It isn't over
December 15, 1999
You still cannot believe that you were there, celebrating your seventeenth birthday in Grimmauld Place with Remus, Ron, Hermione and the other Weasleys, who have warmly accepted you as a part of the large "family" they had along with Remus and Hermione. Your cake was huge with great amounts of chocolate lava spilling from inside of it as it was being cut in such a slow, glorious way. It was the first time in so long that a genuine smile spread itself on your face like thick luscious jam on toast and you could not help but push away all the anxiety and fear and feel only joy and gladness. The echoing chorus of the birthday songs was deafening and the explosions outside were similar to the fireworks that Fred and George created. The screams of terror were ignored and they continued their temporary merry-making. After all, those last moments of ignorance were truly bliss. For right now, you are preparing for the final battle, the duel that would decide who was the stronger wizard and who would prevail. Right now, there is no more time for hesitation, all there is, is do or die. And you have to win. Even if it means death, you will destroy the man who stole everything from you, not only for yourself, but also for Ron, for Hermione, for Remus, for Sirius, for your parents, for Dumbledore and for the world.
"Harry?" says a voice you know only to be Ron. You turn to look at him and once again you notice the stark changes tuberculosis has set on your friend. His eyes are sunken in, dark circles delimit those indigo spheres and rapidly, he is losing weight. Ron was almost always tired but he could never fall asleep easily. You feel grief for him since you were there when slumber was impossible for him and you were there in those broken nights beleaguered with nightmares.
"Yes, Ron?" He looks at you with such a stoic expression that you a foreboding sensation stain you. Then you notice that he is wearing his Auror robes and that foreboding sensation churns your stomach as you prepare for what he is about to say.
"I'm coming with you." You stare at him in trepidation. He says it so simply as though you are just going to take a stroll in the park.
"No. You don't have to, you protest.
He shouldn't have to.
But his is clearly undaunted.
"It's not what I have to do." His eyes are and yours and you see the determination and conviction glazing in his blues eyes like an ocean in a violent storm. "It's what I want to do."
"But you're sick…" you say helplessly.
"I'd rather die in battle than on a death bed!" bellow the red head. The tip of his ears are scarlet and anger is fused with such fortitude and fervour; an amalgamation that never means well for the receiving end of a quarrel that involved any Weasley.
"I don't want you to die this way!" you yell back at him, sincerely worried about his welfare.
"I think how I want to die is up to me, Harry!"
"You don't understand!" But he slams his hand on the oak table his eyes no longer just angry but they were screaming complete rage.
"No. You don't understand, Harry." He walks over to the dust-covered tabletop and looks at he pictures intently. "I need this," his voice is barely a whisper but in the resounding silence it is a bell. "I need to know why I'm still alive…"
"Crucio!" The voice of Lucius Malfoy echoes in your ears and you see Ron cringing on the floor. He does not scream instead he is biting on his lip and his eyes are squeezed shut. Anger wells up inside you but Hermione reaches the blond man first. You are temporarily distracted but that cold voice brings you back to why you are here. Your heart is pounding in your chest and at last this will be the last time you will ever have to face this man, or creature, again. Half the Order is dead but there is twice the number of Death Eaters either dead or in captivity. The duel between you and Voldemort is the only way to end this war.
"Hello, Harry. It certainly has been a long time since we last met." He greets you with a grin full of malice and you shudder. Trepidation courses through your veins and it's getting hard to breathe. You are scared, no, petrified, not of the thing before you rather the thought of dying. All you've ever done was to live and now Death, with his name woven throughout you, is about to take you home. Nevertheless, you are ready to do what you must. You nod in agreement to his statement.
"Yes, Voldemort. It has been a long time…and this will be the last time." He studies you almost thoughtfully before he smirks.
"Are you really this eager to die?"
"No," you say softly; loud enough for only him to hear. "Neither are you. But one of us has to die."
He sneers at you and your scar begins to burn. The pain is immense but it is not strong enough to stop you.
"You are very brave to say that, Harry, for it is you who will perish." He laughs and your head feels like it's going to split in two and warm liquid spills from it but your tenacity, no matter what, is still stronger than any pain in the world. As he mocks you, you raise your wand and use your left hand to keep a steady arm. You feel so tired; the effort just to stand is draining you of energy. As you take aim you this could be the last spell you will ever cast. Your words are barely a whisper but the spell had been cast.
Avada Kedavra.
The defeated Dark Lord crumples in a heap on the floor with the look of mocking laughter still lucid in his reptilian face. You feel the last of your strength slip from your fingers along with you wand. Its echoing crash turns heads and someone catches you before you fall.
"That was bloody brilliant, mate." Your head rests on someone's lap but you are too tired you bother to see who it is. You recognize the voice as Ron's and though he's pale and his lips are bleeding his grin is radiant. Hermione kneels beside you and even she has a smile on her face.
"It's over," she whispers, holding your hand in hers. You lift your head slightly to look at Ron and his grin melts into an affectionate smile. He helps you sit up and places a hand on your head, patting it gently. A feeling of content captures you and you fall back on his lap and fall asleep.
"He's powerless now."
You look up at the mediwizard with distress weaving itself on your features.
No. It is impossible.
"Harry Potter is no longer a wizard." Hermione's face falls and you look over at the bed where Harry lay, looking like a small innocent boy. A boy who had seen too much and knew so little.
"I don't understand," Hermione says. The mediwizard looks troubled, he cannot really explain.
"It's really simple, Miss Granger. When he cast the last spell he used up all his energy. It was a miracle he even survived." The mediwizard looked at the two of them with genuine regret. "All magical ability is gone from him. He cannot practice any sort of wizardry. In short, he is a muggle now."
You don't want to believe what he is saying. It all seemed to far-fetched. How could the saviour of the world be so powerless now?
"The effect of this knowledge can severely damage Mr. Potter's psychological being. And we have no choice but to erase his memory," continued the mediwizard. Hermione opens her mouth to protest but you raise you hand to silence her.
"No." You gaze directly at the mediwizard's eye. "That choice is still Harry's." The older man glares at you with contempt. You know he thinks what he's doing is for the best but not everyone was like Harry and you know that.
"This is no longer a matter of choice, Mr. Weasley. He will become psychologically ill if we do not take action." This is stupid. Don't they realize the greater damage of erasing Harry's memories? Can't they see through their own madness?
"Erasing his memories will only drive him mad! Do you really think erasing his almost his entire life will solve anything!" The mediwizard's eyes are darting around rapidly as though he's looking for assurance from someone but there was no one there to back him up. No ministry officials were allowed inside the room and only Dumbledore, the remnants of the Weasleys, Remus and a few others.
"He's knows too much!" This statement breaks a fuse in your brain. That is what this dispute is about? Because he knows too much? Remus looked mildly exasperated and some others were fuming. You are about to bellow something obscenely rude to the rapidly balding man but a soft voice cuts through your sentiment.
"I don't want my memory erased." You all turn to look at Harry and see that he is sitting upright and has removed the bandages on his forehead. I don't want anything taken away from me anymore."
The mediwizard looks lost and you can't help but snigger a little. But as you do so a loud cough erupts from your throat and suddenly you can't breathe. Everyone is rushing to try and help you except Dumbledore and Remus and this only impairs the situation further.
Your lungs feel so painful and blood is dribbling from your mouth. And just as it came it suddenly stops.
You look up at Harry and his green eyes are on you watching you intently. You smile at him and he smiles back. It is so poignantly transcendent the way that in between moments of your attacks you and he can still smile.
"I don't want to forget anything. Or anyone." He looks at all of you in the room (save for the mediwizard) significantly. "I want to remember it all."
"But–"
"But what?" asks Remus quietly, eyeing the medical man.
He says nothing and leaves the room. Silence settles itself for a moment and you wonder what is left for Harry now that he has no magical energy in him and no significant muggle education.
"Can I still play Quidditch?" Harry asks and Remus looks thoughtful, you, Hermione and the others are doubtful while Dumbledore has that silly knowing smile plastered on his face.
"Yes, you can." Harry smiles contentedly and lies back on his pillow, getting himself ready to sleep. You feel a grin pull your lips. How could you have forgotten Quidditch?
In spite of everything, there is quidditch that Harry does not need magic or muggle education for.
There is always Quidditch.