A/N: I'm not responding to the Chapter 24 reviews, so that I can get these last two chapters out a day or two quicker, but I do want to thank everyone who has reviewed. It was a great boost to my vain ego, and a kick-in-the-ass inspiration.

And thank you especially to Whitewolf CS who faithfully betaed these final two chapters in one go, despite a super-hectic school schedule and a nasty illness. CS, you ROCK!

Now, without further ado, the final two chapters of A Boy, Lost.

X

XIX

XIXIX "Neither Can Live" XIXIX

Dumbledore's Army was fighting a losing battle, and everyone on the battlefield knew it. There were simply too many Death Eaters and too many Dark creatures for a group of students, even as well trained as the DA were, to be able to fight off. Yet they continued to fight because they knew, as Remus Lupin yelled out continuously, "Reinforcements are on their way!" They need only hold their ground just a little longer… just a little while longer…

But casualties were mounting quickly, and hope was beginning to falter. The amount of magic flying around just outside the remaining wards of the school was dizzying as much as it was disturbing. It oozed with Darkness; it stank of pain and death. And children were dying, being destroyed by adults—many of whom were parents themselves—who would rather live in subservience to a demented Dark Lord than to lay down their wands in the face of such sickening injustice.

'Amazing,' thought Lupin forlornly, 'that children should show so much more character.'

Warriors, they were—fighting bravely, though disguised in small bodies. With seeming nerves of steel, they risked their very lives to protect the school, to protect those hidden inside—their little brothers and sisters—from this massacre of the innocents. Their eyes flashed fire as they shouted curse after counter-curse, resisting overwhelming force, and backed by nothing but each other and terrible odds.

But Lupin saw them die—saw how in the very last moment of life, their strength would fail and their eyes would show the heart-wrenching vulnerability and fear of youth being wasted. Many lay dying on the battlefield, cursed beyond return in the absence of medical attention. They cried out for mercy. They cried out for their parents.

And so Lupin fought harder, spurred on by the slaughter he witnessed, but it was never enough. Then a vague chill in the air alerted him that Dementors were nearing. If they were to continue to stand, they would need the reinforcements he continued to promise.

One moment there was nothing. In the next, a few spirits wisped past. Then a flood of spirits had overtaken the battlefield. But these were not ghosts who had shunned the afterlife. These were spirits returned from the dead. Like vapor, they flowed through the cloaked Death Eaters, chilling them to the core. And like living beings, they exerted tangible force against the Dark army as well. They grabbed them and dragged them to the ground, ripping at their eyes, breaking their wands. They engaged the damned spirits of the banshees in battle. They confused and frightened the Trolls and the Giants.

Next came the rattling of skeletons—their flesh rotted off, leaving only frames of human beings. They were the very essence of death, and Lupin took a moment to note the irony that their arrival brought with it a budding hope of life. Even as he fought he watched as they stabbed with their spiky fingers into the living meat of evil. Curses flew through the gaps between their bones; the skeletons were skillfully positioning themselves so that those curses aimed at them instead hit the Death Eaters and Dark Creatures standing behind them.

Then, a loud CRACK! echoed through the school grounds as a solid force of tiny House Elves apparated as a single unit from inside the castle to the edge of the remaining wards. In front stood one small Elf that looked like every other, except that he wore something that might, conceivably, pass as clothing.

"House Elves of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he squeaked commandingly. "We is being given permission to protect our own!"

With that, the House Elves let out a tremendous scream. It sounded like a high-pitched mockery of a roar, but neither human nor animal mistook it for the battle cry it was. And those who found themselves in opposition to a House Elf protecting its home very quickly learned that loyalty is indeed the basis for very powerful magic.

And suddenly, the future of the battle looked quite a bit less bleak to the remaining members of Dumbledore's Army.

XIXIX

Harry clawed his fingernails into his scalp, pulling up hair and drawing blood. The probing Legilimency that assaulted him from three different people through his bond with Voldemort was far more than he could take. But the continued laughter was worse.

It was that twisted, insane laughter of Bellatrix LeStrange. It was that sniveling, pitiful laughter of Wormtail. And it was that high-pitched, grating laughter of Lord Voldemort.

And pain seared through Harry's brain, as the white-hot scar on his forehead continued to burn, burn, burn! They had broken past his carefully erected defenses, but it was not enough for them to merely break his shields. They were breaking his mind, using his own memories as weapons against himself. His mind flashed with images of fear, pain, humiliation, and failure, and each image seemed to draw forth another wave of manic laughter.

But then an image came to the forefront of his mind, quite unlike the others that had appeared before it. In a panic, Harry fought to suppress it, knowing the damage it could do. But he was out of control. His will to fight was lost in his insanity. And so the image remained at the front of his mind.

It was extended. It was reviewed.

The laughter stopped.

And try as he might, Harry could not stop remembering hanging from Voldemort's ceiling, torn open from sternum to groin, his intestines strewn about the room, a living decoration, while Voldemort ranted about how he, Snape, had once again failed to deliver the Potter boy.

Harry was caught in the memory, caught in the danger that came with Voldemort realizing that Harry had this memory.

"Why Severus," began Bellatrix somewhere between anger and joy, "You failed to tell me you bonded with the boy!"

The Voldemorts had turned enough of their attention to Severus for Harry to shove down the memory and open his eyes to the horror that surrounded him. He had felt closed off, like he was alone, far secluded from the others with whom he had entered the forest. Trapped in his head, it had seemed as though the battle in the clearing had ended.

But the battle raged on, and with the addition of more Death Eaters. Harry saw lumps of people in school robes lying throughout the clearing. He saw Hermione and Neville and a few others fighting desperately against impossible odds. He saw Severus contorted in a gruesome display of anatomy, held at wandpoint by a figure that shifted seamlessly in Harry's perception from Voldemort, to Bellatrix, to James Potter, and back again.

Harry saw all of this and wanted to just lie down and die rather than face such terror. Severus turned his eyes to him and Harry's heart nearly broke for the traitorous thoughts he was having. He couldn't give up now.

"Aaah…" It was Bellatrix, and Harry's eyes turned to her and she smiled nastily, looking between the bonded men. "He means a lot to you then?" she asked, and it didn't matter, really, to whom she was speaking because the answer was the same regardless, and she knew it.

"No, no, no, no, no, No, NO!" Harry was struggling to his feet, struggling to regain control. He was looking at James Potter, who narrowed his eyes evilly at Severus before turning back to Harry. It was Voldemort, whose narrow lips parted in an obscene smile. But it was Bellatrix who turned back to Severus, her wand held high as she opened her mouth…

Harry was assaulted by another image—his godfather falling through the veil.

"Stop!" Neville was standing suddenly beside Harry, aiming his wand at Bellatrix. "I'm warning you," he said, his cheerful voice deepened with hatred and threat.

Bellatrix cocked her head and smiled sweetly as one would to a baby. "Lucius, darling," she called, and he stepped forward obediently. "Take care of Severus, will you?" She snarled down at the bloodied Potions Master. "Show him a good time."

Lucius bowed to her and turned to Severus with a smile on his face that quickly turned to a sneer. Harry felt a surge of defiance through his bond from Severus.

Neville squared his stance. Harry raised his wand as well, but it was only for show. He felt useless to stop Bellatrix from killing Neville.

Bellatrix stepped forward and stuck out her lower lip in a pout. "Oh, is ickle Wongbottom going to wevenge his pawents now?"

Neville's wandhand began to shake in anger.

"Are you going to make me suffer like I made them suffer?" she sneered. "Are you going to send me to that madhouse St. Mungo's with your mommy and daddy?"

"Incendio!" shouted Neville, a bolt of fire to match his fury shooting out of his wand to consume Bellatrix. But Bellatrix countered it instantly, putting out the flames, and sending a simple tripping hex that send Neville sprawling in the dirt.

"Tell me, Longbottom," she said, her voice now serious and eerily reminiscent of Voldemort's own, "Do you want a taste of the torture your parents felt?"

From the ground, Neville opened his mouth to speak, but instead, a scream ripped out of him as pain beyond pain took over his body as Bellatrix cast the Cruciatus Curse upon him. Harry raised his wand to her, but Wormtail and Voldemort both turned to him and slammed him with another assault in his mind, breaking his defenses one more time. He fell to his knees again.

Neville's scream seemed to last forever, but Bellatrix had different plans for him than the insanity his parents suffered. He lay on the ground, coughing and panting, tears running across his temples and dripping down to mingle with the dirt. Bellatrix trained her wand on him, but paused in her assault against him, waiting for him to recover himself. As soon as she saw a flicker of resolution in his eyes to move against her, she crushed the moment of hope he had of winning with another curse.

"Imperio," she spoke clearly, burning with the urge to dominate and the intent to destroy.

Immediately, Neville's eyes glazed over and a sort of half-smile spread across his face. He shuffled to his feet and stared blankly at Bellatrix.

"Kiss my feet, Longbottom," she said, and Neville dropped to his knees and crawled forward to kiss her muddied boots.

"And those of Lord Voldemort," she continued, and Neville complied, moving to kiss the feet of the Dark Lord, who smiled approvingly.

"Stand before me," she said, and he did.

"Tell me your parents deserved what they got," she said, her voice dropping into a vicious snarl. But Neville paused.

Incensed, Bellatrix bellowed, "IMPERIO!" Neville staggered under the weight of the curse, but remained silent. His face contorted as he both tried to speak and tried to resist.

Bellatrix's anger seemed to visibly fume off of her as she whispered dangerously, "Pick up your wand, boy," and she redoubled the strength of her curse. Neville could not help but lean down and retrieve his wand from the forest floor.

Bellatrix was seething, her power radiating full force from her. She glanced darkly to where Harry knelt, her eyes darkening with her vicious intent. "Cast the Killing Curse on Harry Potter," she said.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow at the kneeling hero, and lessened his assault against Harry so that he could experience these next few moments completely. The game to Voldemort was that he sent the continuous and urgent thought to Harry that the only way to protect himself from the Killing Curse would be to cast it on Neville first. He was interested to see if The Boy Who Lived was willing to kill a friend in order to save his own life.

Harry, freed somewhat from the assault on his mind, grabbed for his wand and turned immediately to Neville as he raised his wand under order of the Imperius Curse. For the life of him, all Harry knew to do to save himself was to kill Neville. He knew it couldn't be right, but there was no time to figure it out. There was no time to think. There was only time to react, and the only reaction possible was to cast the Killing Curse on his friend.

Harry didn't know what to do. All he knew was that this was not it. He lowered his wand and closed his eyes.

Neville broke out into a cold sweat, straining desperately to keep his mouth closed, but Bellatrix LeStrange was just too powerful, and his lips parted.

"Avada…"

The knowledge of what to do was fed to him through the Imperius Curse. He wanted to resist. He wanted to stop, but he couldn't. He began the correct wand movement.

"Kedavra." Neville jerked himself violently, but it was done.

A flash of green issued forth from the tip of his wand, and it was so bright that Harry could see it through his eyelids. But nothing happened. He opened his eyes tentatively, just in time to see Bellatrix fall forward into the dirt. Neville stood facing her, his wand hand shaking violently. Bellatrix LeStrange was dead.

A shock wave shook the forest. A horrific rushing sound filled the clearing and a stab of fear drove straight into Harry's heart. There was a stirring of magic around the corpse, and then—Merlin forbid it!—a ghostly apparition in the likeness of Bellatrix LeStrange began to lift and pull at the body, her very soul rising up, separating itself from the dead flesh.

A reeking darkness permeated the scene, and Harry could finally see the truth of the situation. As a reward for their service and to keep himself safe from Harry's prying mind, the Dark Lord had deposited pieces of himself into both Bellatrix and Wormtail. But they had used some sort of putrid Dark magic that bound their souls, their minds, their strength, so that if one of them died, everything beyond their physical selves would be transported back to Voldemort.

Harry knew this because a deafening quiet fell over the battlefield for the moments of transfer. Voldemort and Wormtail both ceased their assaults against Harry and he was again able to control his significant power. He could see Voldemort's plan because it was the sole thought in Voldemort's mind as the plan began to come to fruition. And Harry watched it happen, helpless to stop the combination of two into one.

The sick, black, spirit essence of the fallen Bellatrix split from its body and flew with frightening speed to the waiting Voldemort. He stood with his hands open to it, and as it collided with him, absorbing into him, another shockwave shook the forest.

All eyes were on Voldemort, who was radiating the newly combined power. Harry felt frozen with terror and hopelessness. He had been scared of Voldemort before, but now that he saw what was becoming of him, Harry's horror was absolute, leaving him empty and helpless. There was nothing to be done against this.

'Don't give up, Potter!' snarled a voice inside his head with such authority that Harry nearly didn't. But this was too much. He could never survive this.

And then Harry's mind opened and closed and Harry looked up from where he was laying on the ground, his body pulsing with pain. He was looking up at Lucius Malfoy, who had been torturing him but had turned away briefly to witness the evolution of his Lord. Harry was seeing through Severus' eyes. Severus was bloodied but not begging. Never begging.

'Remember what you have come through,' thought Severus. 'You are stronger because of the pain in your past. You have faced fear before.'

'I'm lost,' thought Harry. 'I can't do this.'

And once again, Harry was slammed with an assault in his mind, but this one was not entirely unwelcome. Severus was using the last of his strength, not to survive his torture, but to possess Harry Potter, and firmly re-implant every memory from his life that Harry had sieved out.

Harry had been here before—lying nearly broken before Lucius, kneeling before Voldemort, nearly paralyzed with abject terror at what might come—but two lifetimes he had lasted, and he could get out of this too if he had the strength of will.

Harry opened his eyes and looked into the victorious red eyes of Voldemort as the combination of powers completed itself inside him. The sounds of battle began to resume around them. Then, Harry seemed to feel the thoughts of Wormtail, and he looked over in alarm.

"Foolish boy," Wormtail chastised, turning to Neville.

Neville was struck by the horror of what had just happened, but was somehow still on his feet despite the overwhelming shock that continuously renewed itself in him. He raised his wand in a dumb imitation of Wormtail's action, but he had not recovered himself enough to duel, and Harry could see that in his eyes.

Wormtail began the smooth flicking of his wand and hissed, "Avada…"

Harry jumped to his feet, coming to stand between Wormtail and Neville, and the curse died on Wormtail's lips. His eyes widened, and his face fell just a little as he stared at Harry. He glanced nervously over his shoulder at Voldemort, and turned back to Harry with a fire burning in his eyes.

"Avada…"

He opened and closed his mouth several times, but could not bring himself to complete the curse. His eyes flashed anger, confusion, and fear. Harry saw easily into his troubled mind.

It was betrayal. It was James and Lily, dead because of him. It was Remus and Sirius, begging to kill him, and it was Harry Potter, saving his life. It was a life debt he had not repaid. It was his inability to kill his enemy. It was the look in the Dark Lord's eyes, and knowing that his Lord was unwilling now to raise a hand to save him from the boy he could not fight. It was betrayal, his master's and his own.

The final betrayal would be to himself.

He flicked his wrist and shouted desperately, "Avada Kedavra!" And with a flash of green that did not fly across the clearing, Peter Pettigrew slumped forward, and was gone from the world of the living.

Another shockwave shook the forest floor.

Harry stepped back, shoving against Neville roughly. "Neville, get out of here."

"Harry, I'm not leaving you."

Harry shoved him again. "This is between me and Voldemort. Go."

"But—"

"Neville, go now! Go protect Ginny!"

Neville nodded, having been given a purpose to accomplish. And then he was gone.

Harry was alone now, watching the sick display of Peter Pettigrew's soul separating from its corpse. Voldemort stood waiting, heedless to the proximity of his mortal enemy.

"Impedimentia!" shouted Harry, but the magic was rebounded. Wormtail's soul would not be stopped. Harry shifted his perception, opening himself up to the magic flying through the clearing, and he could see the protections inherent to the bonding spell between Lord and servant. The strength of the shields surrounding Voldemort and Wormtail were easily as strong as the love protection left on Harry as the final gift from his mother.

There was nothing to do but wait, and be ready.

Wormtail's soul flew to Voldemort and the force of impact as the two collided sent one more shockwave through the forest, but Harry did not stagger. He waited. He waited for the completion of the bonding union that was strengthening the snake-faced Dark Lord to the height of terrifying powers. And then he raised his wand.

Almost instantly, Voldemort began an assault against Harry's mental defenses. But now, Harry had history on his side. He had many years worth of memories of lying to this demented wizard, and that alone gave him the confidence he needed to control his strength of will. His Occlumency shields remained firmly intact and he spread his perceptions throughout the clearing. He "watched" the others to ensure he was not hit from behind. But more importantly, he opened himself into Voldemort, never fearing for a second that he would lose himself.

Failure was not an option now. This was the end.

Harry knew that the magic he was radiating was powerful enough to seem almost tangible. But Voldemort was the same, and he still had many years of experience in the Dark Arts that Harry did not have, even with the addition of Severus' life.

Harry knew he would have to use everything that he was just to keep up in the imminent duel against Voldemort. And he wouldn't let himself worry about it yet, but he honestly didn't have a clue as to how to finish this. They had never figured out how to sever Voldemort's link to the land of the living.

And time had kind of run out.

Refusing to panic, Harry focused on matters at hand. His consciousness was expanded and Harry experienced the magic as it flew through the air around them. He felt the texture of the air, mingled with Dark and Light magics. He felt the breath of his enemy, the hatred of his enemy, and the intention of his enemy.

Voldemort wanted to destroy him, break him apart piece by piece. He had used the paradox of his split self to chip away at Harry's sanity, but Harry could see the truth now, so Voldemort had lost that edge. But still, entirely sure of his superiority, Voldemort thrust the probing fingers of Legilimency at the young wizard before him, intent on owning him, controlling him entirely.

Harry's scar was burning, and he wondered again, briefly, at their connection. Staring into the eye of such evil, Harry had to be amazed that he had survived this long. But that he had only gave him more reason to believe he would again live to see another day.

Voldemort's red eyes twitched and Harry realized he had let his lips quirk into a smile. He narrowed his eyes with an arrogant, childish look of derision. He knew Voldemort was underestimating him. That could work to his advantage. Harry was about to say something cocky and foolish, but then the texture of the air changed again.

Something was happening.

Harry could not suffer the loss of a moment to look away to this new appearance in the clearing, but something bizarre was definitely happening not too far from them. Harry did not feel threatened by it, so he kept his attention focused on the intense mental altercation between himself and Voldemort.

He was therefore quite stunned to see two spirits coming up behind Voldemort, sweeping through Voldemort, and coming to rest between the two wizards. He was even more stunned, however, when Voldemort's attempts to break into Harry's mind faltered, and Voldemort fell to his knees.

"My Lord Slytherin," said Voldemort, his eyes cast down.

Harry stared in shock, first at the suddenly kneeling Voldemort, then at the two spirits. They were wizard manifestations, dressed in ancient robes and huge wide-brimmed, floppy hats. With long flowing hair and beards, the two wizard spirits looked very similar, although entirely distinct. One was long and lean with sharp, piercing eyes that seemed to stand out as real flesh in the midst of a spirit body. The other was shorter, stockier, with broad shoulders and a strong brow. They looked familiar to Harry. He had seen their likenesses somewhere before.

The taller one stood firm before Voldemort, looking down on him in disgust.

"So this is what has become of my bloodline," he said, shaking his head in shame.

And Harry remembered. He had seen these men before in a painting of the Founders that Hermione had shown him once in Hogwarts, A History. Standing before him were the spirits of Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor!

"My Lord!" said Voldemort, looking up sharply. "In ten days' time I shall own the entire wizarding world! What more is there to be done!"

"You are a disgrace to my seed, you mudblood cur!" shouted Slytherin. "You have taken every principle I stood for and twisted it. You have turned the entire wizarding world against you!"

"The wizarding world worships me!" shot Voldemort, rising to his feet. "They fear and respect me, because I am the only one who can lead them to salvation!"

Gryffindor barked laughter, coming to stand beside Harry. "Tough luck on heirs, Sal," he said, resting his cold spirit hand on Harry's shoulder. "Better luck in the next millennium."

Voldemort turned on him, his wand raised high, "Silence, you!"

Gryffindor and Slytherin swept forward to Voldemort, and a swirling wind began to blow dangerously around them. Voldemort stepped backward in alarm, but he held his wand high and gritted his teeth in defiance of his fear.

"The world doesn't respect you, Tom," roared Gryffindor.

"They hate you," hissed Slytherin in Parseltongue. "The whole world is against you."

"They would sooner follow my teenage heir than you," said Gryffindor.

"They would sooner DIE than follow you," said Slytherin.

Voldemort's red eyes flashed with fury, and Harry panicked, remembering the prophecies. It was loyalty that Voldemort was after—loyalty and servitude. And then he would craft the world into a wizarding paradise, with himself reigning supreme. Voldemort had truly believed the wizarding world would stand behind him in the end, and he would feel betrayed to think that everyone would rather die than do so.

To Voldemort, there was nothing worse than death. And the wizarding world—his people—choosing death over him was the worst betrayal possible. Voldemort killed betrayers. He tortured them, destroying them painfully.

Harry saw the change take place in Voldemort's mind. His desire to conquer and control shifted seamlessly into the desire to decimate entirely.

The Dark Lord turned his eyes to Salazar Slytherin, his greatest ancestor, and hissed venomously, "If they will not follow me, then they shall have their wish!"

He raised his wand and shouted, "MOSMORDE!"

Out of the tip of his wand exploded the Dark Mark, flying high into the air above the clearing, hung with the damning message, "For You, Harry Potter."

A wash of cold took hold of Harry's body, mind, and heart. The air seemed to freeze as a group of Dementors descended upon the clearing, drawn to the Darkness. Gryffindor and Slytherin were tearing at Voldemort, trying to fight him in the last desperate moments before the Dementors were present, but Voldemort swept them away with his powerful magic, loosed completely in his rage.

The spirit Founders looked to the Dementors closing in, and had no choice but to retreat. The Dementors could even suck the souls of those already dead, as the Founders had witnessed elsewhere on the battlefield this day.

"Courage, Harry Potter!" yelled out Godric Gryffindor as he swept away. "Strength of heart and courage!"

The words struck Harry like adrenaline, and in the next instant he was hit one more time with the memory of prophecies. They flashed through his head in rapid succession, so quickly that time around him seemed to slow almost to a standstill in comparison to the speed of the activity in his brain.

Fear. Hermione had mentioned several times the recurring theme of fear in the prophecies, and her certainty of its importance. And now Dementors were storming in while Harry stood face to face with the most fearsome Voldemort that had yet existed.

Dementors…

Hermione had told the story. "Well, at some unspecified time 'long ago', some unspecified dark wizard was trying to destroy souls. He thought he had succeeded, but his 'experiments' were forever hungering for souls that they themselves did not have. They eventually ate his."

They had been trying to figure out a way to kill Voldemort's soul, but killing souls couldn't be done, said Malfoy, "Not by wizards, at any rate. It is believed that Dementors actually do completely destroy the souls they consume, because there's not a known case of a successful séance with someone who was given the Dementor's kiss."

Another day. Another memory. Harry shuddered at the thought of the Dementor's kiss. "Such vile creatures," he said.

"Yeah, but too bad they're on Voldemort's side," said Ron. "If they worked for the Order, we could sic 'em after Voldemort."

But that wasn't possible. And that wasn't what Harry was supposed to do anyway, was it? Hermione had seen it that day when Crabbe and Goyle attacked them outside the Great Hall. She said she saw that "We were going to go to the library with Malfoy and that he would help us get on the right track with our research."

And they had all thought that when Malfoy put them on the right track it was when he told them to focus on severing Voldemort's link with the living. Nobody knew how to do that, because nobody knew what Voldemort had done to tie himself to life.

But that wasn't it. Harry was sure of it now. It was the Dementors. They destroyed souls completely, and Malfoy told them as much that same day.

In the blink of an eye, these memories had smashed through his consciousness and he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it all came down to his own strength, his own heart, and his own courage. It all came back to fear, to the Dementors.

Harry had to face them. It was the only way.

Gryffindor's words were still echoing in the air, "Courage, Harry Potter!" and Harry glanced around himself. Voldemort was shaking in his rage, truly and completely lost in the insanity brought on by what he perceived to be absolute betrayal. The air was frigid and permeated by the stink of death as the Dementors gathered closer, bringing with them a blinding darkness.

'Almost…' thought Harry, as one drew near to him, it's decomposed hand reaching out to him. Harry stood still, knowing that Voldemort thought him to be paralyzed in fear.

It was almost touching him. It took every bit of control Harry had to stand tall, to fight down his darkest memories against the onslaught of morbid despair that pressed in on him.

And then he raised his wand. Turning on Voldemort suddenly, he yelled the first curse that came to his mind, "Stupify!"

But Voldemort was ready, and yelled out, "Crucio!" at the same moment.

The power behind their magic issued forth bright flashes of light that slammed together midway between them, exploding into a beautiful glowing shell that surrounded the two wizards in dazzling tendrils of interweaving light. The powerful and heartening song of a phoenix filled Harry's ears, stirring his heart, and giving him the strength he needed to go through with this.

The Dementor was trapped inside the golden web with them. It staggered in the midst of the casing made of light, upset by the song of the phoenix.

Harry was holding his wand with both hands, and the stream of magic between the two wizards began moving once again toward Voldemort's wand. But Voldemort seemed unconcerned by the display.

Fast as lightening, he reached into his robe and withdrew another wand, but before he had a chance to cast the first curse against Harry, Harry opened one of his hands and whispered, "Accio."

Voldemort's second wand flew into his open hand. Harry gripped it hard, pushing with his thumb. The wand snapped in two. Harry let the pieces fall to the ground beside him.

Voldemort's eyes were wild with fury as he looked at the Boy Who Lived.

"You are a wandless spellcaster, I see," hissed Voldemort in Parseltongue.

"I am," replied Harry simply.

"Are you going to kill me now?" hissed the Dark Lord with a smile.

"Yes," said Harry, "I am." His voice was shaking. He did not want to do this.

Voldemort mistook Harry's tone for uncertainty, and he grinned maliciously. "You cannot kill me, Potter. My flesh may die, but my soul will live." He was breathing heavily, snarling with triumph, "And I will haunt you all the days of your life, Potter. I will destroy you more completely than you could ever dream of destroying me!"

Harry glanced to the Dementor, who was flailing its arms about uselessly against the magic of the golden web that surrounded them. Harry swallowed hard. 'Courage,' he thought. Sirius had told him. Godric Gryffindor had told him. Now was the time for courage. He could do this.

"You can't control my Dementors, you foolish boy!" hissed Voldemort.

Harry turned back to him with a sad look in his eye, wanting anything but what he was about to do. And Voldemort's face fell. He had seen something flicker across Harry's gaze, and Voldemort was afraid.

Harry turned back to the Dementor, and split himself in two. Standing there, holding strong a wand that was bound to Voldemort's, holding Voldemort captive, Harry opened his mind…

In a flash, everything was darkness—the putrescence of a rotted being. The mind of a Dementor felt like scum to Harry. It was sickeningly hollow, desperately longing to suck life into its being, but eternally unable.

The magic in the shell was stabbing into it, destroying it slowly with relentless attacks of goodness that it could not absorb, of life it could not take, of magic it could not flee. The part of Harry that was taking possession of the Dementor shied away from the power that the other part of Harry, standing strong with his wand trained on Voldemort, was emanating.

And a deadening sensation began to take over his consciousness. Entering the mind of a Dementor was like bathing in a rancid sea of maggoty blood. Harry grasped at the delicate balance of control, but he was being sucked in. The Dementor was getting to his soul after all.

Standing with his wand, Harry began to feel very cold, chilled to his bones, chilled in his blood, chilled in his mind, chilled in his heart. Life—his soul—was leaving him.

Harry rallied his strength. He rallied his control. He held onto the memories of his life as a Death Eater spy, remembering everything he had come through before. But memories of torture that he had endured and torture he had committed fed into the Dementor's strength, helping it to gain control.

Harry became aware of a burning sensation against his chest, and he saw tendrils of white light leaping out from his locket, surrounding him, and filling him with the most wonderful feelings of joy and happiness Harry had ever felt.

And again he remembered strength, but he remembered the strength that love had given him. He remembered Nicolas and Perenelle presenting him with the locket. He remembered Sirius asking him if he would like to live with him. He remembered Lupin telling him he thought of him as a son. He remembered Hermione, and Ron, and Ginny, his beloved twin. He remembered all of the Weasleys and the family they had become for him. He remembered Severus, his mentor and friend. He remembered himself through Severus' memories, and the aching love he felt for the man that had grown from the insolent brat he had loathed. And he remembered Malfoy, curled up with him, and blushing when he had been caught watching Harry sleep, and his smile, and his jealousy, and his complicated eyes, and his arrogance, and his dry sense of humor. And Malfoy chose him—chose Harry over his father.

And once again, Harry was in control.

He looked at Voldemort, struggling with all his might against the bond between his wand and Harry's. But Harry's power pulsed through the stream of magic that held them together, and Voldemort was helpless in his resistance.

And Harry looked up at the two wizards, and around at the casing of light that drove into him like daggers, and he held onto the disgusting feeling that enveloped him, the darkness that surrounded him.

Harry Potter was inside the mind of a Dementor. And Harry Potter was in control.

He began to sweep forward to the red-eyed human, a predator stalking its prey. The scaly, inhuman face turned toward his and then looked to Harry's other part.

"No… No, it's not possible!" he shouted desperately.

"It's over, Tom," replied Harry.

Voldemort shook his head, pulling against his wand but unable to let go. "No! It can't… You can't…"

Harry was closing in on him, pushed forward by a human mind, but driven by the desire of the Dark creature within to devour life—to consume what could never be its own.

Voldemort was struggling uselessly, maddened further as he screamed out his denial, "Can't be… It… Wizards cannot possess non-humans! You can't… Mind magic is impossible on magic creatures! No! No, it's not… This isn't happening!"

Harry reached up and lowered his hood, revealing the face of death—but worse than death. It was the ultimate destruction of life. There was nothing after the Dementor's Kiss.

And he began to suck, inhaling deeply huge gasps of air that went right through him. Voldemort was frozen as Harry loosed his magic completely on him, bringing forth every bad feeling, every memory of every misdeed, pulling at the pain of life and devouring it whole. Darkness was the meat, the epitome of existence. Pain was the purpose. Pain was real. Hatred and vengeance and sadness and disgust—this was what made humans truly alive. And Harry fed on it, swallowed it all. Voldemort had much to offer.

And slowly, with determined precision, Harry leaned forward and placed the decomposed flesh of his lips to those of Voldemort, and for one very brief moment, he knew the feeling of what it was to be alive—to truly be alive. As Voldemort's soul left his body uninhabited, it flashed through the entire being of the Dementor, filling it with life, filling it with feeling. But then it was gone and all that remained was the sick, hollowness of a putrid, soulless existence.

Harry let go of Voldemort's limp body. It dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

And then Harry slipped out of the Dementor's consciousness, slamming fully back into his own body, which was wrapped in the tangle of the sweeter emotions emanating from his locket.

Voldemort lay in a heap, his eyes a listless, dull red. His wand lay in the grass. The golden web was gone, but it had been replaced by another bright light. Looking around, Harry saw brilliant white beasts galloping around the clearing, driving the Dementors away. He felt a tug on his locket and knew that Nicolas and Perenelle were there, trying to locate him through the gift they had given him.

Harry stepped forward and his knees gave out. He crumpled to the ground. He felt entirely used, wasted. He didn't want to think about the amount of magic he had just performed. All he knew was that, regardless of the consequences, he had one more spell to cast.

Crawling on all fours, he very slowly made his way through the dirt and grass to where Voldemort was laying. He looked into the half-lidded, soulless eyes, and Harry felt something akin to regret. He thought through the memories he had of Tom Riddle, of Lord Voldemort. Things could have been so different with this wizard. But there was no use wondering what good things could have come had Tom Riddle lived a different life. All Harry knew was that things could have turned out much worse.

"Neither can live…"

It had always come down to that, to a prophecy made shortly before Harry's birth. Now, nearly seventeen years later, the two wizards lay side by side on the forest floor, and the time had come to fulfill the prophecy.

Harry held out his wand weakly. This had to be done. He gathered his strength and took a deep breath. "Avada Kedavra," he said with a deft flick of the wrist. There was a flash of green, and then the empty eyes of Tom Riddle were dead.

"Goodbye," Harry whispered, and he lay on his back, conscious that his own heart had stopped beating. And then, lying in the midst of that battlefield, Harry Potter gasped, and shuddered, and began to cry.

The tendrils of white were surrounding him again, pulling at him, but Harry didn't have the energy to go to Nicolas and Perenelle. He didn't have the energy for anything but grief. Voldemort had been the purpose of his existence for so long now that Harry felt as though he had just committed suicide by destroying the Dark Lord. There was nothing anymore. There was…

'Harry, where are you?'

There was Ginny—nearby, barely conscious and calling to him. Harry reached out to her through their bond, and she was the lifeline he needed in order to move again. He rolled onto his stomach and began pulling himself forward, following an invisible trail to her.

He crawled across the clearing, surrounded by Patronuses that stormed through. He crawled past Death Eaters and students that lay incapacitated or dead. He crawled through the running feet of Order Members and other reinforcements that shouted out in all different languages. He crawled to Ginny.

Neville was there, holding her hand and keeping a steady watch, a steady shield against the few random curses that were still being called out.

"Harry!" yelled Neville, swept over with relief. "Harry, you made it! What happened? I couldn't see!"

Harry curled up with his broken twin, trying not to hurt her further, but desperately needing contact with something that reminded him of life. He felt the warmth of the magic from the locket surrounding him and Ginny, encasing them both with a soft, healing energy.

'Did you kick his ass?' thought Ginny through their link, and Harry almost smiled.

"Yeah," he said aloud, answering both of them. "He's dead now."

And Neville was saying something, but Harry was only aware of his twin. Then someone else was touching him. Some other voice was saying his name. And it was a great feeling, but it only reminded Harry that he didn't know if Severus was still alive and that he didn't have the strength to get up and find out.

'Sev,' he thought, calling out through the link.

But there was no answer, and Harry didn't have the strength for any more grief. He buried his face into Ginny's neck, and let the darkness take him.

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