A/N: Hey everyone, I managed to get some time to write, so this chapter's coming out pretty close to the last one. Please be sure to Follow, Favorite, and Review if you enjoyed!

Chapter XV: The Last Horcrux

(Harry P.O.V)

Harry paced beyond the walls of his own bedroom. The ice had yet to thaw from his blood; it wouldn't until Dr. Thatcher brought the good news. What Harry hoped would be good news, at least. The Manor of House Black transformed itself into the Headquarters of the Order. It looked to change positions once more into a make-shift hospital with all the injuries they faced.

Hermione, Tracey, Blaise, Michael, now Daphne, how many more wounded would there be? It was the girl that watched him pace that sent the worst chills down his spine, Astoria. She'd joined the Order as a witch; she now sat little more than a squib. If battle came, he'd have to protect her. But what if he were forced to make a choice? Was there a situation he'd have to swallow Astoria's loss for? No, he affirmed to himself. He'd keep Astoria safe. That was the least he could do for the girl.

"What's he like now?" Astoria's voice broke the silence, but it wasn't with the quip Harry imagined. "Voldemort," she clarified.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. The snake-faced man never entirely left his mind, but now it haunted his thoughts like a specter. The wood creaked when Harry leaned against it and sunk to the ground. Astoria's eyes had shifted in the light from a green to a light brown, but they studied him all the same. "It's indescribable. It's like looking at death."

"Charming," Astoria said with a gentle smirk. "Maybe I won't die from this curse after all."

"You're not going to die, period," Harry said.

Astoria only shrugged, "Damyan told me you wrote to him. He wrote back while you were away. He's arranging to arrive, but he can't let his father know. He won't permit his son joining a war effort."

"Can't say that's unreasonable," Harry sighed. "He'll come though because he thinks you're pretty and boys are stupid."

"I am pretty, boys are stupid, and I know he will," Astoria replied lazily. "Remember when all we would talk about was quidditch and when I tried to find you dates for Hogsmeade?"

"Yeah, and you almost tried to stick me with Millicent," Harry chuckled, "How could I forget?"

"I miss those days," Astoria said wistfully.

"You'll get back to them," Harry said. "I'll make sure of it."

Astoria smiled but said nothing. It was clear to Harry that doubt filled the young girl's eyes. Astoria was stronger than he was. Her spirit was damn near unbreakable, but Harry knew she was dangerously close to it if there was a limit.

The door creaked open, and Harry's neck snapped towards the sound. Dr. Thatcher's face was beat-red. Sweat trickled down her brow like raindrops, and her breath was heavy. Dr. Thatcher was a godsend to the Order, but she was being stretched thin. Between Michael, Tracey, Blaise, Hermione, and now Daphne, the elderly woman was well past exhaustion.

Harry's chest relaxed at the simple nod the medical-witch gave him. Daphne would be okay. The world might have been about to collapse, but his Daphne was okay. Harry struggled to his feet. His exhausted muscles shouted for mercy. He was great at determining others' limits; accepting his own, on the other hand, was a far more difficult task.

Astoria reached out her hand, and Harry took it with thanks. The short witch groaned from Harry's weight, but eventually, they stood together.

Thatcher waddled off, and the darkness behind the doorway her frame covered swallowed Harry's courage. Somewhere, in that darkness, was Daphne. Thatcher had looked satisfied with her job, but what did that really mean? He had no doubt the Medical Witch cared for Daphne, but few cared for her like him. Astoria nudged him forward, and together, they approached the bed in lockstep. Both eager to see and full of fear.

Certainly, Harry had catastrophized. Thatcher had done swift, efficient work. Still, to say that Daphne looked great would be a stretch even for Harry. Her arm was burned from wrist to elbow, and the gel-like substance smeared across her open wounds made Daphne look like she'd applied a poorly spread face mask in pitch darkness. Her eyelids hung low over her bloodshot eyes, but there was life in the icy-blue pools. That was all that mattered.

"Hey," Daphne croaked.

"Hey," Harry replied softly. He brushed the hair from her face and smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been thrown through a couple of buildings," Daphne said weakly. "My arm's also on burned up, so that's fun." The blonde turned to her sister and smiled, "Bet I still look better than you though."

"Just because you're injured, I'm going to let that slide," Astoria chuckled. "Seriously, is there anything we can get you?"

"Ice Cream," She murmured.

"Food, Daphne," Harry said, "We've been through this before."

Daphne rolled her eyes, "Fine, whatever's in the kitchen in good enough. I'm not picky." Astoria smirked, Harry knew that was a lie just as much as Astoria, but they said nothing.

Astoria volunteered to get the food. Truthfully, the young witch gave Harry orders to stay. Not that he could refuse. His legs felt like jelly; climbing up and down the stairs would have been a miraculous feat. Astoria pulled up a chair for him, and he slumped into it with a grateful nod. His eyes never left Daphne's wilted figure.

The blonde turned to him. Each breath seemed to take so much from her. Still, she forced herself to speak. "I'm sorry. When Carmilla attacked, I don't know why, but I just froze up. It was like she was in my head. You were relying on me and I-"

Harry shook his head, "With all the times I must have let you down, I'm sure I'm still in the deficit; you don't need to apologize."

Daphne moved her unburnt hand, cupped his cheek. Her fingers trailed against his tanned skin before she smiled dimly, "You've never let me down, Harry. Never."

"Astoria, you, Michael," Harry's fist clenched the bedsheets, "None of you deserved this kind of life. This is hell, and I don't know how I'm going to get us out of it."

Harry hadn't noticed it. He hadn't realized the pain in his chest until the tears trickled down his cheeks. He didn't wipe them away; he didn't need to. In front of Daphne, he wasn't the leader of the Order or the chosen one. He was Harry Potter, and as Harry Potter, he cried. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what to do. I don't know how to win."

"We almost killed him," Daphne encouraged. "Once we destroy the last horcrux, all we need to do is bond again, and then-"

"No," Harry said, "We're never doing that again. We got lucky this time. If I flood you with magic like that again, we might not get as lucky, and you could die. The Wizarding World isn't worth that for me. My own life isn't worth it. I won't put you in a position like that ever again."

"We have to," Daphne said firmly. "There isn't another way to stop Voldemort, to save the Wizarding World. We have to-"

"Fuck the Wizarding World," Harry growled. "All they've ever done is bounce between treating me like shit and like a god. I don't give a damn about any of them. I'm fighting this war for you, for Tonks, for Cedric, for my parents, for Kreacher, for all the people I've loved and lost. If I lose you, I- there wouldn't be a point."

Daphne's eyes tracked him like arrows. He couldn't be sure what went on in her beautiful mind, but he was pretty sure she was torn between kissing him or slapping him. Harry wasn't sure what she wanted her to do more himself. Finally, she sighed, "The only reason the bond almost killed me now is that your magic was far more potent than mine. But if I increase my own magical strength, even if by a little, it'll mitigate the damage I take from the bond at full strength, right?"

"To get you to the level where we could maintain the bond without heavy injuries on your part could take years. You're not weak Daphne, but after everything I've trained to be I-,"

"It could take years yes," Daphne nodded, "Or it could take me much less time if I had the right teacher. Just like you did after fourth year."

"What are you saying?" Harry asked, afraid of the answer.

"I need to go see Morgana. Even if it's just for a little bit, if I become even a fraction stronger, it'll put less strain on our bond. Not to mention, I need her medical knowledge anyway. I didn't want to say it because I knew what kind of gap me not being here would leave, but, you need to let me go. Let me go for as long as you can spare me."

"You don't know what you're asking for. Even Moody looked like a puppy to her training," Harry pleaded, "Lady Morgana isn't the type to be taken lightly."

"I know that," Daphne said. "But I need to go to her. Even if it's just for a few weeks. I need to train with her."

"She won't take you as a student just because you want her to," Harry said, "She doesn't do charity work."

"I'll find a way, just let me know where she is."

"Okay, but I'm going with you. I-," Harry fell silent by Daphne's finger on his lips.

"You can't," Daphne said. "You're needed here. I never like leaving your side Harry, but this is one mission you can't come with me on. You need to let me go, alone."

"Daphne, I-"

"Do you trust me?" She pleaded.

"You know I do," Harry said faintly.

"Then let me go."

(Neville P.O.V)

The suicide bomb from Nott Sr. had left the building a ruin. The magical flames kissed Neville's skin. His shield had resisted the majority of the blast, but there was no denying, the kamikaze spell was nothing to play with.

Neville slumped against the wreckage of the house. His fingers trailed through his dust-ridden hair. He was lucky to be alive. The dark sky above made it clear that he'd been out longer than he'd imagined. It was only luck that no Death Eaters had come to assess the situation. In a way, it was almost sad. The Death Eaters were expected to give their lives for the Dark Lord, but nobody came to bury them when all was said and done.

Fear is brittle. To command through terror is effective, but no loyalty is born. There is strength in dying for a cause you believe in, but what Neville saw in the Pure-Blood's eyes before the boom was devout loyalty; it was fear. His heartstrings tugged for a moment at the Death Eater's last minute but faded fast. Nott Sr. along with the rest of them had made their beds. Now they'd rest in them.

Neville clawed at the wreckage and pulled himself to his feet. He was outside the manor. He'd assumed it was the explosion that sent him beyond the collapsed walls, but the soft footsteps of a Hogwarts elf told a different story. He didn't recall calling for one, and yet, there the young elf was, a red-stained rag in hand.

"Did you take care of me when I was out?" Neville asked. The elf only nodded. Neville bowed his head, "Thank you."

"Ritten doesn't need thanks. Ritten is happy to serve. Professor Sprout sent Ritten to bring you back home, but Ritten didn't want to bring you back in your condition. Ritten thought it unwise." The elf rambled without a pause for air. An elf's lung capacity seemed unreal for their size, but many things in the magical world were far odder than that.

Neville nodded, "Good choice. I think that if you tried to apparate me back to Hogwarts grounds in my condition, I might have ended up a stain on the floor."

Elves were never poorly treated at Hogwarts, at least not by the staff. That, however, didn't change how awkward they looked when they received praise. Ritten kicked his feet in the dirt and twiddled his thumb, unable to pull his eyes from the ground. A sad smile crept across Neville's face at the sight of the diminutive elf. In many ways, Neville hadn't been much different from Ritten all that long ago. Submission was, in their nature, true, but their confidence had been entirely shot as well.

Ritten walked tentatively to his side and asked if he felt ready to travel back. Neville wasn't sure. He'd hoped he would receive word about Hermione and company back at the Castle. At the same time, his allies within Hogwarts' walls had significantly diminished. Was he ready? No. But he didn't have much of a choice either. He nodded swiftly at the elf who took his hand, before, with a pop, they vanished.

The halls of Hogwarts had seldomly felt this cold. The castle had once been a second home for the Longbottom Heir. His Gran had never been easy on him, and while he loved her, the castle was a refuge from the shadow of his father's greatness. The day he'd been sorted into Hufflepuff had been a day of great relief and one of great shame. He was the son of two great and brave aurors, and back then, he was neither great nor brave.

It had been Cedric that showed him that a Hufflepuff was not deprieved of bravery, and years later, it had been Harry to pull that bravery out of him. The walls of the great, magical keep had borne witness to his progress. Now he was the castle's protector, though now, he was to guard it alone. Hogwarts could be the birthplace of a true genesis of meritocracy regardless of blood; if only they could live to see it.

Neville could only pray that one day, he would. It was well past curfew when Neville fell into the common room. His legs muscles had been transfigured into pudding, and the room spun around him with every step. He was glad that nobody was there to see him fumble his way onto the couch until he realized that he wasn't exactly alone. Professor Sprout sat there, her eyes dark and watery. She smiled and raced towards him as fast as her legs could carry her before she nodded, "I'm glad to see you made it back to Hogwarts, Mr. Longbottom. I was very worried about your, prolonged, absence."

"Thank you, for sending Ritten," Neville whispered. "I could barely move, as you can probably tell."

"It is my responsibility to look after my students, no matter the tasks they undertake. I've already lost one precious student; I won't lose another." Professor Sprout said. "Whatever your mission, I hope you succeeded."

Numbly, Neville held his arm out with a thumbs up, and Professor Sprout nodded. "Good. Now rest, child. Though, it looks like I don't need to tell you that."

Neville chuckled his mind already in an exhausted haze. "Copy that, Professor," he said with a hushed mumble.

The rest was too short for Neville's liking. The daybreak sun rays warmed his cheek and forced him from his slumber. Neville wished he could have been a regular student. He wished he could just roll over and go back to sleep. But that wasn't reality, and with a groan, he pulled himself from the sofa.

The water from the shower stirred him. He'd be a liar if he said it brought him back to full, but he at least felt like a human when he slipped into his Hogwarts Uniform. Neville shuffled into the Great Hall with the rest of his housemates. While it wasn't uncommon to hear the dining area filled with conversation, it was the nature of the discussions that caught his ear.

An attack on the Ministry? Harry and Voldemort? Every snippet of the rumors grew his confusion more and more. It was Susan that came with answers in the form of the Daily Prophet. The girl looked a mess with her red hair tied in a bundle of knots and dark circles around her eyes. "Have you heard from Harry about this?"

"I don't even know what this is," Neville replied. Susan pushed the Prophet in his hands, and Neville read the black ink. It told of a Battle in Muggle London between the Order and the Death Eaters. Harry Potter had allegedly injured Voldemort, though had sustained some serious injuries of his own. Daphne Greengrass was reported dead and the Minister was missing. No, Neville thought, if Daphne was dead, then that meant Harry was too. He'd never allow that to happen if he still drew breath. The Prophet wasn't exactly a fact-only resource, but the mention of the lost Minister for Magic left Neville's throat dry when he turned back to face the Amelia Bones' niece.

"I'll try to look into it for you," Neville promised. It was all he could say. There was a time where Neville may have offered more comfort, but now, there were no certainties- no guarantees.

To Susan's credit, she didn't throw a fit. The Minister's Niece nodded appreciatively and returned her gaze to the wooden table. Neville placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled. "Don't give up. If there's one thing I know about your aunt, she and my gran are cut from the same cloth. It'll take more than a couple Death Eaters to take her down. Plus, this paper is full of rubbish anyway. We know Daphne; she's not the type to die so unglamorously."

Susan cracked a weak smile and tried to put some food in her mouth. Neville returned his gaze to the print. Voldemort's back, and from the looks of it, stronger. He swallowed hard. Today, he decided, Neville would destroy the Diadem today.

Breakfast was ended with a speech from McGonagall to stay resilient. For most of the castle, the words fell on deaf ears. McGonagall was good at a great number of things, but when it came to speeches, Albus was a master. Thankfully, the current Headmistress wasn't as sneaky as the previous one, and that, in Neville's book, counted for more.

His classmates departed for their first period, but Neville remained behind. His eyes trailed the Headmistress, who nodded back to him. He smiled and stood from his seat once the hall had cleared. His studies were important, yes- the fate of the wizarding world just happened to be more so.

Neville had learned the art of sneaking around well from Harry and Michael. In truth, he doubted anyone would stop him- nobody could, but the castle contained enemies like it never had before. It wasn't worth the risk. The trip to his room was fast, and Neville released a heavy sigh when he retrieved the Diadem from its resting place. "Good," Neville whispered, "Thank Merlin it's still here."

Neville shoved the horcrux into his book bag and left the Common Room. He rummaged through his pocket and pulled out the old, and deeply folded parchment Harry had given him months back. With a touch of his wand, he whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

At his command, the map unfolded, and Neville studied the marks carefully. He hated to condemn an entire house as the enemy. Daphne, one of their greatest allies, had come from the house of snakes, but Neville couldn't take any chances. Blaise and Tracey had confirmed that most of Slytherin were willing to back the Dark Lord, and that made them an enemy. Neville had a war to win, and he'd been delayed long enough.

It was strange. Neville had relied so much on the map when his operation had started, now he hardly needed the reference. The Castle was like an open book to him now. Neville knew just what stones to push, what paintings to tickle, what statues to push on to reveal the secret pathways. Still, it never hurt to know where your enemies were. The words of the departed auror rang in his head, Constant Vigilance. Neville had once found the man deranged; now, he'd been the professor to give him the best advice.

"What a life," he muttered to himself, "When Mad-Eye Moody was one of the best role models you've got."

The memory of the auror made Neville's adam's apple bob. The auror, once thought too stubborn to die, had succumbed to it. The world was without one of their great protectors. Neville couldn't help but wonder as he scaled a hidden staircase behind the walls if the auror's legacy would be appropriately honored in death. Then again, he doubted Moody cared. Honor was never his style; it was becoming less of Neville's as well.

If one asked the dead if honor mattered, the silence would be their answer. That, in itself, was enough. Neville's eyes cleared the Seventh-Floor corridor where the Room of Requirement rested. It was quite up there like it always was. There was very little reason for most students to ever come this high anyway, especially not when class was in progress. Neville had been ambushed in the past and was in no mood to repeat that mistake. Caution was a priority.

The plan came to him like a dream. He paced across the Seventh Floor and asked for a room stocked with Basilisk Venom. Neville wasn't sure it would work, but when the door emerged, he got his answer. It looked like a dark-apothecary's dream within the Room of Requirement, which meant that it looked like a nightmare to everyone else.

The walls were lined with the hazy green venom stores, and Neville's blood ran cold from the touch of his finger against the glass. "This is so fucked up."

He fought back the chills that raced up his spine. He doubted even Salazar Slytherin himself would feel confident in a room full of vials that could cause damn-near instant death. Neville couldn't labor on the thoughts for long. He had a mission to complete, and with a firm yet gentle grip, he pulled a vial from the wall.

His mind asked for a table, and one appeared in the center of the room. It was matte-black, just like the walls and the shelves. The room, despite its abilities, was not exactly creative on its own. It would do, though, and that's what mattered.

Neville steadied his heart and reached into his bookbag to remove the Horcrux. Neville's mind resisted the temptation to turn to mush at the thought that he held the last of Voldemort's anchors in his hand. With just a drop of the venom, the man believed an unkillable force would become mortal. He'd be able to die for good.

The soul within the Diadem had realized that as well. Neville grit his teeth and forced the jewelry down with all his might. The tiara hissed like a viper at its restraints and howled when Neville uncorked the vial. Headaches manifested within Neville's skull worse than he'd ever felt before. Blood had even begun to trickle down from his nose. He needed to end this, and fast, or it would be the Diadem that killed him.

"Stop!" The Diadem roared in his mind, "Stop you fool!" Neville dropped the vial's cork through the ground. "You don't understand what you're doing! I can help you Neville Longbottom, if only you allow it. Anything you want, I can make it a reality. I can make what you've always wished come true."

Neville scowled and hung over the tiara like the grim reaper did men in their moments of death. The vial quaked in his hand, but the Diadem continued. "You need but wear me for a moment, Neville Longbottom, and I can show you the way to get what you've always dreamed of. Wear me, and I'll grant you the knowledge to heal your mother and father."

Neville paused. His body felt as if it had become frozen in ice. In his mind, he could almost see the Dark Lord's smile, and watched as the Diadem showed visions of a man with Neville's own eyes embracing him. I'm so proud of you, his parents said, their eyes no longer clouded with fog, but filled with fire. You saved us.

Neville's lips quivered as he returned the hug in his mind, "I'm sorry, for everything," he whispered before he forced his hand to move and douse the tiara in the venom.

"No!" The Diadem howled, "How did you resist?!"

"Unlike you," Neville said to the specter of the Dark Lord, his voice weak and tired, "I've made my peace with loss. Soon, you'll have no choice but to do so as well. I can't wait to see Harry send you to hell, you nose-less freak."

"Damn you Neville Longbottom!" The Diadem cursed, "You'll die for this!"

"So be it," Neville said with a gentle grin, before his knees crashed into the ground and his head met the cold tile. "Alright, Rook, now it's up to you."

(Daphne P.O.V)

Daphne tightened the bandages up and down her arm and watched from a distance as Harry whispered the instructions to Dobby. Harry had gone over the proper procedure and location with her hundreds of times, and yet, he still wanted to make sure she had someone to confirm the points with. Maybe she should have been annoyed by it, but she couldn't help but crack a smile. So many people said the word love so casually, but not Harry. He loved her with the full weight of the word, and for all his irritation-inducing habits, she loved him.

"Ready?" Daphne whispered. They kept their voices low. The house had gone to sleep, and they'd waited for just this moment to plan this escape. She didn't want to risk Molly, or worse, Astoria learning of the plan beforehand and trying to stop her.

"Almost, just giving some last instructions," Harry whispered and returned to Dobby. "And when you finally meet her, please, for the love of Merlin remember to bow to her, also, don't use Merlin's name. She doesn't tolerate even the slightest amount of disrespect. Then tell her-,"

"I know what to tell her," Daphne said, "We've been over this a thousand times. Please, it's time to go."

Harry sighed and turned to her, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Have you ever known me to do anything before I was sure of it?" Daphne queried. Harry only shrugged, and Daphne rested her hand on his cheek, "I know that right now, you can't help but worry, I understand that. But things are going to be okay, and I'm going to come back to you."

"I know, I'd wish even Death good luck in trying to stop you when you've made your mind up about something," Harry said faintly. He forced a smile to his face and wrapped his hand around her waist. Daphne felt herself pulled into his embrace until their foreheads pressed against one another. "Be safe, Princess."

"Back at you, Flyboy," Daphne murmured, "I won't be back to pull your ass out of the fire when you get into trouble for a little while so try not to do anything too stupid."

"You, my love, always have a way with words," Harry smirked.

"I love you, Harry," Daphne whispered. Her voice cracked at the admission, and her eyes felt misty. They'd agreed to the necessity of this goodbye, but it didn't make the distance hurt any less.

"I love you, Daphne," He returned with the softness of a perfectly tuned harp.

"Always," the two said in unison before they pulled apart.

Dobby raced to Daphne's side, her packed bag in his hand, and Harry sent Daphne a soft smile. "If Moody's made it to her side already, tell him I promise he didn't die in vain, and when you see Lady Morgana, tell her I apologize about the pendant."

"You always have so much to apologize for," Daphne said with a gentle eyeroll.

"Guess I make enough mistakes for the both of us," Harry laughed softly, "Goodbye, Princess."

"I'll see you soon, Flyboy," Daphne returned and looked at her elf, "Ready, Dobby?"

"Yes, Mistress," He replied swiftly. Daphne nodded, then, with a pop, they vanished.

A/N: Well, all the Horcrux have been destroyed, and it looks like Daphne has a new objective to handle. Also, shout out to Neville for holding it down, and Harry for learning to trust others! If you enjoyed this chapter please show your support, and until next time, Peace!