A/N: This chapter contains extensive and intense scenes of violence. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Chapter Fifty: The Final Reckoning

Even as Harry flung spell after desperate spell at Ginny, at the sword, at Ron, he knew it was too late. The sword spun through the air in a blur of bright silver, and Harry could only watch helplessly as it slashed Ron across the belly. Ron didn't scream; he hardly even moved.

Harry heard the sword clatter across the stone floor, but his eyes were locked on Ron, who was bleeding heavily and looking at Harry with an almost bemused expression on his face.

'It doesn't hurt, Harry,' he said, his voice full of surprise, and then his knees gave out and he fell, almost in slow motion, to the floor.

'NO!'

The scream came from Harry's throat, and it was the sight of Ron falling, of his blood splashing on the floor, which put Harry's feet in motion; he hurtled towards Ron and crashed to his knees beside him. Neville was already there.

'Ron!' Harry croaked, and he gripped Ron's shoulders to turn him over onto his back. His entire front was crimson, his sweatshirt soaked. Harry had never seen so much blood.

'Oh, god...' he groaned. 'Ron...Jesus Christ. You stupid fuck...'

'This isn't good,' said Neville.

No, you think?

'S-sorry, Harry,' Ron muttered. 'Had to...you needed blood...'

'I've already got your blood in that potion I'm carrying!' Harry roared, caught between terror and fury for his best friend.

'Wasn't enough...' Ron muttered, as Neville began to pull up Ron's sweatshirt.

'Help me,' he barked at Harry, and the two of them peeled the fabric upwards. Ron winced.

'Okay,' he murmured. 'That hurts...'

'Oh, Jesus,' Harry whispered. There was a single, gaping slash across Ron's torso; it looked as if the sword had cut him deeply. Blood gushed with every beat of Ron's heart. Harry suddenly felt totally helpless. Frozen and useless as the very life drained out of Ron's body. 'Ron...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, mate...' Tears dripped down Harry's face, his nose.

'Not your fault,' Ron whispered. 'Cold...I'm cold...'

'Harry!' Neville snapped. 'He's bleeding out. Wake up and help me and maybe we can save him!'

Harry blinked and wiped his eyes. Neville--timid, forgetful, uncertain Neville--was ordering him to snap out of it, to wake up, to help him save Ron's life.

'Potions,' said Harry at once. 'Neville...I don't have any emergency potions, they fell out of my pocket--'

'Here,' said Neville, yanking his small satchel from the inside pocket of his jacket. 'We'll give him mine. Give him the blood clot stuff first. And be careful when you move him.'

'Right,' said Harry, and he reached down and started to lift Ron gently up by the shoulders. Ron moaned and opened his eyes.

'Harry...' he whispered. 'Where's...Ginny?'

Harry felt fresh tears in this eyes; here was Ron, bleeding to death--no! Not bleeding to death, Harry wouldn't let him!--and the first person he thought of was his sister. Harry quickly tapped the phial of Blood Clotting Concoction with Sprout's wand, enlarging it to its normal size.

'Ginny's okay, Ron,' said Neville, as he performed healing spells over Ron's wound. 'I had to Stun her, but she'll be fine.'

Harry looked up at Draco, who was watching him and Neville work on Ron with a kind of frozen expression.

'Malfoy, if you're not going to help us, go get Ginny and bring her down here,' Harry snapped. 'But don't wake her; she's still under Imperius and...and that'll mess with my head as much as hers.'

Draco screwed up his face in confusion, but he obeyed, and moved upwards to the daïs to fetch the unconscious Ginny. Harry, meanwhile, managed to get Ron into a reclining position and lifted up his head.

'Make sure...' Ron whispered, 'she doesn't blame herself...for what happened...it wasn't her fault...'

'Don't talk, Ron,' Neville urged gently, doing another healing spell. Ron's wound seemed to be closing, but it was very slow work, and blood still flowed.

'Ron, said Harry, feeling his desperation increase, 'you have to drink this, okay? Come on, open your mouth.'

Ron complied, letting his lips fall open. Harry poured the contents of the phial into Ron's mouth; Ron gurgled, but Harry quickly closed Ron's mouth and massaged his throat with his free hand.

The liquid went down, and Ron grimaced.

'Tastes like shit...' he muttered.

Harry gave a half-sob, half-chuckle.

'The potion's helping,' said Neville, still working with the healing spells, 'but he's lost a lot of blood. Give him the Blood Replenishing Draught now.'

Harry nodded, and started to lower Ron down again, when he saw Draco with Ginny in his arms.

'Set her down,' said Harry, 'and help me. Find the Blood Replenishing Draught, would you?'

Draco hesitated; he didn't seem to want to let go of Ginny, who hung limply in his arms.

'Malfoy!' Harry barked, and Draco very carefully set Ginny down on the cold stone floor nearby. Harry winced to look at her: her face was bruised; there was a nasty cut along her left cheekbone; and her right arm was bent at an unnatural angle. It had clearly been broken at some point, and the bone reset carelessly, with no thought given to how it might heal. There were dark circles under her eyes and her hair was matted and crusted with dried blood; there were bruises on her neck. All this damage, in the course of twenty-four hours.

And yet her breathing was steady, and she looked almost peaceful, and Harry knew he couldn't wake her up yet. Voldemort was connected to both of them; her unconsciousness was a saving grace right now, allowing Harry to focus on saving Ron's life instead of being caught up in whatever mental battles raged in Ginny's mind.

'Here's the potion,' said Draco, bringing Harry back to the task at hand. Draco handed Harry another phial.

Harry took it and spoke to Ron again. 'One more potion, okay, mate? You have to drink this one, too.'

''Kay,' said Ron weakly.

'Malfoy, help me hold him up,' said Harry, and he poured the contents of the second phial down Ron's throat. Ron swallowed on his own this time, which Harry took as a hopeful sign.

'Eugh...' Ron muttered. 'Disgusting.'

Harry then nodded to Draco to let go of Ron; Draco backed away, letting Ron slump against Harry.

'His color's coming back,' Neville noted, passing his wand over Ron's wound once more. 'That's good. Ron, how do you feel?'

'Like I've been sliced up,' said Ron. 'Ow...what're you doing?'

'Trying to heal you,' said Neville.

'Hurts worse than getting cut...' Ron mumbled.

'Then maybe you shouldn't have let yourself get cut in the first place,' said Harry hotly, regarding Ron with a mixture of anger, frustration and heartache. He found himself gripping Ron's large hand in his own.

'And what,' Ron retorted weakly, 'I was supposed to let you end up like this?'

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but found he could not.

'Firenze told me,' said Ron, looking up at Harry with tired blue eyes, 'the blood of those who...who love you is what's going to save you. I didn't know...what that meant until right before...the potion will help...getting him to that room will help but the sword...the blood on it...it's chess, Harry. You have to make...a few sacrifices.'

The lump in Harry's throat rose up again, and tears clouded his vision.

'You stupid fuck,' he managed.

'You already called me that,' said Ron, grinning woozily.

'You'd better not die on me,' Harry croaked. 'I mean it, Ron.'

'I'll try,' said Ron. 'How's it look, Neville?'

Neville, who'd been working on Ron's wound steadily for the past several minutes, looked up at them both. His forehead was sweaty and he looked a bit tired.

'I think I've fixed the worst of it,' he said.

'Really?' said Harry hopefully.

'He needs the hospital,' said Neville. 'There's some internal bleeding and...and I'm not skilled enough to stop that. The potions help but their effects won't last forever.'

'We could give him more potions until we get him to hospital,' said Harry. 'Malfoy?'

'What?' said Draco sharply.

'Give Neville your blood potions,' Harry ordered. 'For Ron.'

'And what if I need them?'

At this, Neville stood up and pointed his wand at Draco's chest. 'Give me the potions, Malfoy,' he threatened.

Draco glared at Neville for a long moment, but then he reached into his pocket and withdrew his own satchel, tossing it to Neville. Neville fumbled as he caught it, nearly dropping the lot but managing to hold onto it before it fell.

Draco snorted. 'Be glad there are Unbreakable Charms on that stuff,' he quipped.

Neville glowered at Draco before pocketing the satchel.

'We should get him to hospital now,' said Harry urgently. 'And Ginny, too, for that matter--'

He broke off with a gasp of pain and his hand flew to his scar, which was burning.

'Ginny...' he whispered, and suddenly all the boys were staring at Ginny, who had awakened and was standing up slowly, her tearful eyes fixed on Ron. Harry could tell she was, indeed, still under the Imperius Curse, judging by the slackness of her jaw and her slow, painful movements; her face might otherwise have been expressionless, but for the tears rolling down her cheeks.

'R-Ron,' she whispered. Her voice was oddly flat, and yet she could not stop crying. The strength of her anguish was palpable; where most who were under Imperius would feel oddly blissful, it seemed Ginny's Empathy made it impossible for her emotions to be totally suppressed by the curse she was under.

And yet Harry knew, by the buzzing in his own emotions and his scar, that Ginny wasn't trying to fight the curse, either.

'Ginny...' Ron called weakly. 'I'm okay...it's okay...'

'Ginny, listen to Ron!' Harry urged, taking a step towards her as she began to back away. Harry took another step and winced again as his scar flared. Voldemort was inside her, and Harry felt it through her. And then Harry heard Voldemort's voice.

See what you've done, Ginny? Your own brother.

'Didn't mean to,' Ginny muttered, her eyes still streaming tears, her voice still toneless.

'Ginny!' Harry called. 'Don't listen to him!'

They've fixed him up for now, but he won't last. The wound is deep. He's bleeding internally. He'll be dead inside of an hour.

'No...' Ginny whispered.

'Ginny!' Harry yelled again, moving towards her slowly.

Stay away from Potter!

Ginny gave a whimper and backed up more quickly; she stumbled and fell, but as Harry moved to help her up, she scrambled away.

You know what you have to do.

'Yes,' said Ginny, in an eerily distant voice.

'Ginny, don't listen to Voldemort!' Harry urged.

Make amends, Ginny. For your brother.

'Amends,' Ginny whispered.

Tell your brother you're sorry.

'Ginny...' Harry pleaded. His scar was on fire; his mind was reeling. He had to get through to her.

'I'm sorry, Ron,' Ginny said, her voice flat again, tears still on her face. She started to climb the stairs towards the archway.

'No, Ginny!' Harry yelled. 'Don't move!'

Ginny stopped for a moment.

Go on, Ginny. You've murdered your brother. You have to pay for it.

'Don't move!' Harry repeated. 'Fight him, Ginny! Don't let him do this! It's not your fault what happened.'

It is your fault.

'It is my fault,' she said, moving up the stone steps again, walking faster. The black veil billowed out, as though beckoning her to walk through.

Harry followed. 'Ginny, please! Don't do this!' His throat nearly closed up on him again. 'You don't have to do this.'

Ginny stopped again, and her whole body was trembling; Harry's body began to tremble in sympathy. Voldemort was inside both of them now, trying to stop Harry from catching Ginny, trying to force Ginny to walk through the veil.

Go on, Ginny.

'Get out of her head, you sick freak,' Harry growled.

She has to die, Potter. Just like her brother.

'H-Harry...' Ginny whispered, starting to turn around.

No! Don't turn around!

'That's it, Ginny,' Harry urged. 'Look at me. Fight him.'

She turned a few more steps. Harry could feel every inch of her struggle, her clawing attempts to resist the pull of the Imperius Curse, of Voldemort's hold on her mind. The pain was incredible, it was almost overwhelming.

Ginny hesitated.

'Come on, Ginny,' Harry begged. 'You can do this.'

Stay out of this, Potter!

'I won't let her die, you bastard,' Harry snapped. 'You won't hurt her to get to me!'

I already have. She's mine. She'll join her brother. All your little friends will die, you'll be alone...

'No,' Harry countered, urging his thoughts into Ginny's.

Yes...

There was a sudden flash, an image. Ginny gave a moan as she and Harry both saw Ron being slashed open with the sword. Ginny began to cry again, and started to turn back towards the daïs. Harry groaned as the pain increased in his scar.

'Ginny...' he said. 'Please...don't leave me...'

She stopped once more.

'I love you,' Harry pleaded. 'Stay with me. Fight him. If he takes you...he wins...'

She began to turn back to him.

No!

'Yes,' said Harry. 'That's it. Come on, Gin. Look at me.' He winced as new pain assaulted his whole body, as Ginny struggled against the bonds of Imperius. A few more steps and she would be facing him...

Stop!

Come on, Ginny,' Harry whispered.

She is mine!

'N-no...' Ginny gasped, and she turned fully around, lifting her red, swollen eyes to meet Harry's.

STOP!

Harry leapt forward, crushing Ginny in an embrace before she could move out of his reach. She screamed when he placed his hands on her face, and Harry screamed with her as the curse lifted, passed through him, and outward.

NO!

The entire room rippled and Harry and Ginny went tumbling; they were saved from falling completely down the stairs by both Neville and Draco, who used Levitation Charms. Instead of crashing along the stairs, Harry and Ginny landed softly on a step, with Ginny on top, her face now buried in Harry's neck. Voldemort was gone for the moment, but he would return.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing and Ginny's quiet sobs. Harry didn't move, he just clung to Ginny for dear life, caressing her matted hair and whispering softly to her. It was as if Ron, Neville and Draco weren't in the room.

'Shh, Ginny,' Harry whispered. 'I'm here.'

'I'm sorry,' she sobbed. 'I'm so sorry...it's all my fault...'

'No,' said Harry, taking her face in his hands and looking u at her. 'Never say that. Don't even think it. It was him. He used you.'

'But I tried to kill you,' Ginny whimpered. 'And Ron...'

'Ginny...'

Ginny turned to see Ron, shirtless and now leaning up against Neville. Ron had his left arm drawn over his stomach to hide the wound there.

'Ron?' Ginny climbed off Harry and ran towards her older brother, crashing to her knees and throwing her arms round his neck.

'Ow,' Ron groaned, but he put his free arm around Ginny's shoulder and held her close. Harry climbed slowly down the stairs, rubbing his forehead.

'I'm sorry, Ron, I'm sorry!' Ginny bawled. She pulled back and grabbed his left arm, pulling it away from his wound. 'Oh, Merlin...look what I did...'

'Ginny, it's okay,' said Ron weakly. 'Neville's patched me up. I just need to get to hospital, and I'll be fine.'

'But--'

'Tender as this scene is,' said Draco dryly, 'I don't think it's a good idea to stay here. Especially if the Dark Lord decides to make a return visit inside Potter's head.'

'We should get both Ron and Ginny to hospital if we can,' said Neville worriedly. 'They can't Apparate, but if we can find that secret tunnel...'

'Here,' said Harry, and he reached inside his left pocket--double-checking that the blood potion was still there--and withdrew a copy of the floor plans Hopkirk had provided everyone. He found the plan for the third floor.

'It's this loo,' he said, 'behind the far cubicle.'

'Right,' said Neville, as he and Draco helped Ron to his feet. 'I just hope we can get there into anyone unfriendly.'

Ron swayed slightly.

'Lean on me,' said Neville. 'It's okay. Maybe you should take a second dose of those potions.'

'Good idea...' said Ron, and Neville enlarged both phials; Ron took them in shaking hands and drank them down, dribbling a bit of each down his front, which Neville had mercifully cleaned of blood. Harry fought down a wave of despair. There was no way Ron could fight in his condition, and Ginny's injuries were such that she, too, would have trouble. Draco had fetched her wand and given it to her, but now she held it uncertainly, almost as though afraid of it.

Harry swallowed as she looked at him again. The guilt was written all over her face, and her lower lip was trembling.

It's not your fault, he thought, and he gripped her hand in his, willing her to accept it.

She nodded, but Harry knew she wasn't convinced. The guilt ran too deeply. Harry wondered if she'd ever get over it, but then he knew the only thing that could help her now was for him to end Voldemort's hold on her, for good.

It was time.

'If you can find Lupin or Hopkirk...let them do the fighting,' said Harry.

'Wait a minute...aren't you coming?' said Draco.

'Harry...' said Ginny.

'He can't,' said Ron, still leaning against up against Neville. 'He has to finish it.'

'Finish the Dark Lord,' said Draco. 'By yourself.' It wasn't a question.

'Yeah,' said Harry.

'No, Harry,' said Ginny, her eyes filling with tears again. 'You can't just...you can't face him alone...you need people there...'

'Ginny,' said Harry, 'I have to do this by myself. If I have people in there when I face him...he'll do whatever he can to hurt or kill them, because he knows it'll...distract me. I can't...I can't be worried about anyone else when I see him.'

'But we're your friends,' she whispered, clearly forgetting that Malfoy hardly fit that category. 'We're supposed to help.'

'You have,' said Harry. 'More than you know.' He looked at Ron, who grinned tiredly.

'You know what to do, Harry,' he said. 'So...finish it, yeah? Give me a really cool story to tell my kids.'

Harry felt another lump rise in his throat as his eyes skipped over the wound across Ron's stomach that looked as if it was barely being held together by magic.

'Kids, huh?' he said. 'When are you having kids?'

'Dunno,' said Ron. 'Whenever Hermione marries me and lets me knock her up.'

Everyone except Draco laughed, and then Ron winced and pressed a hand to his wound. 'Probably should try not to laugh,' he said.

'You need a shirt,' Neville noted, and he conjured up a t-shirt for Ron to wear.

'Thanks,' said Ron, shivering slightly as he let Neville carefully pull the shirt on him.

'Let's go,' Draco hissed, already moving towards the doorway leading out of the Death Chamber.

'Harry...' Ginny whispered, 'take...take my wand.'

'Ginny...'

'Just take it, please,' she begged. 'I won't take the chance that he could get in my head again and make me do other stuff.'

'It's...a fair point, Harry,' said Neville delicately.

'He could take mine,' Ron suggested. 'I won't be much good in a fight.'

'No,' said Ginny. 'Ron...you're in better shape to fight than I am. Really.'

Harry gazed at Ginny for a long moment, and then nodded; he took her wand from her outstretched hand, and let it settle into his grip. It wasn't perfect, but it was definitely an improvement on Sprout's wand.

'It's a bit swishy,' said Ginny.

'Neville, take Sprout's wand, would you?' said Harry, holding the professor's wand in his other hand. Neville took it and slipped it into his jeans pocket.

'Don't forget the sword, Harry,' said Ron.

Harry turned and Summoned the sword with a wave of Ginny's wand, that was, indeed, quite swishy; the sword flew towards him, the handle out. Harry caught it, and felt a wave of revulsion to see the blade stained bright with Ron's blood. The blood looked to still be wet. Ginny turned away, and Ron quickly put an arm around her again, kissing her on the forehead.

'The potion,' said Ron, his voice sounding a bit weaker. 'You have to take your potion, Harry.'

'I will,' said Harry. 'You lot get go--'

CRACK!

'Harry, look out!' Neville cried suddenly.

Harry barely had time to whirl about when the roar of an incantation filled the room.

'Avada Kedavra!'

The jet of green light flew from Voldemort's wand, making a beeline for Ginny...

'Protego!'

Four shouts, in unison, as Harry, Ron, Neville and Draco all threw up Shield Charms. Harry had about a millisecond to pray that the charms were strong enough, indeed, to repel a Killing Curse from the Dark Lord himself, when the jet of green light struck the four charms.

The charms didn't repel the Killing Curse--not even close--but they did manage to slow it down, just enough, giving Draco time to shove Ginny to the floor and the rest of them to duck out of the way. The curse hit the opposite wall with a crash, gouging out a huge chunk of plaster.

'Get out of here!' Harry bellowed, as Voldemort screamed and raised his wand again. 'Go!'

'Impedimenta!' Harry shouted, throwing a jinx at Voldemort. Wasting no time, Harry then threw a Leg Breaker Curse.

'Come on!' Draco shouted, throwing some Dark spells as he grabbed Ginny by the arm and yanked her up and towards the door. Voldemort blocked every spell that came at him, but everyone was hurtling curses at such speed, that Voldemort had no time to counter with curses of his own.

'Harry!' Ginny screamed.

'Get her out of here!' Harry roared. He saw a flurry of both red and blond hair as Ginny was pulled forcefully from the room by Draco. It was then that Harry remembered he was supposed to take the blood potion.

'Neville, Ron!' he yelled, but Ron seemed to know what Harry needed already. He and Neville focused all their attention on Voldemort, throwing every curse in their arsenal, but Voldemort countered with curses of his own, driving Ron and Neville further away from the door. Harry did the only thing he could think of--he conjured a barrier, and Neville and Ron dove behind it, barely missing a Cutting Curse from Voldemort. Voldemort threw a Reductor Curse that obliterated the barrier, sending bits of metal flying. Neville cried out as a piece sliced his cheek open, but Ron--in spite of his own injury--managed to throw out another barrier just in time.

'Hurry up, Harry!' he yelled, as Voldemort threw another Reductor Curse, that Neville barely managed to block.

Harry put down the sword, reached into his left pocket, and withdrew the phial of potion; enlarging it with a tap of Ginny's wand, he uncorked the phial and downed the contents.

The effect was almost instantaneous. Harry felt the heat of power flowing through his veins; he felt and saw the happiest moments in his life. For a moment, it was like he wasn't in the room with the most powerful Dark Wizard in a century, in a pitched battle to save his life and the lives of his friends.

Voldemort must have sensed Harry's sudden surge of strength; he gave a shriek and threw a Killing Curse, but Harry blocked it with a Shield Charm that sent the spell ricocheting to the left wall. Voldemort looked furious.

'Ron, Neville, go!' Harry roared, as Voldemort threw another curse, this one missing Ron's head by mere inches. Harry quickly picked up the sword in his left hand as he discarded the empty phial; he saw Neville clumsily drag Ron through the open door. Voldemort threw a Cutting Curse that narrowly missed Neville's leg, and in the next instant, Harry waved his wand at the door, slamming it shut. Voldemort hissed again and threw another Killing Curse at Harry, but Harry once again blocked it with a wave of Ginny's wand as he clutched the sword tightly in his other hand.

'This is not possible!' Voldemort screamed.

Harry felt his scar seethe with pain, and something else: frustration. Voldemort was angry at himself.

He's making mistakes. That means...he's weaker.

Harry marveled at this. Surely Voldemort had come up with some potion, some method to work against whatever weakening effects Harry's blood inside him had caused. Hadn't Voldemort taken blood from Anthony, from Pansy, from Ginny? Surely he'd be stronger than this. Surely Harry wouldn't be able to hold him back so much.

And then Harry remembered that Voldemort had put the Imperius Curse upon Ginny. She was supposed to have killed him with the sword, but Ron got in the way. Ron had seen something--a vision, most likely--that had caused him to go into the Death Chamber first, to block Ginny achieving what Voldemort had tried to force her to do.

He never wanted to face you at all! Because he's weakened, and he knows it. Even if he's still powerful, he's not as strong as he used to be. He's...afraid of you!

This split-second thought filled Harry with a sudden surge of hope.

May I can beat him after all...

'Confractum!'

Voldemort's scream brought Harry's attention back, and he raised his wand to block the Dark Lord's curse.

In the next instant, it became a heated battle, with both Harry and Voldemort throwing curses and blocking them; the potion in his veins gave Harry almost superhuman strength and speed, but Voldemort matched him move for move. Weakened or not, Voldemort was still formidable. They fought on for several minutes, neither one of them tiring, but Harry felt the fury coursing through Voldemort, the anger that he'd been thwarted up to now, that he hadn't simply succeeded in wiping out Harry and his friends.

Harry felt another burst of confidence and threw an Asphyxiation Curse, when suddenly Voldemort, after blocking it, lowered his wand.

Harry raised Ginny's wand, readying himself for the final, killing stroke. Images swirled in his mind, all the brightest moments of his life, his friends, his family, everything...he was more powerful than he'd ever been. He would win, he would destroy Voldemort once and for all...

And then Harry's scar split open.

He gave a cry of pain and felt his knees buckle as Voldemort assaulted his mind. New images came, images of Ron lying in a heap, bleeding to death; of Ginny bound in a dark room and being raped by Death Eaters; of Hermione being tortured; of his parents being murdered; Sirius...

'No...' Harry groaned, and he felt Ginny's wand and the sword slip out of his hands.

Fight back!

Harry gave a roar and forced his mind outward, back into Voldemort's. Harry searched his own tortured thoughts for dark memories that were not his, memories of a black-haired orphan boy who cried over the torn photograph of a woman...

Voldemort screamed and dropped his wand, sending it clattering across the floor, and suddenly the connection was broken. He and Harry both panted, and Harry felt his scar burning as pain rippled through him, competing with the power of the blood potion. He saw that Voldemort was unarmed; he picked up Ginny's wand and pointed it at the Dark Lord.

'Diffindo!' Harry shouted, but the beam of light bounced away from Voldemort harmlessly as the dark wizard raised his hand, seeming to sweep the spell away with a wave of his arm. In the next second, Harry felt Ginny's wand wrench out of his fingers, and saw it go flying across the room, out of reach.

'I think we're beyond wand play at this point,' Voldemort sneered. 'Don't you? Although, I'm pleased to see you don't have your own wand. Priori incantatem is so inconvenient.'

Harry swallowed, and then remembered the sword; he made a grab for it, but Voldemort was quicker. With another sweeping gesture, Voldemort sent the sword skittering across the stone floor.

'Ah, ah,' he said, regaining his composure and smiling coldly. 'Let's play fair, shall we, Potter? I'm nothing it not sportsmanlike.'

Harry swallowed again, pushing down at the rising tide of fear in his pounding heart. The potion radiated in his veins; the power was surrounding him. And yet, Harry knew it wouldn't be enough, it wasn't nearly enough. In the end, he had known it would come down to this, a battle of minds and wills. He felt his scar prickle again, felt Voldemort already begin to try penetrating the inner reaches of his mind. Harry pushed back, meeting Voldemort's gaze defiantly.

Now or never.

'Let's do this,' said the Boy Who Lived.

Chaos. That's what was happening. From the moment Neville dragged Ron from that death room, out of the way of Voldemort's curses, they had gone from one level of chaos to another.

The main room in the Department was now a maze of conjured, broken furniture and barriers, as Death Eaters, Aurors, teachers and students did battle. Draco darted into an alcove with Ginny, firing curses at Death Eaters as he went. Hopkirk and Lupin were nowhere to be seen, nor were Bill and Charlie.

Ron felt Neville tug him into a crouch as the two of them ducked behind an overturned cabinet; Ron stumbled as his foot caught on something, and he would have fallen completely had Neville not caught him by the shoulders.

'Oh, shit,' Ron whispered, looking down at the thing over which he'd tripped.

Or rather, the body.

It was Daphne Greengrass. Ron and Neville both sank to their knees on either side of her. Her eyes were open and glassy and unseeing, and there was an ugly wound in her chest. Neville lifted her wrist to check for a pulse. After a moment, he set her hand down gently and pursed his lips.

'She's gone,' he said.

Ron closed his eyes. 'Dammit,' he murmured, and in the next instant, a curse sailed over their heads and smashed into the wall beyond.

'Ron, we have to move, now,' said Neville, tugging on Ron's hand.

'We can't just leave her here,' Ron protested, wincing as he shifted his weight and felt the pull of his wound.

'We have to!' Neville insisted. 'Ron...you need the hospital. That wound...it's not going to stay closed forever, not with my spells.'

Ron put a hand across his torso. The sting was an agony and he swallowed. Unbidden, the vision of Hermione and the baby flashed before his eyes, and he nodded.

'Ron,' said Neville, 'I'll come for Daphne when this is over, okay? But for now...' He reached down and gently closed Daphne's hazel eyes.

'You're right,' said Ron. 'I...let's go.' They were just about to head out when Ron remembered something. He felt horrible even contemplating it, but his own promise kept thrumming in his ears.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, looking sadly at Daphne, who was tragically beautiful in death. He dug through the pockets of her jacket and found what he was looking for, and shoved it in his pocket.

Scavenging from the dead. Lovely.

You know you have to do this. You promised Hermione.

I promise I'll always fight like hell to get back to you.

Hermione.

Where was Hermione?

Before Ron could even consider the possibilities, the cabinet in front of them exploded, sending splinters of wood and glass flying every which way. Ron and Neville threw up Shield Charms at once, blocking the worst of the shrapnel.

'Move!' Neville bellowed, and he grabbed Ron's arm and heaved. Ron couldn't suppress a groan of pain as the wound on his stomach stretched and stung--truly, it felt like it would split open at any moment--but all the same, he jumped up and broke into a run as sudden adrenaline burst into his veins.

He and Neville dodged numerous curses being thrown at them by a Death Eater across the room. The Death Eater was fast; every attempt to knock him down was met with a countercurse. Ron moved a bit closer, blocking curses even as he threw hexes at the Death Eater, when the Death Eater's hood shifted and Ron caught a familiar flash of brown hair.

He blinked. It couldn't be...

'RON!'

The sound of his name, her voice, stopped Ron for a moment; he turned to see a halo of bushy brown curls bobbing towards him, a pair of denim-clad legs carrying the girl he loved better than anyone towards him. But just then the Death Eater Ron had been fighting with aimed her wand at Hermione.

'Hermione, look out!'

Hermione turned.

'Decollare!'

She dove to the stone floor.

'Protego!' The spell from Ron's wand lit the room, meeting the Death Eater's curse and ricocheting in multiple directions.

'Down!' Ron yelled, yanking Neville down with him as a stray beam of light smacked the wall just inches above their heads. Ron groaned again as he felt his wound split at the edges, and Neville leapt up, firing a hex as the brown-haired Death Eater fled the room. Ron was half-tempted to chase her...he was sure...no, it wasn't possible...

But then the pain seized him again.

'Ron?' said Neville, ducking down again.

'Wound opened a bit,' Ron grunted, pulling up his t-shirt as the wound began to ooze blood.

'Shit,' Neville muttered. 'Here.' He quickly began to perform a Healing Spell as Ron scanned the room again. Hermione scrambled to her feet, only to duck out of the way of another curse, this one sent by Gregory Goyle.

'Hurry up, Neville!' Ron growled.

'One more!' Neville snapped, gripping Ron's arm to keep him from leaping up. 'Or do you want to start bleeding to death all over the place again? Just hold st--'

'Examino!'

The curse struck Neville right in the face; it had come from Theodore Nott's wand. Neville fell over, gasping and clutching at his throat.

'Neville!' Ron cried, and he pointed his wand at Neville's face. 'Finite!'

Neville gasped as the curse was lifted.

'Neville, are you okay?'

'Fine,' Neville croaked. 'We have to--'

'Get the Mudblood!'

Ron's head snapped up in time to see Goyle throw a Stunner at Hermione.

'Protego!' Ron bellowed, clutching his stomach, which still bled slightly at the corner.

His Shield Charm blocked Goyle's Stunner, but just then, Hermione leapt up again, aiming her wand at Goyle.

'Hermione, stay down!' Ron cried. He swung his wand around to aim it at Nott, who'd aimed his wand at Hermione. She squeaked and ducked just as Nott threw another Stunner; Ron blocked it, but before he could react, another jet of light came from another wand somewhere in the room, and caught Hermione across the back.

'No!' Ron cried, as Hermione tumbled forward. Ron leapt up.

'Ron, wait!' Neville yelled, as Ron raced towards Hermione.

'Consecare!'

Ron was in mid-run, ignoring the agony across his midsection, when the curse raced towards him. He had no time to raise his wand; instead, he dove to the right, as the charm that would have taken off his legs missed him by mere centimeters.

He landed hard and rolled, moaning as the wound across his torso stretched yet again. Forcing himself to ignore the pain, he leapt up, in time to see Goyle carrying an unconscious Hermione over his shoulder and into a doorway across the room.

'No!' Ron yelled again.

'Impedimenta!' Nott shouted. Ron blocked the curse, but several more came from Nott's wand; he was relentless, and it was all Ron could do to stay on his feet and block the curses that came at him before Goyle, Hermione and Nott slipped through the door, slamming it behind them.

At that moment, the door lurched, and Ron remembered something.

'Flagrate!' he roared, and a huge, fiery X appeared on the door that Nott, Goyle and Hermione had just gone through. Ron sank to his knees, breathing hard, as the doors began to spin wildly. The doors spun faster and faster as Ron leaned over, clutching his head with his right hand, and his wound with his left. The blue candle flames became straight lines of light, broken only by the orange of Ron's spell...

Just as suddenly as it had started, the doors stopped spinning. The only thing that mattered to Ron now was getting into that room. He staggered towards the door, clutching his wound with his left hand and pointing his wand out with his right, when he lurched dizzily to the side. His vision swam.

Shit.

Ron pulled his hand away from his torso; it came away bloody.

Neville...

But Neville was out of reach, battling another Death Eater, and Ron had no more time; the Flagrate Charm would fade in a few minutes, and Nott and Goyle could have killed Hermione by then.

Ron ducked out of the way of the battle, which had picked up again, and took the two potions he'd pilfered from Daphne out of his pocket. He enlarged each with a tap of his wand and drank them both, feeling a surge of strength. A stray curse bounced his way and he blocked it. The battle raged on. Ron was twenty yards from his goal, but spells were flying everywhere. There was nothing for it. He would have to run for it, and hope he didn't get hit.

'Ron, what the hell are you doing?'

Ron whirled around to see Dean Thomas come up right beside him and yank him down, out of the way of another curse. His arm was heavily bandaged. Seamus Finnigan was just to the left.

'Dean,' said Ron, 'Seamus, I have to get to that door. Can you cover me?'

'Are you crazy? There's a million spells being thrown. We can't possibly block them all!' Dean protested.

'Guys, please help me,' Ron begged, and then he winced as his wound gave a sharp throb.

'Holy Mary, Ron, what happened to you?' Seamus breathed, gawping at the blood that had stained Ron's shirt.

'Never mind that, Nott's got Hermione in that room and if I don't get there now--'

'We get it,' said Dean. 'Go on. We'll do our best, okay?'

'Thanks,' said Ron. 'Be careful.'

'You, too,' said Seamus. 'On three. One, two, three...GO!'

The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. Ron jumped up, immediately throwing Shield Charm after Shield Charm as Dean and Seamus gave mutual war cries and began firing spells. Ron was fueled purely by adrenaline, and in the seconds it took him to cross the room, the pain of his wound vanished.

'Confractum!'

Ron threw a Shield Charm just in time, and answered with an Asphyxiation Curse that caught Marcus Flint in the throat. Ron then threw himself against the door just as the last traces of the Flagrate Charm on it vanished. His hand closed on the doorknob.

Voldemort forced his mind outward again, and Harry's scar burst; Harry screamed and sank to his knees as Voldemort tortured his mind again. Over and over again Harry saw Ron dying, Ginny being raped, Hermione tortured...

Push back!

I can't...it's too much...

Yes, you can! You have to!

Harry groaned as he struggled to focus his mind away from Voldemort's attack, as he tried to push back against the wall of mental horrors the Dark Lord forced upon him. Again Harry saw the boy in the orphanage, crying over the broken picture of his dead mother...

Voldemort roared and pushed again, and Harry saw his own mother, standing in front of his crib, begging for Voldemort to spare Harry's life.

'Not Harry!'

'Stand aside, you silly girl...'

Stand aside...

Lily's face was streaked with tears, her brown eyes...brown? Lily's eyes were green, not brown! Harry strained against Voldemort's power and focused on the woman's face. The woman who was not his mother, but looked rather like her. That face...he'd seen that face...in the picture belonging to the boy in the orphanage...

'No!' Voldemort screamed. Harry matched his scream and suddenly the connection was broken again, and both of them sank to their knees, panting. Voldemort clutched his head as Harry looked up at him, wild-eyed, furiously trying to tamp down the pain racing through his scar, his body.

'You didn't want to kill her,' he gasped. 'My mum...you didn't want to kill her...'

Voldemort growled and looked up; Harry felt the dark wizard push against his mind again, but this time Harry was ready, and he blocked it, albeit painfully.

'That's it, isn't it?' he said, grimacing with the effort of blocking Voldemort's power as he pulled himself to his feet. 'You didn't want to kill my mum...because she reminded you of yours...my Muggle-born mother--'

'I did kill your Mudblood mother!' Voldemort screamed, also lifting himself off his knees.

'But you didn't want to!' Harry shot back. 'You...you felt pity for her--'

'NO!' Voldemort roared, and it was an unearthly sound, and Harry screamed from the pain of the Dark Lord's renewed attack. The next thing Harry knew, he was being lifted in the air, hurtled across the room. He saved himself from being smashed against the stone steps with a wandless Cushioning Charm, which turned the stone to pillows, but the effort cost him, and he sank to the floor again, leaving Voldemort still clawing at his mind. His scar would surely explode, his brain would begin to seep from the wound...surely...

Harry...

'What?' Voldemort hissed.

Harry...fight him...

Ginny?

Harry pushed back again, seeking, using Legilimency, until he found was he was looking for: the picture of the dead woman. Tom Riddle's mother...the weeping, black-haired boy...then, the boy as a teenager, entering a large house on a hill in the middle of the night...a confrontation...

'You abandoned me, Father. Your own son.' The black-haired teenager was glaring at the man in front of him, a man who might have been his mirror image, were it not for the grey in his hair, the beard on his face, or the icy blue eyes. The boy had a wand in his hand, pointed at the man's heart.

'You are not my son!' the man hissed. 'I have no son. You're nothing but an abomination, you're unfit to wear my name!'

'What makes you think,' the boy snarled, 'I want your filthy, pathetic Muggle name? After what you did to my mother? She was powerful, a sorceress--'

'Your mother was nothing but a liar and a whore,' the man spat. 'I wasn't about to shame my family by--'

'Crucio!'

'STOP!' Voldemort shrieked.

Keep pushing...

'Make it stop!' the man sobbed. 'Please! I'm sorry!'

The curse lifted.

'Sorry?' the boy sneered. 'You really think your apologies can undo your crimes against me? Against my mother?'

The man couldn't speak; he just lay on the floor, crying.

'We could have been a great family, Father,' said the boy. 'With your money and position, and my mother's skills...we could have owned the world. If only you had been a bit more...accepting. But you abandoned us. She died right after I was born and I was sent to that hell-hole and it's all because of you. Your kind tortured me and ridiculed me and hated me. You and your kind, who suppress magic because you fear it, because you can't begin to understand...your kind has dominated us...my mother's kind...my kind...for too long, but no more. I am not Tom Marvolo Riddle, Father. Know that. I would sooner eat my own flesh than wear your name ever again. The world will know me as Lord Voldemort, and everyone will bow before me and fear to speak my name.'

The man looked up at the boy who was his son; the boy's eyes glittered.

'You're mad...' the man wheezed.

'Perhaps,' said Tom Riddle, 'but either way, you are dead.'

'No...no, please!'

'Avada Kedavra!'

'NO!'

Voldemort's scream mixed with Harry's again as he pushed back against Harry's onslaught, and the connection broke yet again, sending Harry sprawling to the stairs, where he caught himself painfully on his palms, scraping the flesh. He was sweating and his scar was so painful now, he knew it was only the effects of the potion and the rush of adrenaline keeping him from passing out. He groaned as he pulled himself up the stairs in an effort to put more distance between himself and Voldemort. It was only when he heard the rustling of the fabric, and the whispers behind it, that Harry realized how close he had come to the archway with the black veil.

At that moment Harry knew he should move, but before he could get away, Voldemort attacked again. Harry howled as Voldemort slammed into his mind, forcing upon Harry the images of Sirius dying, of his parents, of Dumbledore...

'They're all dead, Potter!' Voldemort screeched, and he stretched out his fingers, delving more deeply into Harry's head.

'Stop...' Harry begged. The pain was too much. The potion...why wasn't it helping him? He fought to find those happy memories, but Voldemort was the only thing he could feel. Voldemort, and pain.

And then Harry heard it. The whispering of the voices from behind the veil.

'They can't help you now,' Voldemort hissed, his voice lowering as he moved up the stairs. 'But you can be with them again.'

Harry groaned and clutched his forehead.

No. It's a trick...

The whispers were louder now.

'Harry...'

Harry sat upright, the pain in his scar momentarily forgotten.

'Sirius?'

'You hear them, don't you, Potter?' said Voldemort. 'Perhaps it's time you joined them. I'm sure they'd love to see you.'

It's a trick!

'Imperio!'

Harry raised his arm to block the curse, but he wasn't quick enough; he felt the curse envelop him and suddenly everything fell away. The pain in his body and mind vanished. He was practically floating. He felt...blissful. The voices were whispering more loudly now, drawing him close.

'That's it, Potter,' said Voldemort, his voice distant and almost...pleasant. 'Go to them. They miss you.'

Harry felt his legs pull him up, felt his feet carrying him up the stairs as his eyes fixed on the veil.

'Harry...Harry...'

'Mum?' Harry whispered? Surely that was his mother's voice.

'Son...'

'Dad?'

They were so close. Harry moved to the archway as the veil fluttered before him. The whispers were like drumbeats in his ears.

'Go back...'

'Sirius?'

'Go back...'

'Dumbledore! I can hear you!'

'Go on, Potter,' said Voldemort. 'Just a few more steps...'

The door was sealed. Ron heard a voice behind the door yell 'Crucio!', and Hermione's screams pierced the barrier separating them.

Ron tried several unlocking spells, but none of them worked.

'Inflammare!' came Nott's voice from behind the door, and again, Hermione screamed.

'Reducto!' Ron yelled, blowing the door in front of him to bits with the force of his curse. Pieces of wood slashed his face and arms but he didn't care; he burst into the room with his wand raised, in time to blast a Disarming Charm at Nott. Nott was quicker and blocked it, even as Goyle threw a Falling Jinx.

It wasn't a particularly powerful jinx; Ron could have leapt out of the way, but the pain of his wound and his weakening state slowed him down. Instead he blocked Goyle's jinx, just as Nott threw another curse.

It struck home; Ron cried out in pain as every muscle in his body seized up and he fell, hard, to the floor. His right hand smacked the cold stone painfully and his wand clattered away, rolling across the room.

No...

Ron's hand flew to his stomach; the wound was open at the corners again, bleeding slowly. He looked up gingerly, his muscles twitching from the force of Nott's curse, to see Goyle hauling Hermione roughly up from the floor. Tears were on her face, and Ron felt his heart constrict. He'd failed them both.

'Well, well,' said Nott triumphantly, sealing the door behind them. It was only then that Ron noticed they were in the Brain room, with the pearly, floating brains bobbing in the huge tank at the center. Nott strode over to where Goyle was holding Hermione, whose wand was in pieces on the floor. She was bruised on one side of her face, her lip was bleeding and Ron saw that her left leg had been badly burned; he pushed down nausea at the smell of burned flesh and denim.

'This is better than I thought,' said Nott. 'I get to kill Weasley and his Mudblood tart in the same night. How about that, Goyle?'

Goyle smiled, but it wasn't the usual dumb, oafish smile that Ron was used to; it was cold and unforgiving.

'The question is, whom do I kill first?' said Nott conversationally, tapping his chin lightly with his wand. He then leveled his eyes on Ron's stomach, where Ron had pressed his large hand.

'Ah,' said Nott, 'looks like you're halfway dead already. Maybe I'll just let you bleed out.'

'Do what you want to me,' said Ron, the pain in his wound worsening. 'Just let her go.'

'Ron...' Hermione whispered.

Nott laughed, and Goyle joined in.

'Quite the hero, aren't you, Weasel?' said Nott coldly. 'Leaping in here with your guts half falling out, trying to save your bird. That's bloody romantic, if you ask me. But alas...I'm not a romantic.'

Nott moved back to Hermione and gripped her hair, giving it a hard yank. She squeaked in pain.

Ron felt angry bile fill his throat; his eyes met Hermione's, and then he watched as her eyes moved to this left, settling on...

...his wand.

Ron resisted the urge to match her gaze and instead kept his eyes focused on Nott.

This is madness. We're both going to die. I'm bleeding and I don't even know if I can do wandless magic in this condition...

No! You're not going to give up. Remember that vision...Hermione and the baby...

I hurt everywhere. I can't...

'I reckon I'll kill her first, Weasley, and let you watch,' Nott was saying, pointing his wand and Hermione's exposed throat.

'Don't...' Ron begged, keeping his eyes on Nott for the moment, but fixing in his mind the exact spot where his wand had fallen.

'Yeah,' said Nott. 'But before I do that, I want to try her out first, I think.'

Ron's eyes, which had briefly flickered to his wand, snapped back to Nott's face, as the fury inside Ron's belly began to bubble.

'What?'

'What's it like, Weasley, fucking a Mudblood?' Nott asked, running the tip of his wand down between Hermione's breasts; she squirmed and started to cry out, but Goyle slapped a meaty hand over her mouth.

'Leave her alone, you bastard,' Ron snarled, forcing down the agony of his wound, that was bleeding more freely. He felt woozy again, and fought it.

'Does she like it rough?' Nott taunted, no longer looking at Ron but at Hermione, whose eyes leaked tears. 'I'll bet she does. Likes having a pureblood stick it to her good and hard.'

Nott's hands went to the front of Hermione's shirt and tore it open. Hermione squeaked behind Goyle's hand, and Ron moved to get up, but Hermione's eyes widened and she shook her head. Ron flopped back down, biting his lip. He knew what she was doing: she was stalling for time, trying to give Ron a chance to get his wand before Nott or Goyle could react.

Nott turned around to see Ron lying on the floor, clutching his stomach and moaning.

At the very least, Ron thought, I'm not faking this pain.

Nott smiled. 'Make yourself comfortable, Weasel,' he said nastily, 'while I shag your girlfriend. Then afterwards, if you haven't bled to death, we can compare notes.'

Ron bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming in fury; his eyes went to Hermione, who pleaded with him silently to stay still for just a few seconds more...it was the only way...

The fury inside Ron was building.

Nott grinned horribly at Ron and then turned back to Hermione and Goyle.

Ron reached out his hand, concentrating with all his might on Summoning his wand, whispering the incantation under his breath. Nott and Goyle weren't watching him. The fury inside Ron increased as he heard Hermione struggle.

Nott grabbed roughly at Hermione's breasts; she screamed behind Goyle's hand.

The fury inside Ron reached the boiling point, and the pain of his wound melted away. When Nott shoved a hand between Hermione's legs, Ron snapped.

'Accio wand!'

'What?' said Nott, letting go of Hermione and turning.

'Contorquere!' Ron howled, slamming Nott in the chest with a curse. Nott went hurtling through the air, spinning backwards and slamming against the back wall in a crunch of bones and a shout of pain.

In the same instant, Hermione reacted, stomping her foot onto Goyle's; he yelled and she twisted in his grasp, bringing her knee right up into his groin.

It wasn't a particularly hard hit--Hermione's injury to her left leg prevented that--but it was enough to make Goyle grunt and let go of her. Ron then threw a brutal Asphyxiation Curse that struck Goyle in the head, and within seconds, he crashed to the floor. Hermione moved to grab Goyle's fallen wand as Nott pulled himself up painfully; his face was ashen and he was holding what was clearly a broken right leg. Nott took aim...

'Hermione, get down!' Ron croaked.

'Expelliarmus!' The spell hit Hermione across the shoulders, and she hurtled forward, losing her grip on Goyle's wand and smacking into the wall, knocking her jaw against the stone. She cried out in pain and Ron heard the snap of her jawbone breaking, and then she started to slide to the floor in a half-daze. Nott took aim again.

'Avada--'

'NO!' With a strength he didn't know he had left, Ron leapt up and pointed his wand at Nott.

'--Kedavra!'

'Protego!'

The jet of green light streaked towards Hermione, but Ron's Shield Charm met it halfway; the force of the charm was so powerful, so complete. Surely it was the strongest Shield Ron had ever created...

The Killing Curse didn't ricochet against the charm so much as split into multiple beams of light.

'Ron, duck!' Hermione screamed, or at least, that's what it sounded like--her broken jaw slurred her words somewhat.

Ron dove back down to the floor, groaning as his wound opened up a bit further. He looked up in time to see one fragmented jet of light zoom towards Nott, who stared at it, transfixed in horror for a split second before seeming to realize that his own curse was bouncing back at him. He opened his mouth to scream, but the curse hit him before a sound could come out.

He was dead before he hit the floor, his face frozen in an expression of terror.

In the next instant, there was a huge explosion that shook the entire room, as a second fragment of light struck the wall just behind Ron.

'RON!'

He heard Hermione's scream just as the wall came crashing down upon him, and then everything went black.

Harry hesitated. Something was strange. The voices were right there. His parents, Sirius, even Dumbledore. Why were they telling him to go back? Didn't they want him to come through?

'Go on, Potter,' Voldemort hissed.

'Go back...' Sirius whispered.

'A trick...' said James.

'You are not ready to be here...' said Lily.

'I have to come,' said Harry, his voice oddly detached.

'This is not your time, Harry...' said Dumbledore.

'A trick...' said Lily.

Harry felt tears on his face. Why didn't they want him to come through?

'Please...Mum, Dad...Sirius...'

Harry, don't leave me!

Ginny?

'POTTER! DO AS I SAY!'

Harry...

'Go back...'

'You must finish what you set out to do...'

'Go through the veil!' Voldemort shrieked.

'You'll see us sometime...'

Harry...

'I WON'T!'

The rush of the spell lifting shook the room only slightly less than Voldemort's scream; the force of the expelled magic caused Harry to stumble, and he might have fallen through the archway had he not caught himself with his hands against the beams.

His whole body shook as he turned around slowly, to see Voldemort on his knees on the floor. Behind Harry, the whisper of his parents, Sirius and Dumbledore hissed in his ears, telling him to go back, and Ginny...

I love you.

And suddenly Harry felt it again: the power of the potion. Waning, to be sure, but still strong.

But it wasn't just the potion. It was Ginny's power; somehow, she was helping him, wherever she was. That meant she was still alive. And the voices of those he loved who'd gone on. James, Lily, Sirius, Dumbledore...

Harry forced his thoughts outward, stretching out his fingers as he did so, and entered Voldemort's mind; Voldemort wailed and gripped his head as Harry's scar began to burn.

'No!' Voldemort cried, pushing back against Harry, and the connection was broken. Harry pushed out again, and again, Voldemort was forced to defend himself, and Harry felt himself moving down the stairs, towards the Dark Lord, and suddenly they were circling, each pushing against the other's mind, trying to find some way to penetrate the protective barriers each had thrown up against the other. The energy in the room hummed and the floor vibrated; the black veil trembled, but Harry ignored it. His mind was focused on three tasks: one, to penetrate Voldemort's mind; two, to protect his own mind from Voldemort's attacks; and three, to get out of this room, and lead Voldemort to the room where this would end.

The connection broke again as both wizards pushed harder against each other. Both stumbled backwards, but Harry--now caught in a seemingly endless surge of adrenaline from the blood potion and from Ginny's distant Empath--wasted no time.

'Accio wand!'

Ginny's wand flew into his hand.

'Accio sword!' Harry cried, and the sword flew towards him.

Voldemort roared and made a sweeping gesture with his arm, causing the sword to spin in mid-air and race towards Harry, the blade arcing right at his heart...

'Protego!' Harry cried, throwing up his wand hand. The sword bounced against Harry's Shield Charm and clattered to the floor.

'Accio!' Voldemort shrieked, but Harry was quicker.

'Protego!' he yelled again, blocking Voldemort's attempt to take the sword and scooping it up in his left hand. Next instant, Voldemort summoned his wand, and Harry took the few seconds availed to him to make his move.

In strides borne of the blood potion, Harry sprinted to the door. Voldemort shrieked and threw a Killing Curse. Harry whirled about and blocked it with Ginny's wand, causing it to ricochet wildly. Both wizards ducked to avoid getting hit. Harry grabbed the doorknob.

'Inflammare!' Voldemort cried.

'Protego!' Harry bellowed, turning the knob with his other hand.

'You cannot win, Potter!' Voldemort screeched. 'Your friends will die, you will die! I AM LORD VOLDEMORT! Lacero!'

'Protego!' Harry yelled again, flinging open the door.

'No!' Voldemort wailed, raising his wand again.

'Come and get me,' Harry snarled, and he dove through the door just as Voldemort sent a Killing Curse crashing into the wall, an inch from Harry's head.

'Ron, I'm scared.'

'I know, love, I'm here.'

'It hurts...oh, god...it hurts so much...I can't stand it...'

'I know, I'm sorry...just squeeze my hand, okay?'

'The shoulders are out! Almost there!'

'Mrs. Weasley, we need one more push.'

'I can't! Oh, god...I can't do it...Ron...'

'Yes, you can, Hermione, come on...just hold my hand...you're so brave...'

'No...no, I don't want to...please don't make me...'

'Just one more push, Mrs. Weasley, and it's all over. I promise.'

'Come on, Hermione...you can do this...'

'On three, all right? One, two three...PUSH!'

'AAAARGGGGH! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, RON WEASLEY, YOU RANDY PILLOCK, I'M NEVER LETTING YOU TOUCH ME AGAIN!'

'OW, Hermione, my hand...!'

'BUGGER YOUR HAND...OH, GOD, THIS HURTS...I'M GOING TO CASTRATE YOU, RON, FOR DOING THIS TO ME...'

'Is she serious--OW! I can't feel my fingers!'

'They all threaten to castrate their husbands...that's it, Mrs. Weasley, almost...THERE!'

'It's a girl!'

'A girl! Hermione, it's a girl! You did it!'

'I...I did? R-really? Oh, god...everything hurts.'

'I know, love, you're right, it's all my fault, men are horrible...hey, can you please give my wife something for the pain?'

'Drink this Mrs. Weasley...'

'Eugh! That's awful...but...thank god...it works...the baby...she's crying. Is she okay?'

'She's fine! Good set of lungs on her.'

'And just look at that hair! Red as her dad's!'

'Mr. Weasley, would you like to cut the cord?'

'Er, what?'

'The umbilical cord.'

'Oh...er, well, no thanks, I'll...leave that to you.'

'Are you sure? Fathers usually love to--'

'Forget it, he won't do it. He's squeamish about those things.'

'I am not!'

'Yes, you are, Ron.'

'Am not!'

'Ron, you can't even look at a tiny spider without shrieking like a girl!'

'I have a phobia of spiders! It's a medical condition!'

'Tell you what, why don't I just cut the cord?'

'Yes, do, Healer Smethwyck.'

'No, I don't mind cutting it, really--oh, oh YUCK! That's disgusting!'

'Oh, no, Ron, you're not squeamish at all.'

'Hey, I just watched you squeeze out our baby, and let me tell you, from where I was sitting it wasn't all that pretty, okay?'

'Before you go casting aspersions on what a live birth looks like you might try squeezing one out yourself and see hot it feels!'

'Er...Mr. and Mrs. Weasley...'

'What?'

'What?'

'Would either of you like to hold your daughter now?'

'Oh! Oh yes, I want to hold her!'

'All right, I'll just hand her to Dad, and he can give her to Mum, how's that sound?'

'Er...okay...but I'm not really sure...tell me again how to hold one?'

'Just like this, see? Hold her head there, and...that's it. There, you see? You're a natural.'

'Oh...wow.'

'Lovely, isn't she?'

'She...she's beautiful...Hermione...look at her. Look at our daughter.'

'Let me see...oh...oh god, Ron...she's perfect...she even has red hair...'

'Of course she has red hair...and your eyes...'

'Her eyes are blue, silly, like yours...'

'Only for now...she's going to have brown eyes...just like her mum...'

'We'll leave you two alone for a while. Call us if you need anything.'

'Ron...Ron, are you okay? Are you crying?'

'What? Oh...nah. Just, er, something in my eye.'

'Liar.'

'Okay, you got me there.'

'I can't believe this. We have a baby. What do we name her?'

'I thought you liked Miranda. You know, for Prospero's daughter.'

'You remember The Tempest?'

'I remember everything by Shakespoo, you've made me read everything he ever wrote.'

'Shakespeare.'

'Whatever.'

'Miranda. It is lovely. Miranda Jane Weasley.'

'That sounds brilliant.'

'It is brilliant. I love you, Ron. I love you so much.'

'I love you, too, Hermione...but...please don't castrate me, okay?'

'Ron...'

'RON! Ron, can you hear me? Ron, please wake up!'

His eyes fluttered open.

His vision swam. He was on his back on something very cold and hard, with his head propped up on something soft. How had that happened?

'Ron?'

He blinked and looked up. A strange shape was above him, a blurred shape of brown and pale and...something wet fell on his cheek...it stung...

'Ron, please...'

The blurred shape came into focus. Brown eyes, swollen from crying. Parched lips, with a cut on the lower one. A bruised face with a swollen jaw. Hair so unkempt it was like a wild animal. The most beautiful sight Ron had ever seen.

'Hermione...' he croaked. He started to get up...

...and moaned with the helplessness of it, and with a sudden, sharp pain that almost made him pass out again. Everything hurt, everywhere.

'Don't move,' Hermione urged, stroking his hair with one hand. She spoke stiffly through her swollen jaw, which Ron remembered vaguely she had broken. And then, everything that happened came rushing back: getting slashed with Gryffindor's sword, getting out of the Death Chamber as Harry faced down Voldemort...

'Harry...' Ron whispered. 'Where's Harry?'

'I don't know,' said Hermione, tears still forming in her eyes.

'We have to find him,' Ron grunted, and he tried to get up again. Again, everything was agony, and he flopped back.

'Ron, please,' Hermione begged, 'don't try to move.'

Ron closed his eyes and nodded slightly; even that hurt. She was right. He shouldn't move. He opened his eyes and looked about the room as best he could without actually moving his head. Nott was lying on his back in a far corner; Ron remembered he was dead. Goyle was sprawled out in the opposite corner, dead or merely unconscious, Ron did not know. The room itself was full of rubble, save for the brain tank that had miraculously escaped destruction; Ron saw that all that had fallen on him--for that is what had happened, he remembered it now, the wall had come tumbling onto him after being destroyed by Nott's ricocheting Killing Curse--had been moved. Hermione must have moved everything. How on earth she'd managed it Ron couldn't imagine.

His hand strayed to his belly; the wound was sticky, as if it had opened again, and been healed.

'Don't touch it,' said Hermione urgently, gently pulling his hand away. 'I healed it up...had to use Goyle's wand...would have given you my potions but Nott destroyed them...'

She sniffed, and he looked up.

'What?'

'How did that happen, Ron?' she asked. 'That didn't happen when the wall came down on you.'

Ron told her.

'Oh, god, Ron...' she whimpered, and he felt her hand begin to shake, but she wouldn't stop stroking his hair. It felt good...soothing...

'S'okay,' Ron said. 'I'll be okay...I know it...'

All at once, the dream he'd had--was it a dream, had he just been asleep?--came back to him.

Their child, Miranda Jane.

Ron lifted his head; his vision began to swim again. He felt light-headed and remembered he was bleeding internally.

I can't die...not yet...

He felt so tired. He was cold...

'I'm cold,' he whispered.

'Ron, you have to stay with me, okay?' Hermione urged, her voice trembling with tears. 'You have to, do you hear me?'

'Cold...'

'Ron, keep your eyes open!' she ordered. 'Look at me.'

Ron forced his eyes to stay open, but it was so very hard. He was just so tired. He looked at her, with her messy hair and bruises and swollen jaw--that she must have healed, there was no way she could talk otherwise--and smiled.

'You're beautiful,' he said.

She sniffed again and gave a short, choked laugh. Her image was becoming blurry...

'Ron?'

Stay awake! You can't die, you have to fight, you have to tell her...

'Hermione,' Ron whispered. 'I have...to tell you...'

'What, Ron?' Her voice was tighter now; her eyes leaked tears that spilled onto his face, stinging a cut he only now realized was there.

'I saw something,' he murmured. 'Something...good...you and me...I...I--'

He couldn't breathe. Hermione was nothing but a blur...

'Ron!'

''Mione...' he gasped. Spots appeared in front of his eyes.

'Ron!'

Harry tumbled out the door and slammed it shut, and just in time, he remembered the Flagrate Charm, and cast it on the door a mere second before the doors began to rotate.

It was madness in the main room. Bodies were everywhere, some or most of them surely dead.

'Harry!'

Harry looked up to see Neville Longbottom limping as fast as he could into an alcove, with a deadweight Luna Lovegood over his shoulders. Luna looked to be alive, but was unconscious; Neville's calf was horribly wounded and covered in dried blood. Parvati Patil and Anthony Goldstein were in another corner, both of them sobbing over the body of Padma.

Oh, no...

Ernie MacMillan was leaned up against a wall, eyes closed and bleeding from a wound to the head, as Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott fired spells at three wounded Death Eaters.

'Harry!' another voice called, and Harry looked over to see Professor Hopkirk conjuring up new barriers for protection against the onslaught of the remaining Death Eaters' spells. 'Harry, get out of here!'

'You have to cover me!' Harry yelled. 'He's coming!'

'Harry, duck!' came a female voice; Harry did so, just in time to avoid getting hit with an Asphyxiation Curse; he turned to see Susan Bones level a Stunner at the Death Eater who'd attacked him.

'Cover me!' he called, urging Susan with his eyes. She nodded and turned to Justin and Hannah.

'Come on!' Susan cried. 'We have to help Harry! Lisa, Terry!'

Terry Boot, who was ten feet away and crouched behind an overturned table with Lisa Turpin and Blaise Zabini, nodded.

'We've got your back, Harry!' Dean called, and as one, students jumped up and began firing spells and counterspells in earnest. Harry wasted no time.

He grabbed the nearest doorknob and twisted; it turned in his hand. He let that one go and marked the door with a red X. He heard a scream and saw Hannah Abbott fall, clutching her side.

He moved to the next door. That knob, too, turned in his hand.

'Inflammare!'

'Dean, look out!' Lavender Brown shrieked.

'ARRGGH!'

Harry looked up to see Dean's whole body burst into flames.

'Extinguo!' Seamus shouted, and the fire was put out almost at once, even as Lavender threw up a Shield Charm to block a Leg Breaker Curse aimed at Seamus. Dean crashed to the floor, writhing, and Harry caught the stench of burned flesh.

'Harry, move!' Hopkirk yelled, taking down two Death Eaters in quick succession. There were now only a few of them left.

Harry made a mad dash to the third door and grabbed the knob. It wouldn't budge.

'Hold them off for a few more seconds!' he cried, yanking the small gold key from his pocket. He leaned the sword against his hip, stuck Ginny's wand in his pocket, and stuck the key in the door--

CRACK!

Screams filled the room and for a moment, the battle stopped.

'POTTER!'

Harry spun around, his left hand still on the doorknob, just as Voldemort screamed, 'Carnificare!'

'Protego!' Harry cried, throwing up a Shield Charm just in time. Still facing Voldemort, Harry turned the key, and the doorknob turned with it. It clicked open.

'Confractum!'

'Protego!' Harry cried again, and he flung open the door to the room that would hold his salvation.

'NO!' Voldemort shrieked.

The entire room seemed to have frozen, watching the exchange. Harry noticed suddenly that Voldemort was alone. There were no Death Eaters in the room that weren't dead or unconscious.

'Come and get me, Voldemort!' Harry taunted.

'I am no fool, Potter!' Voldemort hissed. 'I know what's beyond that door! You think it will save you? You go into that room and I'll seal you in there and kill everyone who crosses my path! Your friends are all as good as dead!'

'You have no Death Eaters!' Harry retorted. 'They're all down! There's no one to help you!'

'You think Lord Voldemort requires the help of servants to destroy all of you?' Voldemort snarled.

Harry hesitated. The blood potion was still working, but its effects were diminishing by the minute. There was also his wounded leg, which, he noticed, was throbbing; Hopkirk's anti-pain charms had worn off. His body was trembling with exhaustion. He was barely able to lift the heavy Sword of Gryffindor. The only hope for him was to lure Voldemort into that room, but how?

'Surrender now, and I might be merciful,' Voldemort hissed. 'I might only kill you.'

Harry swallowed and his eyes fell on Hopkirk, who was raising her wand slowly, slowly. He then focused on Voldemort but saw, from the corner of his eye, Hopkirk nod at a few students to her left. All of them were lifting their wands. Harry's eyes caught Hopkirk's again and she nodded to him, and he understood her unspoken message.

Back up into the room...we'll do the rest...

With shaking legs, Harry started to back himself into the room behind him.

'You seal your fate, Potter, if you in there!' Voldemort warned. 'All here will die!'

Harry swallowed again; his throat was a desert, and his arm shook as he clutched the sword. He took two more steps backward, flicking his eyes to Hopkirk, who had raised her other hand in a gesture to hold back. Harry forced himself not to look at the other students, for fear of giving them away. He took another step, wincing at the pain in his injured leg.

'Potter...'

Harry let out a breath. He could feel something coming from the room now, some sort of pulsing heat, a thrum of sound from behind him, a soft glow...one more step, then one more...putting pressure on his leg was torture...

'Potter!'

'NOW, HARRY!' Hopkirk cried.

Harry dove into the room, clutching the door knob with his free hand, and in the next instant, a dozen or more voices shouted, 'EXCIDO!'

A dozen or more Banishing Charms struck Voldemort simultaneously in the back. With an unearthly howl he was hurled forward, thrown bodily into the room. Harry leapt out of the way just in time and slammed the door behind him, sealing it shut. Voldemort landed hard at the opposite end of the room, rolling onto his back, where he lay still.

Harry fought down a wave of dizziness and kept Ginny's wand leveled at Voldemort, even as his eyes took a few seconds to absorb the layout of the room.

It was a dimly lit space, circular and made up entirely of smooth, shining black marble from floor to ceiling. One wall was lined with curved shelves that were covered in flasks and phials; another wall contained bookcases, also curved, that were filled nearly to overflowing. The back wall had a line of desks. Each desk was painstakingly organized with one small, unlit lamp at the upper right corner; what looked to be a small microscope; a row of phials and a large flask, all currently empty; and a single quill to the left of each microscope. Each desk also had a pull out tray on the side upon which rested a stack of parchment. But for the massive cylindrical tank in the middle of the room, it was a rather ordinary space, and it reminded Harry quite strongly of the Muggle research laboratories he'd seen on the telly at the Dursleys' house.

It was the tank that drew Harry's eye. It looked strikingly like the tank found in the brain room, but in this tank, there was only liquid; a red, almost pearlescent substance that shimmered, casting a warm pink glow about the room. For a moment, it looked as if this liquid were perfectly still, like red glass, but then Harry noticed that it rippled, almost like silk in a breeze, and the ripples were accompanied by a soft thrum, like that of a...

'Heartbeat,' Harry whispered. The liquid in the tank was blood, but it was blood like Harry had never seen. Alive with magic, glowing and radiant. There were bright specks of silver that seemed almost to swim through the crimson, specks that sparkled against the dim light of the wall-mounted torches that surrounded the room. The glass tank was mounted on a gleaming brass pedestal with what appeared to be several ornate spigots at evenly placed intervals.

For some reason, Harry felt drawn to the blood; he couldn't say why. It seemed to pulse with power, energy...something. He didn't know what. He longed to touch it...

A grunt snapped Harry's attention away from the tank; Voldemort was pulling himself up, struggling to stand, and he sounded weak and out of breath.

Now's your chance. Do it now. You have the sword. Do it...

Harry hesitated for a moment--what would it feel like, to finally kill the wizard who'd been chasing him for the past seven years?--and charged. His leg protested, causing him to stumble slightly. Harry ignored the pain and forced himself forward, shoving Ginny's wand deeper in his pocket and taking the sword in both hands.

Almost there...

He lifted the sword up and swung it back, ready to deliver the blow...

'Expelliarmus!'

The shock of Voldemort's sudden, unexpected attack lifted Harry off his feet. The sword went sailing out of his hand to clatter across the marble floor, out of reach. Harry felt himself thrown backwards ten, twenty feet, until his back slammed into the glass tank of blood.

The momentum caused the back of his skull to smack against the glass, hard. Everything suddenly went blurry, and the heavy weight of unconsciousness pulled at Harry's brain as he slid to the floor.

Don't pass out! Wake up!

Harry fought the pull of unconsciousness and forced his eyes upward. Voldemort was above him now, glaring down at him. He held no wand in his hand, and he glowed with the power of dark magic.

Harry let out a breath. This wasn't supposed to happen! Why wasn't Voldemort curling up and dying on the spot? Or at the very least writhing on the floor in agony? The was the...the Love Room, wasn't it? Shouldn't the very nature of this room at least weaken Voldemort's powers?

'So it ends this way, Potter,' said Voldemort. 'Sad. Your brilliant plan failed, and now your world will end.'

Harry started to pull himself up when Voldemort stretched out two spindly, skeletal hands.

'Crucio!'

The curse flew from his fingertips, and suddenly Harry felt himself on the ground again, screaming in pain...nothing could hurt as much as this...

But he was wrong. Voldemort wasn't finished with him. Even as Harry writhed and squirmed under the Cruciatus Curse, he felt Voldemort penetrate his mind, and images came back. Sirius dying. His parents...Dumbledore...Ron...Hermione...Ginny...all the Weasleys...everyone he ever knew and cared about, all of them, dead...

Voldemort added another curse, and Harry felt his skin begin to split. Tiny cuts appeared on his flesh, slits that widened as blood began to seep...

His scar was on fire; it had to be on fire. Harry was still screaming as he clawed at the tan, grabbing for something, anything to hold onto, anything to lessen the pain as he died, because he knew Voldemort was killing him now...

Harry's hands landed in something warm and wet, something sticky and pulsing...

The curses lifted with a great gust of wind, and Harry felt Voldemort being yanked from his mind; he looked up to see the dark wizard thrown backwards, landing hard on his side. Voldemort wheezed in pain as Harry looked down at his hands, which were coated in blood. He looked up, and saw that spigot was leaking, dripping more blood onto the tops of his hands.

The blood...that mixed with his own...that had in it the blood potion...

Harry rolled over and lifted himself up halfway, his muscles protesting; he looked at Voldemort, who was picking himself up off the floor.

Their eyes met.

Harry raised his hands. Voldemort growled and raised his, and threw a curse.

Harry blocked it with his right hand.

Voldemort threw another curse, and again Harry blocked it; the blood that dripped from his soaked hands began to glow gold. The magic of this blood...it was what protected Harry now, gave him the strength to repel Voldemort's magic, even as his own body wanted nothing more than to collapse.

Voldemort threw yet another curse, and again, Harry blocked it. Voldemort was backing away now, his skeletal face stretched in an expression of horror. He threw another curse; Harry blocked it again, moving closer. Immediately after, he flung his right hand outward, sending a splatter of blood flying.

The drops of blood struck Voldemort in the face.

'NO!'

The scream that came from Voldemort's throat was one of sheer, unadulterated agony. His skin began to blister.

He reached up and tried to wipe the blood away as Harry stumbled through a sudden wave of dizziness.

No...don't fall now...you're almost there...

Voldemort shrieked as his hands, too, began to blister from touching the blood. Harry closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate, to keep his balance, to focus on the source of strength found in this blood that mingled with his...the blood of people long dead...the blood of those who'd given their lives, who'd invoked the same ancient magic Lily Evans Potter had used to save her only son.

Harry flung his left hand, sending more droplets of blood, splashing Voldemort again in the face. The dark wizard screamed once more...

...and pushed his mind into Harry's. Harry stumbled again, reeling from the mental assault as Voldemort strained against his own pain to finish Harry once and for all.

We'll die together, Potter.

Harry gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, pushing back...pushing, pushing...

And finally, the images came again. The happy images of Harry's life, the people he loved, who loved him. They were smiling at him, hugging him, Ginny was running her hands through his hair; Ron was clapping him on the back; Fred and George were telling him a joke; Hermione was helping him learn a charm; Mrs. Weasley was piling food onto his plate; Mr. Weasley was asking him about eckeltricity; Lupin was teaching him the Patronus Charm; Sirius was bounding alongside him, disguised as the black dog; Hagrid was pouring him tea and giving him one of those awful rock cakes; Dumbledore was visiting him in hospital; his parents...they were in hospital, too, and Harry was tiny and pink and wrapped in a pale blue blanket in his mother's arms, and her hair was sweaty and unkempt, and his father sat next to her, and they both looked down at him with tears in their eyes, tears of unrestrained joy, and Harry saw his father tell his mother that he loved her, and then he kissed her...

All these images filled Harry's mind and his whole body, his heart, his soul...everything sang with the power of this room, this blood...

And amidst these glorious memories, other images came, memories that were not his. Memories that belonged to a dark-haired orphan boy who'd lost everything before he was old enough to even speak, a boy who'd learned only how to hate and fear everyone and everything.

Voldemort screamed again; his skin had burned away in places from the drops of enchanted blood. Harry moved forward, forcing his legs to carry him to his goal, still pushing relentlessly with his mind. Voldemort backed up into the shelf of phials and sent some tumbling to the floor, where they shattered...he raised his hands to throw a curse...

Harry leapt forward and pressed his bloodied hands to Voldemort's face.

They both screamed now; Voldemort grabbed Harry's wrists; Harry curled his fingers around Voldemort's neck, determined not to let go...

Harry saw everything in Voldemort's life: the day Tom Riddle got his Hogwarts letter; the day Tom was sorted into Slytherin House; the day Tom had his first Potions lesson, his first Transfiguration Lesson with Dumbledore; his first Charms lesson; he saw Tom making friends--at eleven, Tom Riddle was already gathering followers, children who were awed by his talent, impressed by his drive, his relentless will to succeed; Harry saw Tom begin writing in a diary; getting his prefect badge; sneering at Hagrid; finding the Chamber of Secrets; speaking Parseltongue for the first time; loosing the Basilisk and watching as it killed Myrtle; framing Hagrid; sneaking into the Potions classroom in the middle of the night to brew who knew what; getting the Award for Special Services to the School; getting his Head Boy badge; gathering still more followers; disappearing to Eastern Europe for twenty some years, gathering still more followers; whispers of this new, powerful sorcerer, Lord Voldemort; the devotion of his followers, the fear of those he conquered; the transformation of Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort; the cold deadening of Riddle's eyes as he became more and more reptilian, more and more Lord Voldemort; the forming of the Dark Mark, and the initiation of the Death Eaters; the First War; Voldemort's experiments to defy death itself; his wanderings as a vaporous spirit, finding the unsuspecting Quirrell; reuniting with Wormtail; emerging an abomination from a cauldron in a graveyard...

But through all this, through all the murders and torture, there was a single photograph that Voldemort kept: a black and white photograph of a woman whose hair color Harry now knew to be flaming red, whose eyes Harry knew to be brown. A woman who resembled Lily Evans and Ginny Weasley. Tom's mother, the only woman, the only human being, Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle, had ever truly loved.

One more image, that of a seventeen year old boy placing flowers on a sad, faded, cracked headstone that read only 'Adriana Marvolo.'

'I will avenge you,' Tom Riddle whispered to his dead mother's headstone.

'Not Harry!'

'Stand aside, you silly girl...'

'NO!' Voldemort screeched.

The mental connection broke and Harry was flung backwards, landing painfully on his back. The impact jarred his teeth and his glasses flew off his face and cracked. A wild wind of magic and energy filled the room, and light, impossibly bright light that nearly burned Harry's eyes as Voldemort's unearthly screams echoed off smooth black marble.

And suddenly, it was over.

The burst of energy that had come from the severing of the mental connection vanished, and the room became silent, but for the anguished, gasping breathing of two damaged wizards.

Harry groaned and rolled onto his side. Every muscle sang with pain; the cuts Voldemort had given him from the earlier curse had clotted, but stung badly; his head felt like it would split open; his injured leg throbbed; his muscles shook; his heart raced; he was covered in sweat.

But he was alive. He felt the breath in his lungs, and it hurt, but it felt good, too. He tasted blood on his tongue and wiped his mouth with his ripped sleeve. His mind was racing and yet so tired, all at once. He closed his eyes and fought to breath...just to breathe...to stay awake...sleep would feel so good right now...

He heard a wheeze from the other side of the room, and looked up, his neck muscles protesting as he lifted his head.

Lord Voldemort lay on the ground thirty feet away, crumpled in a fetal position on his side. His skin smoked from where Harry had burned it with the blood. His body was shriveled and looked small and pathetic. Harry stared at the dark wizard for what felt like a full minute, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Then he heard another sound issue from Voldemort's throat: a sob.

Lord Voldemort was weeping.

Harry swallowed painfully and pulled himself up. It wasn't possible. Lord Voldemort could not be crying.

Harry couldn't stand; his legs simply wouldn't cooperate yet, so he crawled instead. Crawled on all fours towards Voldemort, vaguely aware that for all he knew, the dark wizard could be playing a trick on him, could be faking injury in order for Harry to drop his guard. Harry reached in his pocket and withdrew Ginny's wand, and crawled closer. Voldemort still wept.

Not three feet away, Harry found the strength to stand upright on his knees, Ginny's wand outstretched in his hand. He looked down at Voldemort, who was once Tom Riddle. The wizard who'd killed his family, who'd killed and tortured countless others, and Harry saw the tears leaking from the red eyes.

Voldemort wasn't faking. But Voldemort wasn't dying, either. Harry could still feel the wizard's energy in his scar, that tingled. And yet, there was no real magic left in Voldemort anymore.

Harry looked at the dark wizard's reptilian face and felt something he never, ever expected to feel: pity.

No! You can't pity him! He murdered your parents! He tried to kill Ron, and Hermione, and Ginny! He tortured the Longbottoms...and Sirius...what about Sirius?

Tears flowed silently out of the red eyes and Harry found he couldn't look away, found that the hatred he'd so long nursed for his enemy fell away, to be replaced by the worst kind of sadness he could imagine: the sadness of this wasted life on the floor before him, a life that hadn't really been all that different from his own, once.

This could have been me.

It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.

'Dumbledore...' Voldemort whispered, '...was right.'

Harry stared at Voldemort, knowing precisely what the dark wizard meant.

There are things worse than death.

Harry gazed at Voldemort and knew it to be true.

Voldemort opened his mouth and spoke a single word.

'Please...'

Harry felt a sudden lump in his throat.

Finish it, Harry.

Ron's words echoed in Harry's mind, and he pulled his head up to scan the room. The sword was under one of the desks. He walked towards it, keeping his eyes on it, for if he changed his focus the room would start to swim.

The blade still gleamed with Ron's blood, that hadn't dried. Harry bent over and picked it up by the handle.

Finish it.

Harry swallowed, his throat tightening against the lump in it. He didn't want this. He couldn't. How could he murder Voldemort now, when he was nothing anymore? Because it was murder, like this. It wasn't self-defense. Voldemort was finished. He could harm no one.

For a moment, Harry entertained the idea of simply leaving the room and bringing in a team of Aurors. Voldemort could go to Azkaban. Yes. He could rot there, pay for his crimes in the most appropriate way possible. He could spend the rest of eternity knowing just how much worse living could be than dying. Living without magic, without the very thing that had sustained him for so long, had made him so powerful, had given him succor during his years of hell in the Muggle orphanage.

Finish it.

Harry lifted the sword, pointing the blade up, and bit his lip. Ron. He had stood in the way of the blade, he'd taken the blow meant for Harry, so that Harry could do what he was destined to do. Ron...who might be dead. Harry closed his eyes and felt a tear slide down his cheek, stinging the cuts there.

Neither can live while the other survives.

Harry thought of his parents, of Sirius. They had sacrificed for him, too. So that he could live. Not survive, but live.

Neither can live while the other survives.

Finish it.

Ron...

Harry opened his eyes and took a deep breath, and turning on his heel, he limped slowly back to where Lord Voldemort lay on the ground. The dark wizard had rolled onto his back and was looking up at Harry with tears still streaming from the corners of his red eyes.

It's murder.

He doesn't deserve the mercy of death.

Finish it.

The prophecy...

'Please...' Voldemort whispered.

Harry pressed his lips together, his eyes boring into Voldemort's. His scar tingled. He took the sword in both hands, holding the handle up, the blade pointing down, over Voldemort's heart.

Voldemort swallowed once, his eyes never leaving Harry's. Harry's vision blurred as tears came freely. He lifted the sword, his eyes still holding Voldemort's.

Voldemort closed his eyes; with an anguished cry, Harry fell to his knees, driving the sword into the dark wizard's chest.

Voldemort gave a scream that blended with Harry's, and his body arched up, driving the sword further through, to that the tip exited out his back, and suddenly the room was filled again with swirling magic. Harry's scar burst open and a great, white light poured from it, white light that enveloped the sword, Harry's hands that shook as he held the blade in place, white light that surrounded Voldemort's body as it shrank and shriveled and disintegrated, as the magic of thousands of years, as Harry's blood, and Ron's, and the blood of people Harry had never met--people who'd given their lives for those they loved, as Lily and James Potter had, as Sirius Black had--destroyed every last molecule that was Lord Voldemort, until there was nothing left but a pile of Voldemort's blood stained robes, and Harry, holding the sword, the point of it driven somehow into the marble floor, the blade clean of Ron's blood.

Harry opened his eyes and realized what he had done, and he fell forward, his head in his hands, his body shaking with sobs.

A/N: First things first: I apologize for the long wait in getting this chapter up. In the past two and a half weeks my only sister has gotten married and I had to cook Thanksgiving dinner for thirteen people. I have been, needless to say, extremely busy. Furthermore, this chapter is by far the most important chapter in the whole story; it is truly the culmination of everything towards which I've been writing, and I wasn't about to rush things. I appreciate your patience.

Second, a huge, huge thanks to my beta team of lina and Buckbeaky. lina has been my primary beta, and Buckbeaky picked up the story for lina while she was without Internet access over the summer. Both have been a huge source of support and inspiration for me, and without them, this story wouldn't be what it is. Special thanks, too, to lina for her brilliant suggestions for this chapter, which I have included, as well as the heroic effort she put into getting the chapter back to me in the face of almost comical Internet and e-mail issues.

Third, I realized after I wrote the final battle sequence that it bore some resemblance to a similar scenario in the film Return of the Jedi. Unconscious inspiration, I suppose, from George Lucas, but I think it works here. Voldemort is obviously not Harry's father--if anything, I'd say Voldemort is more of an Emperor Palpatine figure, but with Anakin Skywalker's tragic history--but as I've been writing this story, and in looking repeatedly at the Harry Potter canon, I came to believe in a redemptive scenario in which Voldemort's end is an act of mercy on Harry's part. Order of the Phoenix has that battle between Voldemort and Dumbledore, in which Dumbledore tells Voldemort that his greatest weakness is his fear of death. I felt it very important to end Voldemort's life addressing that issue: that Voldemort finally does see what is worse than death, and that is the wasted life he's lived, because he choose a path of hatred and fear. One of JKR's biggest themes in the books is choices and how they shape the lives of the characters, and I felt it important to emphasize that. Beyond this, though, the parallels to Star Wars are obvious. Harry and Voldemort, like Anakin and Luke, have difficult childhoods and are very gifted. One chooses a path of darkness and the other a path of righteousness, but the good guy has to be tested and basically put through the wringer and overcome his most selfish and darkest instincts and sacrifice a hell of a lot in order to fulfill his destiny; the bad guy's death must hold some level of tragedy for the good guy, so that we see just WHY the good guy is, in fact, the good guy: because he is merciful, because he can pity his worst enemy. Harry is, ultimately, not a hero not because he destroyed Voldemort but because he released Voldemort from the hell of his existence, as Luke does with Darth Vader. I hope I can be forgiven for tapping into George Lucas's world a bit in this "final reckoning" of Harry and Voldemort.

Finally, this is the final push. I can't determine how many chapters are left, but I can say with confidence that the end is definitely near. I thank everyone for sticking with this story, and for your enthusiasm and your reviews.