled Voldemort, but the others were aghast. What seemed like hours flew by and the shadows never stopped, until the faces of Dumbledore, Neville Longbottom, Professor Snape, McGonagall, Fleur, Sirius, and finally, James and Lily Potter swam before them, proud smiles playing across their faces. Harry was certain this would be the last time he saw them. A tear slowly made its way down his cheek. Then, they disappeared, gone forever. Harry looked down at his hand. The wand was no longer there, but a single phoenix feather lay in his open palm. Harry grinned slightly, pocketed the feather carefully, and got up from his seat.
"It's over," he whispered, more calmly than he felt. It was over. Harry Potter was through, and Harry didn't know what he could possibly do with his life now. p
They all began to file out of the room. Harry was about to go up the stairs to his dormitory when George came over and put an arm around his shoulder. He and Fred had come to visit Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays, and the past few hours had shocked them quite a bit.
"You know, Harry," George said, seriously, "You were never Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and you're not expected to be now. I think the whole Harry Potter thing was exaggerated, and you probably felt like you were asked to live in someone else's shoes -- ." p
How did George know? p
"-- But I want you to know that you've always been Harry, and Harry, you were the one that saved us all. Not the Boy Who Lived." p
Harry smiled. He was looking forward to the rest of his life. p