This chapter is dedicated to Odonata6, who was the 400th reviewer! Whoo!

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Behind Emerald Eyes

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Chapter 36 –

Old Ends and New Beginnings

Harry moved swiftly, the words of spells not even having to leave his lips before they burst from his wand. He hadn't used magic in four years, yet it was as if he had never stopped practicing it. It was as natural as flying, and if he hadn't been duelling the evil spawn of Voldemort, he would have enjoyed it immensely.

But, as it was, the battle was intense. Curses flew from both their wands in multi-coloured flashes, streaking through the air like ribbons in the hands of a running child. They duelled without pause, without break, and soon they both had sweat trickling down their necks.

From the corner of his eye, Harry had seen Ron collapse, and his stomach had constricted. His momentary lapse of concentration caused the tail end of a Sercumsempra to slash his hip. Biting back the pain, he turned his full attention to the Dark Lord, who was growing increasingly frustrated at the lack of contact his spells were having.

"I see the old man taught you well," he bit out after Harry blocked a nasty olive coloured curse.

Gritting his teeth, Harry shot back, "And I see your Daddy showed you some of his tricks as well." A Cruciatus Curse skipped through the air above his shoulder.

"Well, you know, the usual," the Dark Lord said, shrugging. The duel continued, both their powers diminishing, but neither willing to give up without a fight. Harry could see other jets of light around him, where his friends were lined against the wall with the Death Eaters and Dementors. He threw a bright white spell at the Dark Lord, only wanting to distract him. With the bright light briefly blinding the Dark Lord, Harry used this as a chance to see what was happening. What he saw lifted his heart yet made his blood run cold.

It seemed Ron had only been faking his faint, as he was now up and fighting with the rest of the Order. The Death Eaters had them matched, but the Dementors gliding forward were sucking their energy, and the Order had no time to cast a Patronus against them.

A Crucio hit Harry square in the chest. For a moment, there was nothing but unidentifiable pain, errupting from the deep insides of his body. There was nothing but hurt, darkness, and the desperate need to end it all.

And then it stopped, as suddenly as it had come, and Harry was left with his hands on his needs and bile coating his throat. "Aww...what's wrong? Little Harry had enough of the big ol' Dark Lord?"

"No," Harry coughed, surprised to find blood on his hand when he rubbed his mouth. "Just not feeling my best."

"Well, that will soon all be over."

Harry looked up, straightening out the pain in the lower part of his back. "And why is that?"

The Dark Lord grinned sadistically. "Because you will be dead."

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She did not know where to look. People she loved were fighting and falling everywhere, all on her behalf. If she hadn't been stupid enough to get caught in the first place, none of this would be happening. But she knew whining over the past would not help the future, and she did not have time to pity her own unfortunate situation.

The magical binds tying her were digging into the flesh of her wrists, and the cord around her neck – much like a collar – seemed to be constricting whenever a spell hit the Dark Lord. Obviously, it was not good.

And Harry seemed to be losing. A Crucio had just hit him and he was doubled over, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The Dark Lord said something to him and not a moment later, they were fighting once more; coloured blurs streaking between them.

Ron was fighting magnificently. Tall, bloody and angry, the red-head was spitting spells with more force than necessary. And to think, he had just been sprawled on the ground, with every fibre inside her screaming that he was dead. But then, as the scavenger went through his coat – bastard – the roles were reversed. Ron was up, a wand in his hand and a weapon now in everyone else's.

The fighting was coming closer to where she was silenced and bound at the back of the room, a staircase to her left and a door to the study across the hall to her right. There was nowhere for her to go, even if she could move. Not that she would ever think of running, but being tied up and unable to shout instructions would count as being useless.

And Ginny Weasley hated being useless. Almost as much as Harry did.

No, she thought as the fighting grew ever closer to her frozen position, I will get out of this and help Harry. A spell rocketed from the tip of Harry's wand, slicing deeply into the shoulder of the Dark Lord. And as the spell struck, the cords around her throat grew ever tighter. Ginny swallowed the rising blood in her throat and thought, I just hope I get out of it soon.

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There was nothing else except the Dark Lord. That's what Dumbledore had once told him. "Remember, Harry," he had said in his wizened old voice, "there is only you and your opponent; nothing else. The battles around you are not your battle. You cannot fight your own war and theirs at the same time. Stay focused."

Easy for him to say, Harry thought bitterly, ducking and sweeping around on his heals to avoid a Comatose Curse, he was never in my position. With all his friends and loved ones around him, fighting a fight in which only one would rise, it was hard to keep his complete concentration on the Dark Lord and their own duel. There was too much to going on around him; too many more important things around him to lose.

Ginny was still tied up near the stairs. Lestrange, who had been watching her, had been drawn away by an irresistible invitation by Remus to duel. The pair were now near the far wall, their battle almost as intense as Harry's own with the Dark Lord. Now, Ginny was without guard, just as they had all planned. Hermione, who was duelling with a stocky, cloaked Death Eater – who she could easily finish off – was drawing him closer to where Ginny was held.

He also spotted Wormtail, half-hidden in shadows by the wall, looking uncomfortable and nervous and all matter of the word scared.

Turning back to the matter at hand, and quickly blocking a rather strong Bombarda aimed at his head, Harry, without saying a word, shot an Advanced Stunning Spell at the Dark Lord. It missed, but it wasn't as though he was expecting it to hit. He just wanted to keep the Dark Lord moving, keep him angry and frustrated. Then, when his energy was down and annoyance had overridden caution, Harry would take him down.

But now, it was time to duck. A Killing Curse flew harmlessly over his head, shattering a candelabra on the far wall. It had previously been solid gold. Now, it was strewn in hundreds of pieces across the room, over both Death Eaters and Order Members – fighting to the end.

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Severus Snape had seen enough and lived through enough battles between Good and Bad to last him another three lifetimes. So, it was no real surprise when the "good" started to fight back. The "bad", unsurprisingly being the Death Eaters and their 'Oh So Unholy' Leader, were now being pushed to their limits. Spells and curses and random hexes were buzzing everywhere, so it looked like they were stuck inside a crystal cave, with light striking each wall and reflecting out.

It would have been a magnificent sight, if he cared about such useless matters.

No. Severus Snape did not and would not ever care about such pointless things as "crystals" and "pretty colours". He was more of a practical being – a practical being who liked to be a living practical being. Because, at the moment, even though most had forgotten about him and was standing a good way off, hiding in the wall's shadow, just watching.

Watching and waiting.

Like he had been doing for the last twenty odd years. Sitting, waiting, watching. Biding his time, a more appropriate Slytherin motive. A traitor to both sides; spying for both, watching both, unsure which would be the more accurate choice. He was half-way between Light and Dark, and even though he had been Dark before Light, he tended to lean more for the "Good".

Call it the Gryffindor in him, as hurtful and disgusting it was to even mention that trait. Or maybe it was the many years he had spent under the teachings of one Albus Dumbledore, or the many hours he spent inside the Gryffindor Golden Boy' mind.

And even though the memories and thoughts he sifted through were not entirely that 'Gryffindor-ish', maybe some of the boy's annoying ways of thinking infected him while he spent pointless wasted hours sifting through the garbage of a mind some called 'brilliance'.

Skrewt shit, he swore mentally, if there had been any brilliance inside that boy, it was his pure luck at escaping messy situations. Even as he thought it, he watched as Potter barely missed a Killing Curse, which should have destroyed him had it not been for the badly aimed curse from Weasley, still hovering on the stairs over his dead brother – or almost dead brother. He could be doing more useful things than moping over a lost cause. Stupid brat.

Potter was losing concentration. He was too busy watching out for his stupid friends around him. Arrogance. Pure and complete arrogance. 'Look at me! I don't even have to watch when I fight a Dark Lord! I'm so brilliant' Blah, blah, blah...

Yes, his "brilliance", was what had gotten him through the many encounters with the Dark Lord. Sure, it was his complete "truth and honour" that lifted him out of the dark. Yeah right, Snape snarled in his mind, I've been through the brat's mind. And everyone's trying to tell me he only thinks 'pure and innocent' things. If thinking and almost killing a man when he was down, is honourable, than I am a Snake's Uncle.

The Weasley Girl was still tied up at the front. Invisible binds, tightening around her body and the ample lump of her stomach. Disgusting, Snape spat, the spawn of a Weasley and Potter. I hope I die today or in the near future – save me from the torture of teaching their insufferable brat.

But he had to hand it to her. She was controlling herself reasonably well considering nearly all her family members were currently fighting Death Eaters and Dementors around her. Two of her brothers were fatally wounded – that stupid sidekick of Potters was still going even though blood was seeping down his front – and the other one, who's twin was shadowing him like a bloody Dementor himself, had not moved since the Dark Lord had hit him with a rather nasty Dark Curse.

The girl, trapped and forced to watch the goings with no way of helping, sort of reminded Severus of himself – in a purely symbolic way. She was forced to stand there, trapped on both sides – even if she escaped the binds holding her, would she risk the life of her unborn child to fight? – and unable to warn others of what was going on, both from the Silencing Charm placed on her and the fear of drawing unwanted attention.

Snape, who had been stuck between two sides, neither wanting to fight or to sit back and do nothing, had wasted away in the shadows. Now, he was doing the same thing. Everyone else was doing something – even the Weasley twin was guarding one of the fallen, hanging his very life on the line. And what was Severus Snape doing? Standing in the shadows.

Standing.

In the shadows.

Like he had been doing for most of his life.

He was no more than a shadow. Hovering between light and dark, unsure as to where he was supposed to go, staying away from both sides for fear of death. He had been a shadow for twenty years, and by the way he was going – standing in the shadow of the wall, while the two worlds he had lived in his whole life fought around him – he would spend another twenty years doing the exact same thing.

Potter ducked a little too late, his gaze torn away from the painful cry of Granger. He collapsed once again, bright crimson blood already painting half his face from a gash on his forehead. The Dark Lord approached.

And Severus Snape sighed. Albus had been the only one he had come close enough to respecting, maybe even loving. And for the many years he had known him, the only thing that was common between them was Harry Bloody Potter. The son of Snape's childhood enemy and the son Albus Dumbledore never had.

Severus had done everything for Potter, risking his life over and over again for what he believed a lost cause. But Albus had always pushed him along, directed him back to the Light, all the while telling him it would 'save Harry'.

"Help Harry, Severus. In the end, it will be He who will save us all." Then Albus had pleaded with him to 'Help Harry'.

And his last words to Severus, right before they stepped out for what they thought to be the Final Battle, had been, "No matter what, Severus, you must help Harry. No matter what. Help him, Severus."

Then they had stepped out onto the Battle field, Snape donning his Death Eater's mask and covering up the pain and hurt for the final time.

"Help him, Severus..."

"Help, Harry Bloody Potter," Snape said aloud with an irritated growl, "this is my final debt, Albus. Then, we're even."

From the shadow of the walls stepped Severus Snape. No longer part of the Dark, but not entirely Light either. He was in the middle, a sort of grey. And with a wand clutched in his hand and heavy head lifted in determination and acceptance, he stepped forward to repay the last of the debts he owed to one Albus Dumbledore.

The only person in his entire guilt-ridden, darkness-engulfed life, he had come to love.

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The ground met him unforgivingly. Hard stone slammed into his chest and he heard a muffled crack resonate from deep inside. Pain blinded him for an instant and he just wanted to stay lying on the cement, feeling cold throb into his battle-worn body, relieving the heaviness of his pumping blood. He just wanted to stay there, to stop fighting and succumb to the darkness pressing against his subconscious. Tempting with delicious thoughts of sleep and soft sheets and the warm embrace of the one he loved. He could practically feel her arms around him, keeping him safe and secure from the hardness of the world. He breathed in the slightly damp smell of stone and blood and sweat, imagining it to be the luscious scent of flowers of her perfume.

He barely felt the pain of the Cruciatus Curse as it sliced into his back. Words, barely identifiable, broke through the sludge of his mind. "Giving up so soon, Harry? I at least thought you would face me before I killed you – it tis the honourable way to die."

Familiar. The voice was familiar. Confusion blanketed him for a scattering of moments before harsh realisation crashed unrelenting upon him. Voldemort's son. The Dark Lord. Death Eaters and Dementors. Ginny.

Ginny.

Bloodied hands shakily came beneath him, a wand gripped awkwardly between slippery fingers as he hoisted himself up to his knees. Hair was pasted to his face with what he presumed was blood, where it came from was anyone's guess. His whole body was throbbing – he could hear the beat of his heart over the rushing of his blood. His head was splitting, not from the ancient pain of his scar, but from a spot above his left temple.

Where the blood was coming from, presumably.

He slowly brushed the hair away, rubbing blood from his eyes to look resignedly up at the looming figure of the Dark Lord, not five paces away.

"Not giving up," he rasped, painfully forcing himself to stand, albeit crookedly. "Just resting my eyes for a second."

A look of pure disgust mingled with something akin to shock came upon the face of Tom Riddle's son. Icy eyes flashed with malice. "You Gryffindor's are too arrogant to know when you're beat!"

Harry sighed, wiping a dribble of blood from the corner of his mouth. "So I've been told." Slippery fingers clutched at a well-worn wand, power building up at its tip. A moment later, the battle resumed with as much intensity as before.

The Dark Lord was getting frenzied in his attacks. Desperation laced each curse that escaped his chapped lips, fear shown deep within angered eyes and the many spell marks over his body were starting to ache. Harry was slowing also, but he had something to fight for now – something to live for. The Dark Lord only wanted power, power and revenge for his father's death.

Two son's of power fighting for victory over the other. Two so alike yet totally different battling for honour and glory and what they believed came above all else.

A Cutting Curse split the skin on the Dark Lord's arm, spitting blood out into the magical air. Hesitation, a minor mistake on his part, cost him his wand. It flew through the air, rattling along the floor to come to a rest by the stairs. Ginny's eyes, the only part of her that could move, watched it frightfully.

The room throbbed with nervous energy as the other duels throughout the room ceased in action, all eyes on the pair in the middle. Harry, bloody and worn, but wearing a triumphant look on his wearied face. The Dark Lord stood, hands twitching, eyes on the wand in his opposer's powerful grip.

Licking his lips, he looked up. "What are you going to do now, Harry? Kill me when I have no way of defending myself? Just like you wanted to do earlier, before Severus shared some of his unknown wisdom?" Even as he spoke, Severus Snape appeared, hovering on the edges of the clear space in the middle. The Dark Lord spotted him. "Oh, Severus, come to watch the show?"

"No, just to witness your destruction," Snape said smoothly, dark eyes glinting maliciously. Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering where the man had disappeared to after he and the Dark Lord had started fighting. Snape looked little better than he had in the office, if not worse.

"Always the watcher, aren't you, Severus?" The Dark Lord said, sweat suddenly beading on his pale forehead.

Snape's lip curled. "It's what I do best."

"Enough talk," Harry said roughly, stepping forward with his wand erect in front. "I want you to release Ginny and let my friends go." The Dark Lord grinned, showing off two rows of perfectly white teeth.

"Let Ginny go?" he repeated innocently.

"Yes," Harry growled, "you heard me."

The Dark Lord smiled. "As you wish!"

There was a faint crack, that echoed around the heavily crowded hall, and the Dark Lord was gone. Harry felt his stomach plummet and before he could look around to find his missing opponent, a painful cry drew his attention. "Harry!"

It was Ginny, now in the hands of the Dark Lord with his wand pressed into her temple. He smiled viciously. "Let her go, Harry? Is that what you wanted?"

"YES!" Harry shouted, starting forward. "Let her GO!"

"Very well, then," Voldemort's son said triumphantly, swiftly pushing Ginny out, where she stumbled but righted herself an equal distance between both Harry and the Dark Lord. She glanced at Harry, fear and hope in her eyes before two words sliced through the air. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

She slowly turned, green light rushing towards her and Harry's screaming all she could hear apart from a loud rushing that quickly grew louder.

It hit.

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The darkness suited him well. Staying hidden, out of the way of stray spells and the hateful eyes of all around. He was an outcast, had been all his life. Even at school, with James and Sirius and Remus, and the Marauders. He had felt accepted for a while, like he was actually apart of something more.

But then, as months trickled into years, he realised he was not a Marauder, he was a nuisance. He had heard it from his so-called friend's mouths. He was just some kid they had pitied on the train, picked on by older students, who they had chosen to defend. They hadn't wanted him around, they only felt sorry for him.

Peter Pettigrew. Little Peter Pettigrew. Little lump of a boy, no good at anything, except being a good friend to James and Sirius and Remus. And even then, he had been blinded by joy at the thought of being accepted. He had been too stupid to realise that they only let him hang around because they felt sorry for him.

Peter had been perfectly happy up until fifth year, when he had overheard a conversation between his 'friends', about how annoying he was, and how they just wished he'd disappear. He had ran off, sad and upset and depressed, taking refuge in the owlery.

It was at this point in his life, when he was weak and wanting acceptance, that it came in the form of Lucius Malfoy. He had told him glorious things about the Dark Lord, and the wealth and power that would befall him if he showed Lord Voldemort his support. All he had to do was say yes, take a tattoo and show up at a few meetings. Then he would be accepted for who he was, loved for the man he was inside, and given the chance to show everyone how truly 'Great' he was.

Then, he had been presented before Voldemort, taken the mark of his slavery and forced to suffer through so much pain to just feel accepted.

Made to watch the torturing of young children, even students at his own school. Made to even kill and torture others. And finally, after years of enslavement, made to give away the location of the only ones who had ever made him feel any remote feelings of acceptance.

Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail as many now called him even though it brought up painful memories of past mistakes, knew he was a miserable excuse of a human being. He had even been told it by many of the other Death Eaters, and more often than he would have liked by both Voldemort and his son.

He was a miserable excuse of a human being, but at least he admitted it. He was also a miserable excuse of a human being who held a Wizard's Debt to one Harry Potter. The same Harry Potter who is the son of Peter's childhood friend, James. And the same Harry Potter who was now facing the newly risen Dark Lord and son of the previous Lord Voldemort.

He wanted to run. He wanted to run and hide and never see the face of another human being again. He wanted to, more than anything else in the world. But that was not enough. From his spot by the wall, hidden by shadow and distraction, he could see the fear plain as night upon the face of Ginny Weasley.

Peter Pettigrew knew what would happen to her if no one was able to help. She would be killed like Lily and James. Like dear Sirius and that poor student on the night of Voldemort's return. All gone because Peter was too weak and too afraid to give up the acceptance he felt.

But, now, he knew, was time. Time to step up to the bravery Sirius and James and Lily had all shared and believed he contained. Time, he knew, to fulfill the debt he owed to Harry Potter.

There was only one thing left for him to do, only one thing that could maybe make up for all the mistakes he had made. Only one thing he could do to show he truly was, a Marauder.

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A flash of green light, a blur of black, and Peter Pettigrew lay crumbled on the blood stained floor.

Harry stared at the vacant glassy eyes of his parents' betrayer then to the look of simple acceptance on Wormtail's entire face. His debt was repaid. Ginny was soon at his side, crying and shaking, but he didn't have time to comfort her. The Dark Lord was staring at the limp body of his 'servant', a look of shock mingling with disgust.

He looked up, taking in Ginny safely behind Harry's back, and the wand aimed at his heart. He smiled a smile so much like his father. "Maybe Lord Voldemort did not give you enough credit, Harry Potter."

"I get that a lot, too," Harry snarled. "Now, give up or I'll make you!"

The Dark Lord laughed a laugh that crackled through the chamber. "You will make me, Harry? How are you meant to do that, with so many standing against you?"

Harry shook his head. "Perhaps you should look again, Riddle."

Anger flashed in the Dark Lord's eyes, but he looked around the hall anyway. What he saw, made rage boil inside him. All the Death Eaters had been either been killed or stunned and were lying by the wall, or were held hostage by members of the Order of the Phoenix around the clearing. The Dementors, having lost interest in the battle of humans, had disappeared.

He looked back at Harry, a grim line appearing as a mouth. "I believe that I did not give your friends enough credit, Harry," he said, "but mistakes can happen."

"Yeah, they can," Harry said gruffly, "at least I'm not one of them."

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'd be careful what you say to me, Harry, you never know what may happen."

"Oh yeah,"Harry coughed, placing a hand to his chest. He felt a hard lump in his breast pocket. "And what may that be?"

"Oh you never know," the Dark Lord said as Harry coughed again, spitting blood up once more. Using this moment of distraction to his advantage, he said, "This, Advada Kedavra!" Harry was unprepared for the attack, still overcome by the coughing fit and the pain errupting in his chest. He watched the green light flash towards him with no way of moving. He was done; exhausted both physically and magically. Even if he wanted to move he couldn't, not even to drop to the ground to dodge the curse. It all happened so fast.

Someone shouted, "Accio!" and a suit of armour came flying out from the shadows of the wall, intercepting the curse before it struck. The armour split into thousands of pieces with a shrieking sound of tearing metal.

Putting his pain aside and the blood bubbling in his throat, Harry pulled out the DA Badge from his pocket, flinging it into the air and shouting, "Waddiwasi!"

It shot through the scattering bits of shrapnel, straight towards an unsuspecting Dark Lord who merely let out a soft, "Ooph," as the badge shot through his chest.

Sounds of metal hitting the ground. Someone's silent sobbing. And the slow fall of the Dark Lord as his knees hit the ground. Blood pooled at his breast, spilling over a black shirt laced with silver. A pale face, inset with icy eyes inherited from his father, Tom Riddle's son looked at his own wound. Glancing up with a hollow gaze, he fell forwards on the floor with a soft thump.

Silence. Thick, unrelenting silence.

Slowly, Harry took in the dead bodies of both the Dark Lord and Wormtail, feeling sickened with the death he had witnessed yet somewhat satisfied that it was all over. His arms were heavy with exhaustion and he let them drop to his sides. He looked around the room at the Order Members all looking back at him. He looked at Snape, who sneered and looked away.

Then he turned and gazed at Ginny. His Ginny. His love. She gazed at him, dirty-faced, red eyed, bleeding and bruised, but smiling. "Hello," she said through the tears.

Harry walked to her, placing one hand on her cheek and the other on the taut skin of her stomach through the raggedness of her clothes. "Hello," he smiled.

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Hello, Hello!

Yes, you're not dreaming or hallucinating or any other form of seeing things! It is I, QueenWeasel, with an update in less than a month of my last one! (At least, I think it is :P)

I just wanted to get this out: squeezed it from the distant confines of my mind, which is filled with random bits and pieces of story plot-points to every fanfic imaginable. Squeezed it out, panted and squeezed some more, to finally I gave symbolic-birth to this thing.

I hope it will suffice till the next chapter which will be the final of the story. Yes, that's right, the final chapter of my longest story. Sniff. Even though it's more like a epilogue, it still counts as the last chapter because i say it does. :P

So, I hope you all like this, because I've had this chapter and most of what will happen in it worked out in my head for a while now. Answers and loose ends will be given and tied up in the next one (hopefully) and anything you don't seriously understand in this one, just leave in a review and I'll clear it up next chapter.

Ok, I think that's it, so I'll hear form you all later!

Later Days...

QW