A/N: Sorry about the wait! (and at such a bad part) but I got temporarily banned from the computer. I'm sure everyone will be happy to have a conclusion to this chapter. So, without further adu, here it is.

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Chapter 14: The Final Step

So this was how he would die. Alone. Filled with physical pain from Malfoy and that of his own doing.

He face hurt.

His wrists hurt.

His lungs hurt.

He was tired.

So tired.

He could barely bring himself to fight anymore. For what? What did he have that was worth this kind of pain?

"So this is how it ends," said a soft voice above him. Harry realized that he'd dropped to his knees.

He looked up to see the form of Draco Malfoy standing above him. The Malfoy from his dimension. Harry remembered giving him that scar above his left eye.

"I feared you for so long, Potter. You never knew. I'm good at hiding things. But now," he bent down to look at Harry on his level. "You look so pathetic."

Anger filled Harry. He had no right. No right. What did he have to do to get rid of him? Burn his body and water down the ashes?

Light flickered overhead as the ceiling burned.

"It's come down to this," Draco said conversationally. "Our little school boy spat. Had you ever thought that if you had taken my hand that first day, you might be living a good life right about now? You know, instead of slowly getting your soul ripped out of you by your arch rival?"

Harry managed a small laugh. "Is that what you fancy yourself, Malfoy? My arch rival? You--" He coughed slightly but weathered on. "--have no idea what it takes to be an arch rival. For one, you have to consistently not die. Whoops. I've already killed you once, haven't I?"

"Funny Potter," Malfoy said, his humor unshaken. "But doesn't the definition of arch rival include my killing you? Think of it as pay back. What goes around comes around."

Harry told Malfoy to go do something that he would not have repeated in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"Language, Potter. I thought you were the good little boy."

"What dimension do you think I'm from?" Harry asked. He suddenly squinted at Malfoy. His outline was getting fuzzy, and Harry knew it wasn't his own lack of glasses. He could see the Malfoy performing the spell directly through the head of the Malfoy in front of him.

"Get back!" Harry yelled, jerking himself away from Malfoy. He felt contaminated, dirty. Malfoy's slimy soul was inching its way into him, bit by bit. He clawed at his own skin, feeling something like poison sifting through his veins. "Is this the face you want!" Harry screamed at him, no longer feeling pain or hopelessness, feeling only his all consuming fury at the slowly disappearing figure in front of him. "Is this the person you want to be for the rest of your existence? Hell, take it! I don't even want it anymore!"

"Thanks," Malfoy said in his drawling voice, his smirk coming to his face. "I think I will."

Harry felt something entering him then, faster than before and he fought it off with every ounce of his being. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. Nothing he did was ever enough.

"Hold on!"

Harry's head jerked up and for an instant, Malfoy gained the advantage. The figure in front of him, held back by the same bubble that prevented Harry from leaving, vanished.

Harry felt Malfoy's consciousness sliding in to replace his at the same time he felt himself parting with his body.

I won't go out like this, Harry thought. However I die, it won't be like this.

And he fought. He pushed the invading soul out of him as hard as he could, feeling the battle raging under his skin. Something was happening outside the bubble, something important, but Harry couldn't let that distract him. Slowly he was gaining ground, pushing Malfoy's clutchy soul out of his body. Malfoy's figure slowly began to materialize in front of him.

"Not this time, Potter," Malfoy growled. He slammed his hands, which were only semi-transparent into Harry's chest and Harry felt something cold grab his heart.

"Go to hell, Malfoy," Harry growled and, using both hands, plunged his hands into Malfoy's semi-transparent chest. His fingers found something cold and hard where Malfoy's heart should have been. Fitting, in a way. He summoned fire with the final vestiges of his strength and after several seconds that seemed like an eternity, the metal ball, that horrible talisman, melted in his hands.

Malfoy screamed as his soul's only anchor to the living world was severed. Harry screamed as Malfoy's soul was ripped out of him by powers stronger even than his.

Silence.

The metal made a hissing noise as it dribbled between Harry's fingers and hit the cold stone floor.

Harry blinked around at the world with his single good eye. The bubble was gone. He blinked again. He hadn't remembered it being so dark. Was it dark? Was that the ceiling that was burning? Surely that should be bright.

He couldn't piece together his thoughts.

Everything hurt and nothing looked like it was supposed to and from far away, he heard the seductive voice of sleep calling to him. How easy to slip off. How simple to leave the world behind for a little while. He was so tired. Wasn't it his turn to let someone rescue him?

But he there was still something he needed to do. He knew there was. Something...

His brain seemed fogged.

"Harry!"

Harry blinked and forced himself to focus. It was the most difficult thing he had ever asked himself to do in his entire life.

"Are you okay?"

A familiar face floated in front of him. Why was it floating like that? Was it floating, or was he floating? He tried to blink it into focus, but combined with his lack of glasses and his lack of coherent thought, it wasn't making any sense.

"I'm fine."

Why had he said that? After all, he was floating. Unless the head was floating. It was all too confusing. He would think about it later.

"Harry?" It was a second figure. No. It was himself. That much he could tell.

"Harold," Harry heard his mouth say. "Harold Smith." He was talking to himself.

And why had he said that? Surely he couldn't be doing all this speaking thing on his own.

"You can help Remus?"

"I can try."

Harry shook his head. He was staging an entire conversation with absolutely no idea what he was saying or what it meant. His mouth seemed to be talking for him.

"We've got to get him out of here," said a second voice. The one in front. That one had red hair. It was pleasantly red, but it was floating far too high in the air. Harry was having to look up at it. "Can you walk?"

"Can you?" Harry asked. He was sure he'd asked that one. He'd asked to make sure he could still control his own mouth. "I mean, yes. I can." Why had he said that? He would much prefer them to carry him. He was so tired.

"We have to leave now," said the red haired floating head. "This place is on fire. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but it's getting really hot and we have to leave."

Harry vaguely registered the heat. Oh. That must be what they were talking about.

"This way," said the head of himself. "I think I can get us out of here. Are you sure you can walk? You look like you've been through a meat grinder."

"You do if I do," Harry muttered. There was a roaring in the background. Oh yes. That must be the fire they were talking about. "It's rather hot in here."

"He's delirious," said the high floating red head. "But he can walk."

The head that was Harry's head started in the other direction and Harry felt a hand on hi arm, pulling him that way.

After that they were moving too fast to make out much. Harry found that walking was easier than he expected. After all, he couldn't fell his legs. It was very dark outside the room, other than the heads in front of him looking back at him once in a while.

Oddly, instead of getting better, his head seemed to be getting worse. Suddenly the sounds of their feet hitting the floor was loud, drumming him his ears. He had to keep blinking his good eye to prevent the dark around him from blinding him completely. None of his senses seemed to be working properly and his brain seemed made of mush. He tried shaking his head to clear it, but it only made his dizzy and stumble.

Despite the fact that he couldn't really feel his legs, he was getting tired fast. He was panting with the effort and every breath seared his burnt lungs. He tried to ask the red one to slow down, but he couldn't get the words around his dry and swollen tongue and the red one seemed to be in hurry.

Harry felt hot all over. There was a roaring in his ears that blocked out all the noise...except for the sound of their hurrying feet.

The feet became a focus and he concentrated on it, ignoring the stinging in his lungs, the pain in all his skin, and the throbbing in his skull.

Finally, they stopped.

"You have the portkey?" asked the red one.

"Got it," Harry saw himself say.

"Now, Harr-old," said the red one, looking at him in concern. "You need to put a finger on this box--"

"I've used a portkey a hundred times," Harry said, irritated. Where had that come from. A second ago he hadn't the breath to talk, now he was sounding annoyed. Of course, he wasn't a child, after all.

The other him held out a small wooden box and the red one put a hand on it. Harry reached out to place a hand on it as well, but recoiled when he saw his scabbed, blood stained hand. He looked at it in horror.

"We'll get it fixed up later," the red one said quickly. He grabbed Harry's wrist, sending pain through Harry's arm, and placed it on the wooden box. The next second, Harry felt a jerk and he was spinning and as he spun there, he felt some inner strength leave him. The next second, his world turned black.

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A/N: I'm sure you were all thinking he was going to die there, but no! Not quite. I wasn't sure how to end the story, so the next two chapters are epilogues. Like I said, wasn't sure. But anyway, I try to wrap a few things up there, so woot! Read and Review!