A/N: This was inspired by the US edition cover of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

Sweat poured down Harry's face as shifted his weight to his left foot. His head flicked back and forth across the sunset-lit wastage in front of him, his tired eyes – his mother's eyes - searching for any trace of Voldemort or follower. There were pieces of stone and mortar that had fallen off the main structure as spells had hit them. They had crashed to the ground, creating an eerie circle of broken masses of stone with Harry's group at the sacrificial center.

He nodded sharply, knowing that the four people around him would see it, and moved forward a few steps, feet sliding quietly over the sodden grass. He had expected the Final Battle to be at Hogwarts, not Stonehenge - and certainly not Stonehenge in the past. Luckily, when the area Portkey had set off, Voldemort had been taken by surprise as well. Only Snape, Malfoy, Macnair had been quick enough to follow their Master as he was sucked into the past with his arch-nemesis. Harry grinned slightly. He remembered the shocked look on Bellatrix Lestrange's face as Snape had pushed her aside to get into the vortex.

Snape.

The man had seen him many times during the last few hours of guerilla warfare, and each time, he would sneer menacingly, jab his wand in Harry's direction and fold back into the cover of shadows. So it wasn't really a fair fight then. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Snape, an unsurprisingly stubborn Ginny, and a very surprisingly brave Neville versus Voldemort and 2 followers. Harry's grin faded. Voldemort didn't deserve a fair fight, not after all that he had done.

Harry's right hand drifted down to the small Portkeys in his belt. They had been Susan Bones' idea. If any of the fighters were hurt, they could be tagged by a voice-activated Portkey that would whisk them away to the Hospital Wing. Harry wondered if the small black tags would still send them back to the present day. Otherwise, they might drop in on a newly built Hogwarts, probably lacking the medical knowledge to treat the newer Dark Magic spells. Someone could die if he wasn't able to get help immediately.

Harry worried about that a lot: someone could die because of him. However, every time he tried to explain this to the Order or the DA, Hermione would sigh and rub her forehead while one of the Weasleys – usually Ron or Ginny or the twins – would smack him on the head and tell him to stop being stupid. Harry didn't like being smacked by the twins or Ron – they hit hard – and when Ginny hit him, it reminded him that she wasn't in his arms instead because of his own stupidity. Harry felt his heart sniffle at that, and pushed the thought aside.

There were more important things to think about and more important things to kill. Harry nodded sharply once again, and the five of them moved forward a few more steps. Ron stood on his left, Hermione on his right, flanking him just as they always had; Ginny stood behind him, still giving him the silent support of the past year and a half; and Neville, wonderful, brave and proud Neville who was finally part of the Gryffindor madness in full glory, stood directly between Harry and any curse that could come his way. Harry stood in middle, of course, hypersensitive to the movements in the shadows as the dead quiet enveloped him like a suffocating blanket.

There was a shout, in left and in front; as Harry closed his eyes to the blinding green light, he saw Ron and Neville jump into the pathway and then-

Harry's eyes opened as soon as he couldn't see stars on his eyelids anymore. Neville lay in front of him, a victorious smile on his face, while Ron, slumped over on the boy underneath, looked as if a shocked gasp had been caught in his throat.

Harry's heart clenched tightly, and his magic jumped inside him. He heard a keen wailing sound – was that him? Hermione? Ginny? – as his knees slammed into the ground. He scrambled in the muddy turf on all fours, and slid the last few inches until he could touch them. The thud of his heart pounding furiously, he leaned over until the tips of his ears touched Ron's chest. He couldn't hear anything.

He pushed harder. Ron had to be alive. This was Ron: messy red hair and freckles, Quidditch fanatic with Chudley Cannons posters all over his room at the Burrow, brave Ron that had given himself up their first year in McGonagall's chess match. Ron had to be alive! Crazy Ron with his whacky ideas and his odd tendency to be overprotective who loved Chocolate Frogs and who always visited him in the Hospital Wing when he got himself into trouble and who hadn't turned away when everyone found out he was a Parselmouth or when Harry told him about the prophecy and who had gotten angry at Harry for the Tri-Wizard Tournament but had made it up by making up stuff until Hagrid helped him and who had walked with him across the barrier first year and who had flown Mr. Weasley's light blue Ford Angelina to Hogwarts the second year. This was Ron. RON HAD TO BE ALIVE!

It was not until a hand touched his back gently that Harry realized that he had shouted that last time. He sat still on the grass, hunched over on Ron's body with knees folded underneath him, and watched as Hermione strengthened the shielding charm around them. He closed his eyes, grasping Ron's shirt with his dirty fingers, messing up the DA camouflage uniform with grimy hands covered in grass and mud. There was small gasp as magic whispered over his face. He jerked his head up as someone shook him. Hermione looked straight into his eyes, hopefully brown eyes staring back at him, and nodded gently, her teeth biting her lower lip.

Harry fumbled for his belt of Portkeys. Someone would NOT die because of him. Not Ron or Neville. Neville.

Harry's eyes flicked back to the body underneath Ron's, victorious smile still plastered on his face. Neville was brave too, he decided as his eyes crinkled. Neville was brave too. He grabbed for their hands, and wound the retractable keychain string of the Portkey around their wrists. Hermione wound her fingers through Ron's left hand and Neville's right hand and nodded encouragingly at Harry. Harry tapped the black tag with his wand - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple – and moved away from where Hermione knelt. He whispered the new name of 12 Grimmauld Place – "Sanctuary" – and watched as his first three friends were whisked away in a twist of magic.

His green eyes met brown ones shaded by red-orange hair – the same color Ron had too. One more nod, and they turned away from each other, backing up until their backs touched and Harry could feel Ginny's ponytail on the back of his neck.

There were many people who were brave, Harry thought. Neville and Percy who had been spying for Dumbledore from seventh-year until he was killed by Rudolph Lestrange and Dean Thomas who had lost his left hand while fighting Avery and Cho Chang who had killed Crabbe and then cried because she had murdered a man and all the others were brave too. Ron was his best friend, his brother; and no one messed with a Weasley – or Harry's friends – and got away with it. Greyback hadn't; Lestrange hadn't; Avery hadn't. Whoever had shot that spell tonight wouldn't either.

Harry's weight shifted to his left foot as his eyes flickered across the sunset-lit wastage again. He would not make any more sacrifices, and he wasn't tired anymore.

And Voldemort would pay tonight.