26. The Final Battle.

Harry groaned and silently cursed whoever had left the jackhammer running. It was very irresponsible, not to mention inconsiderate – how was he supposed to sleep with that sort of thing going on? He noticed that light was beginning to press down on his eyelids – early in the morning, then.

"I think he's waking up," someone said, as if from miles away.

Harry frowned. That voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"Good," a different voice said, sounding relieved.

Two different voices; male and female, and both sounded as though they had to shout to be heard over the jackhammer. Or perhaps they were just far away and the hammer was really close. Harry wasn't too sure. He got the impression that he had had very little sleep and, truth be told, he was never at his best when he hadn't slept.

As he became more aware, he realised that the jackhammer was, in fact, in his head, and that the pain was emanating from the front. From his forehead.

Harry sat up so fast he collided with something above his head and fell back into the pillows with a soft cry of pain. The thing that he had banged into also let out a cry of pain, and Harry realised that it was the female voice.

"Harry, mate, are you alright?"

Harry forced his eyes open and saw a ginger teenage boy sitting by his bed, looking very awkward and worried. A name floated through Harry's mind and into the vicinity of his lips.

"Ron?"

"Yeah," Ron said, sounding relieved.

Harry turned his head slightly, and caught sight of Hermione, who had sunk into a chair by Harry's bed and was clutching her forehead, her eyes watering slightly.

"Hermione."

She nodded. "How do you feel?"

Harry groaned. "Like there's a Bludger bouncing on my brain." He struggled into a sitting position, clutching his forehead. "My scar…"

"Dumbledore said that's to be expected," Hermione explained. "They took his – Voldemort's, I mean – soul out of your head, last night. It would have been channelled through the scar. That's why it hurts so much."

"Oh," Harry said blankly, not knowing what to say to that.

Too many things were running through his mind; how much of him was he, at the moment? How much of himself had he ever been? Was Voldemort gone from his mind, and could he still see in? If he could still see in, did he know what they were planning? Was that really why his scar was hurting so much?

"I know it's a lot to take in," Hermione continued, "and that you might be feeling a bit out of sorts right now, but Dumbledore said you should get back to normal soon."

Harry felt a flash of anger at Dumbledore's name. "How would he know what normal is? He wouldn't even take the soul out."

"Professor Snape had the best experience of both of your minds," Hermione said.

Harry angrily remained silent, not knowing which of his thoughts to voice first. And even if he had been able to figure out what to say, he doubted that he would have been able to speak – he was too busy trying to control the rage that boiled inside of him.

"What was it like?" Ron suddenly asked.

Harry blinked at him. "Sorry, what?"

"Having the Greasy Git in your mind?" Ron clarified. "I mean I know he's been in it before, but this time he really was, you know? This wasn't just an Occlumency lesson." He cracked a wry smile. "Sounds like enough to drive someone completely batty."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, it was like a giant, greasy nose shoving itself to the back of my mind, like it could sniff out trouble."

Ron snickered. "Really?"

"'Course not," Harry shot back, his anger melting away. Hermione gave Ron a grateful look, and Harry felt a rush of guilt, though he tried not to let it show. "It was like an Occlumency lesson, but worse."

"Didn't know it could get worse," Ron said.

Before anyone could say anything else, there was a knock at the door and in stepped a familiar face. Remus Lupin looked at Harry warily, searching his face intently for anything amiss.

"It worked," Hermione told him.

Lupin immediately walked into the room and stood at the foot of Harry's bed, grinning. "You're a very brave young man, Harry."

"So everyone tells me."

"How are you feeling?"

"Good," Harry replied, his mind replaying Lupin's worried, wary face. "Bit of a headache. No homicidal urges though."

"I'm glad to hear it," Lupin said, seriously. "Ideally, you would have more time to rest, but I'm afraid we're getting ready for the raid."

Hermione frowned. "But why does Harry have to be there? Surely his part is over, now that Voldemort's soul has been removed?"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. Professor Dumbledore would like all destroyed Horcruxes – sorry, Harry," he said, wincing at the terminology, "to be on hand when we attack. If Voldemort is killed, he wants to be able to see if there are any effects as they happen."

"You mean he wants me there in case this all backfires and he has to kill me," Harry said bluntly.

There was an awkward silence.

"It's fine," Harry said, when Lupin opened his mouth to speak, "I get it. I'm just a pawn to him, and I always have been."

"Harry, you are much more than just a pawn," Lupin said softly. "Professor Dumbledore cares for you a great deal – we all do."

Harry sighed. "When do you need me?"

"As a matter of fact, we're leaving in ten minutes."

"Right," Harry said, setting his jaw. "I'll be there. Let me just say goodbye to my friends."

Lupin nodded and, looking as if it was tearing him in two, left the room. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, only to find them both staring at him in shock. Harry opened his mouth, trying to find the right words to say, but found himself unable to speak past the sudden lump in his throat.

And that was when Hermione very soundly smacked him on the arm.

Harry just gaped at her in shock.

"How could you?"

"I don't have a choice, Hermione," Harry said angrily. "I've never had any choice! My whole life has been mapped out-"

"She means," Ron cut in, cutting off Harry's tirade before it could even begin, "how could you think that you have to say goodbye to us?"

Harry stared between them, thoroughly confused. "I don't understand. That's what people do, isn't it?"

That earned him another smack. "We're coming with you!" Hermione announced in a tone that suggested she thought Harry was being particularly stupid.

"What? No. I won't let you."

"Let us?" Ron asked. "Try and stop us."

"But-"

"We're coming," Hermione said in the most forceful voice Harry had ever heard her use, "and that's final."

Ten minutes later, and the three friends were standing in the hallway to Grimmauld Place waiting for everyone to finish preparing themselves. Fred and George walked into the room, looking grimly satisfied, each of them carrying a huge sack of what looked like bombs.

They nodded simultaneously in greeting. "Alright, Harry?"

Harry nodded back. "Yeah. What are those things?"

"Bombs," George replied, confirming Harry's first impression. "But with a twist."

"What sort of twist?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Laughing gas."

"Which reminds us," Fred said.

"You'll need this," George finished, handing them each a magically reinforced gas mask.

"You're going to make the Death Eaters laugh to death?" Ron asked incredulously.

"No," Fred replied. "We're going to make them unable to fight."

"Then they'll be thrown in Azkaban," George said.

"Where they'll never laugh again," Fred concluded. "It's the perfect plan."

"Isn't it a bit ridiculous for a battle?" Ron asked, not sounding any less incredulous.

"At least this way if we catch our own lot we won't accidentally kill them," Fred pointed out.

"Speaking of," George said, "we better go give these out." He held up a bag of gas masks. "Reckon we should bother giving one to Snape? Might be quite funny."

Snape solved that question by snatching a gas mask from George's bag, giving the twin in question an evil glare. "Only if you want every single one of your family in detention, Weasley."

Fred waited until Snape was out of earshot, before muttering, "Ambitious git. Wonder how he expects to get Mum in detention. Come on, George. Got to get these handed out."

"See you guys later," they said in unison.

"Yeah," Ron said, worry creeping into his voice, but they were gone before he could finish. "Blimey, hope they'll be alright. Laughing gas against Death Eaters…"

"They'll be fine," Harry said. "I've seen them cast enough jinxes on you to kill Voldemort himself."

Out of the crowd, they saw the Doctor bustling towards them, a strange, whirring instrument in his hand and pointed rather blatantly at Harry's forehead. The Ex-Caretaker hurried along behind him, her face a picture of exasperation.

"Hello, Harry!" The Doctor exclaimed, shoving his face so far into Harry's that Harry could feel his breath on his cheeks. He was peering at Harry's forehead, still pointing the whirring thing at it. "How are we today?"

"Good," Harry replied, taking a step back. "Headache's almost gone."

"Headache? Where was it coming from? How bad was it? How long have you had it? Would you say the headache was giving you dark thoughts?"

"It means it's worked," River Song said, pulling the Doctor away from Harry's face. "It would be more worrying if he didn't have a headache."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I'm definitely me."

"You don't sound convinced."

Harry blinked at the Doctor. "Well… I don't know. It just seems a bit easy."

The Doctor peered at his strange instrument. "Nothing's showing up on the Sonic."

"And that's good, is it?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," the Doctor said. "It could be very good. It could mean that there's not a trace of You-Know-Who in your mind at all, and you really are 'Just Harry' – which, let's face it, would be more than good, it would be excellent; hooray, the war is won, the evil old wizard is dead! Or," he said, his face darkening, "it could mean that just enough remains that even the Sonic can't pick it up. Or maybe the Sonic is being negatively influenced by the magic around here – I mean, really, if it couldn't break me out of the Death Eaters' lair, it's not likely to pick up a piece of evil, lingering soul, is it? Especially if said soul belongs to a magical being."

The Doctor put the 'Sonic' back into his pocket. "In conclusion," he said, "not sure."

"I'm sure that put his mind at rest," River Song muttered. She turned to Hermione and Ron. "I take it you two are coming with Harry?"

"Yes," they said at the same time.

"Good," she said. "You always work better as a team. Just try not to get yourselves killed."

"Now who's being reassuring?" The Doctor asked, a truly out of place grin on his face.

Harry got the uncomfortable impression that they were flirting with each other.

Dumbledore's voice rose above the crowd and everyone immediately stilled, turning to stare at the point in the room where the old wizard was apparently standing. Harry lifted himself up onto tiptoes, straining to catch sight of the Headmaster, but a sea of heads blocked his vision.

"The time has come," Dumbledore said, "to pick up our wands and confront Voldemort head-on. It will be dangerous – I am not going to say that we will all come out of this unharmed. But do not let this beat you. Voldemort relies upon fear; he uses it to scatter his opponents, to make them flee before they have even had a chance to fight for what they believe is right. Today, you must gather every ounce of bravery, every ounce of loyalty, intelligence and cunning, to fight for what you think is right. Do not forget what is at stake."

An abrupt silence descended on the room.

"Geronimo," the Doctor whispered.