A/N: We're getting there everyone, and, as I wrote this chapter I ended up going back to the start of this fic for a mulititude of reasons. Annoyingly enough I found many mistakes or missed oportunities to expound upon certain events. Despite my fury, I will not be going back to make such edits. If I post this elsewhere, then I will attempt to fix everything, but for now, they stand as a testament to how far Harry (and I) have come.
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Right and Easy
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He lifted his head from the Pensieve and, for a moment, he couldn't decide whether his disorientation was due to the magic of the rare artefact or what he had just learned. The changing of the position of the sun in the sky caused differently shaped shadows in Dumbledore's Office than those from earlier. How much of Voldemort's hour had passed?
He'd come here originally to satisfy his curiosity while he mentally prepared to meet the Dark Lord with everything he had. Maybe also try to come to terms with everything before yet another defining moment of his life would come to pass. Harry Potter was under no illusions about his chances. He'd seen the magic the Elder Wand had performed and how Tom Riddle had met it equally. Now he wielded both.
It should have been another stalemate. Except for the fact that Dumbledore was over a century old, notwithstanding the curse that was slowly killing him. Now, he knew it had been worse than the old man had let on.
Was he so scared to reveal his weaknesses? Was he trying to give him a measure of support by just being there and being a foremost Wizard of the ages?
No.
He realised now.
Dumbledore would never reveal his weakness for the greater good, because he knew him. He'd only left the old man to his fate because he'd been confident in his ability to hold out against Tom. Only now would he fully appreciate Dumbledore's ruthless, pragmatic streak that ran so deep. He was different to Tom, he was unafraid of death and would embrace it to achieve his ultimate goals.
That's what Harry had been to him, a cog in the great machine of destiny the old man had built to defeat another Dark Lord. Even his recent defiance of the old man had been in vain, for his fate was unavoidable. No matter how much he'd worked to change his life, lady fortune had other plans.
Like the few seconds of a James Bond movie he'd seen on the telly in between chores, he was on that conveyor belt that slowly led to death. Knowing Bond like he did though, there would be no climactic escape, and certainly no gorgeous damsel to drive off into the sunset with.
The thought of damsels made him think of Hermione, and his heart broke in two.
There would be no chance of a future.
Not now.
"Harry?"
He whirled around to find the very girl of his thoughts before him. At first sight of his girlfriend, he staggered away from her instinctively, his movements jerky and clumsy. Eventually he stumbled into the wall, the trinkets within crashing and tinkling loudly, looking desperately away from her. He could barely explain his sudden reticence in words; it was like looking into the sun, or having everything you desire right in front of you only to have it stolen from you.
A knee-jerk reaction to a pain he'd never experienced before, a future stolen from underneath him.
Such a future he'd dreamed of: Of a family, of choices and the simple affection he'd learnt to crave from the one he loved. He understood now after so long, and then it was gone in an instant. Sure, killing Voldemort may have been a nigh impossible task, but to have that small amount of hope torn from his grasp was overwhelming.
Perhaps they could have found a way, like they always had. Together.
Another reason he couldn't look at her was simple: she'd become his addiction, and he wasn't sure he had the strength to look away once he saw her again.
Or held her again.
To indulge in such temptations would cause him more pain, to further acquaint himself with what he'd just lost. As his mind spiralled, he realised that he'd never had her at all, never had a chance at the future he'd dreamed of. Fate had seen to that. He was an oddity in magic that had to be erased, maybe he could take another such oddity out with him as he went.
In the end she basically tackled him.
They crashed into one of the ornamental stone pillars that framed the entrance to the Office, collapsing upon the stairs.
She reached up and cupped his face, her eyes searching his. He'd always loved her like this, searching for answers, solving riddles.
There was only one she was yet to solve.
"There's one more Horcrux." He said slowly to her, trying in vain to extend his last moments on earth. "It's the reason I can look into his mind, can speak Parseltongue, and sense his presence."
She looked at him wondrously for a moment before it visably hit her. "Your scar." He closed his eyes, valiantly trying to stall the tears that welled as her beautiful mind solved yet another puzzle. "If the Basilisk Venom didn't do it then-"
"Then I have to do it the old fashioned way." He finished in his own odd way.
Words failed her as she needily kissed him on the lips, then kissed his neck as if to savour his body through touch and taste alone. He gazed back into her eyes as tears formed to match his own welled in them. "I'll go with you." She croaked.
"No." He growled, pulling her into him, both to savour the comfort and to not see her cry. "You're worth far more than what those scum will do to you. Anyway, you're needed here." A small smile then adorned his exhausted features. "And who knows, transfigure yourself a gun and take him out while his back is turned. I know how much you love sneaking up behind me."
He heard a tiny snort from the head buried in his chest was a reward for his flippancy. He placed a kiss in her hair, noting idly that it tasted slightly of blood.
"You've made my life worth living, Hermione Granger, and I'll always love you for it." He blinked at the earnestness of his declaration, he'd always struggled to say it in the past, unable to truly express himself through words.
"I'll always love you too Harry." She lifted her head and studied him. "It's a shame I never got to take your last name."
He blinked. "Drat, knew I'd forgotten something. Will you-"
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Yes."
They shared another intimate kiss before he pulled away. "Sounds like everything's taken care of now." She ignored his quip and kissed him again. It was all he could do to pull away yet again, but he did eventually.
He pivoted to a sitting position, facing the door, unable to bear to see her reaction. "It's me Mione, I'm the last Horcrux, the one he never intended, or even knew he made." He said barely above a whisper, the weight of the admission alone carried throughout the silence of the Office. A few of the portraits made noises of shock, but he paid little attention. "And to get rid of it I…" His jaw worked soundlessly.
"Have to die." She finished just as quietly.
The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in response, she would always be there to help him understand. A tear ran the length of his nose, before another one joined it. She wrapped her arms around him in response.
It was perhaps the biggest indicator of just how far he'd come over the year. It felt like a lifetime ago that he bartered the lives of his friends for his own with nary a thought. Back then, his life was worth far more to others than himself, and he'd used that to his advantage.
He remembered the intense swoop of satisfaction he'd felt when his friends had safely left the Room of the Veil, despite his own situation, and how it blotted out the pain of the torture that followed. Perhaps the power he had that Voldemort didn't was indeed love after all; the grief of losing one of his best friends and falling for the other had motivated him, had emboldened him to a certain point.
Yet Dumbledore EXPECTED him to walk to his death, away from her, away from dreams that he'd only just recently believed were possible. Even Snape had been outraged at that, something that still sat oddly with him, after seeing the man's memories first hand.
In lieu of making a decision, he instead pondered upon those memories. Why did they pick those specific memories to show him? Dumbledore's selection seemed like a justification for his actions, the why he did what he did. Even then he hadn't succeeded, only reinforcing what he thought of the old man: Too focused upon the big picture to see the damage he caused to those caught up in his schemes.
Always in opposition to the Dark, but just as ruthless.
Snape's memories simply showed him the truth. What was underneath the veneer of the 'powerful and the good'. The fact that everyone had motivations for why they did what they did. He saw a boy that never really tried to make anything of himself, and, if he was honest; was true. He'd never tried to learn more than the basics of the world that saved him from the Dursleys.
Not that it mattered now.
Her whisper was shaky and distraught in his ear. "As I said, I'll go with you."
He smiled, twisted and pecked her on the temple before pulling her head into his shoulder. His answer was now different as he came to terms with what he had to do. "I can't stop you. But don't watch."
…
He hoped no one saw what he'd done.
The Sirius Orion Black he knew would never resort to such a thing. He was NOT the rest of his family.
The fact that he'd had the fight back and forth with himself in his own head spoke volumes about what he thought was his tenuous grasp on sanity.
The Inferius had taken down two more of the dark-robed-ones before being dismembered by a third. That, in fact, had been some of the last fighting as the rest were in too small a number to put up any kind of defence against the Ministry Forces. Most surrendered, something seldom seen in the first war.
Amelia had moved away to deal with the capture of so many enemy combatants and a part of him felt a strange sort of loss having come this far as a group. Remus was here though, and he looked as anxious to help out those in the Auror Department as he was. Amelia had vetoed the idea as soon as he brought it up, her reasoning being; that those there were trained in combat unlike many of the MLE personnel in this room and if they were to help, they would do so in a coordinated manner, not wasting their element of surprise.
There was also the unenviable task of determining who was alive, who needed treatment, and who could join a force to relieve their Law Enforcement cousins in the next room. He and Remus stood there rather dumbly - being outside any Ministry structure - as they watched the grim tasks being performed.
Until Moody stomped over that is, his obvious fury mixed with a sinister grin, which his mangled face turned into something even more frightening. "Nice work Black, it does an old bastard good to see less fucking around with the enemy."
His eyes widened, how many had known it was him? It wasn't like he trained in the Dark Arts, it had just been some reading required of him during his Auror training all those years ago. There had also been some books on it that he'd pilfered from the Black Library, looking for ways to destroy them, for back then, Voldemort and his forces used many Infieri to bolster their numbers.
The Black Library had been enlightening on the subject, as it usually was with Dark Magic. It turned out that there were three types of Infierus: Wand created; the quickest to create was similar to the Imperius Curse, a connection was established which re-animated and controlled a singular one. Ritual created; took more preparation, but could form a small army of them bound - by blood - to their master. The last type were created through a Runic Array; usually used in protection of something valuable, they were bound to a single place and could not exist outside of it.
The fact that Moody even mentioned it was unsettling in the least. "Times called for it." He replied somewhat shakily.
Moody slapped him on the shoulder, eye whizzing excitedly in its socket. "They do indeed. Now, are you ready lad?"
"For?"
"We-" He gestured to the muggle-dressed wizards watching over the scene with obvious detachment. "-are going next door as an advance party."
"Amelia-"
Moody cut him off gruffly. "-is busy taking care of other things, and will follow us in time, speaking of which, is of the essence. So what'll it be?"
He glanced at her once more.
"Fucks sake Black, shes too busy, and too old for you to boot. We need to get this shit under control as soon as possible."
He bristled at Moody's insinuation before nodding, it was killing him simply doing nothing anyway.
"Good lad." And with that, Moody signalled to what he now realised were Hitwizards - powerful magicals who specialised in covert tracking, secret and other less savoury tasks that Aurors could not do - and they moved to join him and Remus.
He led them out of the room and into the waiting room. "Lupin, Beechworth, green sparks if there's more of your kind in the room, yes?"
He glanced at the short, but muscled ginger-haired Hitwizard in surprise, not expecting there to be a Werewolf in such a position in the DMLE. Beech merely nodded and sent a questioning look at Remus, who nodded as well.
They stacked up before the blasted hole that was now the entrance to the Auror Department, the noise inside was quieter than before.
"Black, you've got the armour, you, Lupin and Beech are first, push deep and give the rest of us room." He could only nod and shuck his Battlecloak, draping it over his left arm, hoping the mediaeval approach would spare him from being annihilated the instant he stepped inside.
"Right." Moody grunted, the tip of his staff glowing with power now. "Three, two, one. Breech!"
He shot into the room, cloak held before him, his eyes roaming around quickly.
The Auror Department was less bureaucratic than the MLE Office, and had much more of a hierarchy. Due to this, the room he found himself in was similar in layout to the room opposite, but the 'Bullpen' was smaller, being only used by Junior Aurors. The same offices that ringed the room were for Senior Aurors, the similar corridor that across the hall led to the HItwizard Division, here, led to the Armoury, Meeting, Filing/Evidence and Training Rooms.
They may have cleared the MLE Offices quickly, but the Auror Office appeared to be at the centre of the fighting since the attack started, and it showed in ghastly detail. Auror's who were originally caught unawares, slumped over desks, their bodies pockmarked with missed spells.
Half torn apart bodies littered the room, while the floor ran red and threatened to slip him up at the most unfortunate moment. Despite the carnage, desks and walls remained far more intact here than across the hall. The whole point of the room was to be vaguely designed to withstand any resistance from those of criminality that were brought in for whatever reason.
As a result, the desks remained in place, even if they had lost their stacks of paper to the ether long ago. Most walls remained intact, just dotted with the spiderwork of cracks from spell and bodily impacts.
Suddenly, green sparks lit up the room.
He stiffened in understanding before glancing around, the Aurors that remained, formed a barrier to the only corridor that led from the room. In effect, both sides traded spells as groups.
He fired a Decapitation Hex just as some of the Dark ones turned to face the newcomers. Being twenty or so metres away however, it missed wide. He grimaced now realising that holding his cloak like a shield was putting him off balance, making it harder to hit accurately. A quick decision later had him discarding it, rather than trying to put it on now.
The ones that turned towards him were suddenly blown off their feet as he heard the quick clunks of Mad-Eye's wooden leg. A glance to the side revealed the Hitwizards streaming into the room, wands held high at the ready.
He turned back to see someone charging him. Vaguely, he noted it to be a Werewolf as only they could cross such a distance so quickly. He barely got his wand to bear before the Lycan leapt across a desk at him, only to be met in mid-air by the squat ginger-haired man, the heavier of the two redirected both across a desk to his left. Both immediately fell into melee combat, the pair's snarls almost lost in the noise already filling the room.
A roar from the opposite of the room drew part of his attention as he sent another spell at the enemy.
A small group of Aurors broke through their own lines and charged at the Lycans while their comrades fought the wizards. The Lycan in the middle caught one of them, redirecting their charge to throw them aside. The Auror hit a desk painfully, screaming in pain and dropping something silver in the process.
It seemed that the Aurors weren't going to merely fight with wands, and the Armoury held many silver daggers, most of which hadn't been used since the First Blood War. He'd never carried one in his short time in the Department, something which he was thankful for.
The second Auror bull-rushed the same Lycan, sending him careening over a nearby desk, the Auror then visibly shrank, becoming notably thinner before leaping over a desk at the same Lycan, dagger at the ready. It was only then that he recognised both of them. One of whom was family, the other an extremely notorious murderer.
Fenrir Greyback rolled out of the way of Tonks's lunge before swiping his wand her way with a snarl. She too, rolled away onto her knees before throwing the dagger at Greyback from mere feet away. Despite Fenrir's efforts, the Blade penetrated just above his hip and he howled in pain, successfully blasting Tonks away.
He reacted quickly, a cushioning charm preventing her from getting concussed on a hardened desk.
A blurred shape slid over a desk to his right, his spell meeting Greyback's own where they then locked. His pulse quickened as he realised one of his fears had come to pass. Remus would never pass up the opportunity to end the animal that marked him, forcing him to change since he was four.
Greyback wretched the blade from his hip with a snarl of pain with his free hand before throwing it awkwardly at Remus, before he could dodge it however it stopped, hovering centimetres from his chest.
Looking around, he found Tonks had intercepted it with some quick levitation. As she summoned it, both he and Greyback watched her for differing reasons while Remus kept pushing through the connected wands, trying to overpower the older lycan.
With barely a glance at him, she threw the dagger towards the point where both arcs of magic met, guiding it with her wand. He barely had time to curse while banishing his friend roughly to the ground. The silver blade struck true, and with a sizzling explosion, was obliterated in a shower of light and tiny fragments.
Now, while silver was indeed toxic to all lycans, many Hogwarts students - until they reached NEWT level studies - believed it was somehow poisonous or reacted upon contact with the flesh. Silver was the only weakness, because it hindered the Werewolf's accelerated regeneration and healing. Therefore any wound dealt using silver could not be healed until all traces of the metal were removed from the immediate area. Also, any minute amount of silver that made it into the bloodstream made things more complicated, slowing down healing even more until it had been processed by the body or removed.
An inhuman roar of pain was heard, even over the cacophony of sound that already filled the room.
When the dust settled, it revealed a - once proud yet feral - Werewolf, visibly shaking. His whole body was covered with blood with bits of silver sticking out from skin and cloth alike.
Remus rose, deflecting an errant spell with a flick of his wand. The grim look of satisfaction that filled his normally placid features sent a shiver down his spine.
As he moved closer he saw that Greyback couldn't even hold his wand anymore as his body shook involuntarily. He stared defiantly up at his friend nonetheless, a look only matched by the hateful one his friend sent in reply.
Time seemed to stop around them as he watched Remus made his decision, though he did keep his eyes peeled for spells.
Until Remus pointed his wand at Greyback, the silent 'Sonorus Charm' became evident as suddenly the raspy sounds of Greyback's ragged breathing and pants of pain filled the room. With a further flick on his wand the most wanted Werewolf of the last century was stuck to the floor. It prevented him from moving as Remus ripped his throat out with a snarl, something he'd never thought he'd ever see in his life.
Instantly, a full third of the enemy force stopped fighting and stared at Remus; their visages a mix of hate, fear and relief.
Remus lifted Greyback's body, used it to absorb an errant spell, then tossed it towards the main door.
In another shocking display, Remus bared his teeth - looking as wild as Sirius had ever seen his friend - before nodding towards the wizards and witches in dark robes still fighting.
Then all hell broke loose.
The Lycans turned upon their previous allies, reducing what had been stable front lines into an all in brawl. Some of them refused his friend's order and were then set upon by others who had. In an instant, they were swallowed up by the mix of combatants, spells flew in all directions, their effects indiscriminate.
He no longer had time to really think about anything, but one thing he did was: I wish I'd kept the bloody cloak on.
The thought nearly cost him as he was forced to duck a spell he'd barely seen out of the corner of his eye, sensing his quarry was near, he pivoted left, summoning and transfiguring a piece of paper into a sharpened block of wood which his drove into the witch backhanded who screamed. With a swipe, he disarmed her and banished the block of wood - with her impaled upon it - across the room.
Suddenly he felt a summoning charm take hold upon him, but could do nothing to stop its effects. He flew through the furore, over to where the Auror lines had been, near the corridor to the rest of the Department.
He landed with a stumble, pointing his wand where he thought the spell had originated, only to find an unexpected sight.
"I say George, it's our Ministry Liaison!"
"He's also our Gringotts Liaison as well Fred."
"Really? He spends more time with the Minister than-"
"Boys!" Sirius yelled. "What're you doing here?"
One of the twins lifted his coat slightly to intercept an errant cutting hex, as he did, he caught sight of the Zebra patterning of the lining of his Battlecloak. "A simple delivery of goods originally. Speaking off, what happened to yours?"
"A mistake." He grumbled. "It's over by the entrance."
The twins looked between each other before one of them said: "Summon it over then so we can finish this."
He blinked. "I thought they were summon-proof?"
"You think we would supply our own Marauder forefather, inspiration and partner in crime with inferior commercial-grade goods? Why I'm a-" Sirius's cloak hitting the twin in the side of the head cut off his tirade, much to the amusement of the other one.
After donning his cloak once more, the three of them threw themselves into the fray. As they did, it became obvious that the Ministry forces would win the day as the forces opposing them diminished by the minute. Werewolves continued to fight in the midst of the carnage, their snarls lost in the sounds of battle.
Evidently there was still some coordination in the opposing ranks as suddenly a volley of green shot towards himself and his allies. In unison, the three of them twisted, pulling their cloaks up to protect their heads.
Some of the Auror's however weren't so lucky, failing to intercept the spells with something solid before they hit, they crumpled where they stood. Some of the Lycans who, embroiled in their own scuffles were killed before their supernatural reflexes could save them.
Roaring in frustration, he banished the body of a dark-robed one towards the first target he could discern amongst his quarry. A taller man with blonde hair that spilled from beneath his mask.
The body crashed into their lines, knocking the first one to the side and catching the man over the head, dragging his mask off. Even as both sides began to trade spells again, he very nearly laughed out loud. The fact that Voldemort would task Lucius Malfoy with the capture of the British MInistry of Magic after failing to steal the prophecy from six teens a year previous boggled his mind.
Although he had to admit, they'd very nearly succeeded this time.
Even as he blasted a nearby desk off of its mounts to the floor and banishing it towards the same man - while admiring the runework that allowed most of them to survive a skirmish so long - he heard a small fizzle from where he'd last seen the twins.
He couldn't help but grin, it seemed the Marauders would live on.
…
What had followed had been nothing short of chaos.
If he didn't think the twins were already putting Dr. Filibusters to shame, they were now. Walking, flying and roaring creatures made purely of multicoloured sparks and fizzle appeared from behind Ministry lines. The first ones didn't move far as Fred and George set up more of them via a method unknown to him.
Once their numbers had swelled to twenty, they charged. Thestrals, Hippogriffs, Augreys and Phoenixes made of pure fireworks flew over their heads and began swooping and darting into the midst of Lucius's forces. Centaurs, Acromantuas, Chimeras, Jarvey's and Imps joined them, causing distraction and burns when they made contact.
Any fight that the Dark Forces had put up until that stage was now all for nought as they were cut down by spells that flew straight through the fiery display. Any hasty attempt to remove the distraction merely left them open for an Auror's spell to hit home.
In the end the fighting hadn't lasted any longer than ten minutes after the twins' trouble-making. Most throwing themselves to the floor in supplication, others - disturbingly enough - turning their wands upon themselves.
It was now much quieter, though now the room with filled with a terrible stench.
Gladly leaving those that were paid for this sort of work to process prisoners and commence the clean-up, he moved around the room, picking his way through the debris looking for Remus. He eventually found his friend sat against the wall near the door looking much like he'd just come back from a transformation. Numerous cuts covered his body and his - already worn - suit barely held together.
Tonks leant against the wall beside him, working on his shoulder. He reached them just as she yanked a chunk of wood from his shoulder, most likely it had been part of a desk long since destroyed. Remus's normally placid features crinked as he grimaced in pain.
"Gees Remus, at least make it look like I'm trying to hurt ya." Tonks bantered as she traced her wand over the wound. Disinfecting it via magic wasn't ideal, that much he knew, but Aurors only learnt battlefield-healing, enough to get them to proper help alive. He snorted at the random thought of Moody and how he looked like he'd never visited a proper healer in his life
He chuckled at her. "I see your bedside manner hasn't improved at all Tonksie."
She waved her wand threateningly at him. "Bugger off paws."
"One could take offence at that." Remus interjected tiredly, causing him to chortle involuntarily.
"I knew there was a reason we got along." He added, patting Remus on his good shoulder. His friend stuck two fingers up at him in response.
Just then Lucius Malfoy floated through the door, struggling as if held by invisible chains. His eyes widened as following him, with her wand trained upon him, was Amelia. Her hair slightly askew and her Blouse missing the lower half of the left sleeve, but otherwise untouched.
He watched as she handed him off to Kingsley, then observed the scene for a while before making her way over to them. By then Remus was standing, Tonks by his side as if waiting for orders. It looked odd, making him wonder at what had transpired when they were out of his sight. He had no time to wonder at it as Amelia reached them, her expression grave.
"Sirius, Tonks, Remus. Glad to see you're unharmed." She then lowered her voice, leaning in slightly, expression even graver still. "Hogwarts is under attack as we speak. I've yet to receive word of the school's status so I'd like you three, plus Moody's squad to find out." He felt his stomach drop at the news, Harry and Hermione had been in danger for who knows how long and he hadn't been there.
He could only hope that the legendary wards of Hogwarts had held fast. Though, as his mind raced, he surmised Voldemort must be there as he wasn't here and who really knew with a wizard of that magnitude?
At least Dumbledore is there, the bastard. "I assume we-" he gestured to himself and Remus. "-need to get everyone through the wards?"
Amelia nodded sharply. "Yes, report back as soon as you can."
He shared a look with Remus, to find his friend looked as perturbed as he felt.
Harry'll be fine, even if the school is breached, he always pulls through. Merlin, don't let me fail you again James.
…
He stood, alone, yet framed in the cavernous maw of the door that opened into the Entrance Hall. The flickering torch behind him lent his solitary form a warm orange hue, different to the white afternoon light that bathed the rest of the Great Hall's occupants. An aura that hid the desolate look in Harry Potter's eyes from everyone else.
Those furthest from him looked upon him in a godlike fashion, their saviour, before being distracted by a gasp of pain or the words of another. The stares of the masses - usually only irksome - affected him more in this moment when he realised their individuality. The students and teachers that took up arms to defend the school from the most feared Dark Lord in perhaps half a millenium. Prices for their valour were paid in varying degrees, some had even already paid the ultimate price.
Perhaps they'd done it knowing that they had the great Albus Dumbledore with them, the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared. Perhaps the same people believed the Daily Prophet's articles of the 'Chosen One', the one destined to destroy the threat to their way of life while also claiming vengeance for himself. There were those that hadn't fought, those that wouldn't or couldn't, but there were those that had, and that left one question in his mind.
Would they continue to fight even when I'm gone?
It was a fair question, there would always be those who would fight, but to do so when all hope seems lost? Maybe with Voldemort mortal once more, a lucky shot would end him. Maybe the remaining professors of Hogwarts would take him head on, fulfilling their charter to protect the students under their charge.
Sudden movement caught his attention and bouncing bushy brown hair distracted him from his spiralling thoughts. As she moved towards him with the Headmistress in tow, he drank in the battered, dirty and altogether beautiful sight with a smile.
Until he remembered why he was there, of what he had to do.
As Minerva McGonagall's eyes swept over him, he noted her bun was still perfect, as if a day full of classes were the only exerting parts of her day. "You wished to discuss something, Potter?"
Beginning with a wordless 'Muffliato', he told the convoluted tale, much of which Dumbledore hadn't told her, despite her position. Starting with the Prophecy, then the nature of Horcruxes, then their subsequent destruction over the year. McGonagall's eyes grew larger with each aspect of the story, until he reached the part of the last Horcrux.
Tonelessly he delivered what he'd seen in Dumbledore's and Snape's memories, and what they meant for him. When he finished he could feel the anger emanating from the headmistress as she struggled to digest everything. Finally, a tear broke through the hardened facade of the woman who'd sat on his Uncle's fence to watch his relatives some fifteen years ago. "Harry… You're every bit of your parents and more, you remember that. We'll keep fighting, laddie." Her eyes shone with unshed tears as he patted him on the shoulder, before sweeping away, making her way back to the dias.
As Hermione gripped his arm, his eyes quickly swept the Great Hall for a final time, settling for time upon Luna who's expression turned from studying him intently, to a small smile and nod. She knew, he had no clue how, but she did, as usual. Another blink later as she was gone. Neville wasn't far away, but his attention was taken by Professor Sprout as they discussed something or another.
He led them outside and they paused just outside Great Hall before parting ways forever. He could hear the muted noise of talking voices inside, and it provided an oddly relaxing backdrop to their farewell. The softest of kisses, yet one that brought both together as if magnetically drawn to each other.
He moved away first, keeping hold of the sides of her head between his hands. "You get through this, and you become the fucking Minister for Magic, yeah?" She chuckled wetly, nodding. "That's my girl. Let no one stop you in fixing every wrong you can find."
She sniffed but smiled all the same. "That was the plan all along, you know."
He was barely any taller than her, but he managed to kiss her on the temple all the same. For a moment he marvelled at how far he'd come, from a freak underfoot, to someone he had friends, to someone who would push those same friends away, to someone who'd found love.
Like someone normal.
With measured steps he moved past the Great Hall, not daring to look inside. But when he reached the huge doors, he turned back just as she was about to enter the Hall. Drinking in the sight of her for one final time, and after a few moments of weakness, he turned his attention away a final time. With a small grunt of effort, he pulled one of the great doors open slightly, a chill settling into his very bones at the sound of it creaking open just enough to allow his passage. He eased past them and into the afternoon sun to find the Deatheaters and their master in the same position he'd left them.
All quiet murmurs paused at his appearance, all of their eyes upon him as he threw whatever locking and sticking spells he knew upon the great doors. With a deep breath he sheathed his wand up his left sleeve, out of the way of the spell that would end his life.
Voldemort's curious gaze drew his own as he stepped to the centre of the courtyard. Upon reaching it he was vividly reminded of the moment in the Department of Mysteries he stood before Lucius, bargaining for the lives of his friends.
Nearly a year had passed, but little had changed.
Tom Riddle tilted his head ever more curiously at him as if he could divine his thoughts, and mildly he noted that his surface thoughts were indeed being read by the Dark Lord. This didn't faze him though, any attempt to enter his mind again would result in the same agony as it had the last time. He then rose from his stone throne, stepping lithely towards the unarmed teen. "I sense… that you have a deal to make Harry Potter." His soft, yet amused tone was one he'd heard before.
"I do." He said, stepping forward. "These people fought for ME, for" - He spat on the ground - "Dumbledore. They pose no threat to you once I am gone, spare them… please."
Tom chuckled, raising the Elder Wand away and to his side. "All they ever needed to do, is to not resist. Perhaps you could become their shining example to follow Harry." His face then darkened as he then stood from his stone throne. "Kneel."
His jaw worked of its own accord as he contemplated kneeling before the man that killed his parents. As revolted by the idea as he was, it could save more of those in the castle if Voldemort was in a good mood. The possible benefits outweighed the small fleeting humiliation, so, with a defeated breath, he knelt, first on one knee, then both, spreading his arms wide in a mocking gesture as if to say 'good enough?'.
Voldemort smirked, very the picture of power as a slight breeze rippled his weightless dark robes. "The boy-who-lived - apparently - comes to me... to die."
The Elder Wand rose high before slashing downwards and green light filled his vision as Voldemort's yell filled his ears.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
…
The bright white that shone through his eyelids surprised him enough so much that he opened them. Only when he did however, he nearly closed them again due to the brightness of his surroundings.
As his eyes adjusted, his locale came into view:
A Quidditch Pitch?
It was the first thing that he thought of that would describe what he saw, but it wasn't the same one that he'd played on at Hogwarts. The white grass beneath his feet felt like the clouds he saw above which hung low, grazing the tops of the topmost scoring hoops. As he glanced around towards where the spectator stands would be, he found them to be fading into being before his eyes.
Images flashed upon them, replacing the banners of the Hogwarts Houses.
He saw Hermione instead of Hufflepuff banners.
He saw his parents instead of Ravenclaw banners.
He saw Voldemort instead of Gryffindor banners.
He saw flashes of the incredible events of each year instead of Slytherin banners.
All he could do for a very long time was simply watch each of them as they played their images, images that confused him as much as they drew his attention. Unable to decipher them he began to move around, feeling his surroundings. Oddly, it was neither hot nor cold, but he could feel the sensation of grass beneath his feet and between his toes in a way that was almost intoxicating.
It was then that he studied himself, looking down he could see that he was wearing a denim jacket over a large hoodie, a glance further down revealed darker denim. While all of the colours were faded to his eyes, he could remember their true colour as if it were yesterday.
With a jolt he realised it hadn't been yesterday, but years ago.
He wore the very first clothes he'd picked out for himself in the small charity shop 'Sue's Seconds' in Little Whinging on his ninth birthday. He could remember how the elderly lady doted on him as he struggled with selecting his very own clothes. She'd introduced herself as he made his purchase with the little pocket money he'd been able to steal up until then, he'd been so nervous he hadn't returned the favour until a year later.
He'd had to lie to Uncle Vernon about how he'd managed to pay for even second-hand clothes, saying he'd helped out in the shop, something which had surprised his uncle, even earning some begrudging respect.
Any respect gained was lost later that night after Dudley had ripped the jacket and it repaired itself instantly, as if by magic.
Searching for something else to focus on, he turned his gaze to the scoring hoops in front of him, only to see a tiny lump there. After moving closer, he discovered something that brought bile to the back of his throat: A tiny, hairless baby or sorts, covered in blood with the face of Voldemort upon it.
The closer he moved to the abomination, the louder its cries became.
When he reached the edge of the scoring area, he stopped, both repulsed and morbidly curious by the sight. It was then that he caught sight of the chains, chains which shimmered with molten silver light that bound it to the central post. What was the purpose of such a thing? Why was he here? Was he destined to remain here forever?
A voice he'd heard mere minutes ago cut through the cries. "I wouldn't move any closer, Harry."
He turned to face where he'd heard the voice to find Dumbledore standing in the very middle of the pitch, hands clasped before his three-piece suit. After taking a moment to take in his odd appearance he pointed to the abomination. "Why? What is it?"
Dumbledore grimaced slightly. "What is it? Something beyond either of our help. Why? Meddling with unknown magic has always had unexpected consequences, none of which you deserve. Something which… has defined your very existence, so far."
He gave the thing a last glance before stepping towards Dumbledore, looking the older man in the eye. "Why am I here?"
"Your connection with Tom allows you to see this place." Dumbledore then paused. "If I may - where do you think we are?"
He glanced around once more. "The Quidditch pitch, only it's… different."
Dumbledore chuckled at his answer, glancing around thoughtfully. "Different indeed."
"The connection?" He pressed.
"Ah, apologies m'boy." Dumbledore grinned abashedly. "I'd hazard a guess that your connection brought that thing into your… moment. It is a part of Voldemort that was sent to die to prevent his journey through this place - one of his most vile of experiments."
While interesting, it didn't answer his question. It seemed Dumbledore was as infuriating as he was when he was alive. "Am I dead?"
Dumbledore brightened. "Oh no, no dear boy, on the contrary as a matter of fact. You see, the Horcrux that was inside you, - plus other factors - saved you."
"I don't understand."
"The KIlling Curse, as we know it today, was taken from a part of the Horcrux ritual. We call it the Killing Curse because of the effect the spell achieves on the surface - Death. The spell on its own merely separates the soul from the body. The reason creating a Horcrux requires a ritual, is to guide the separated soul into a container, ONLY after splitting it and marking it to differentiate it from the rest of the soul. The piece of Voldemort's soul that had latched onto your own was vastly different to yours, as such, the spell acted upon it instead."
"So… I'm fine?"
Dumbledore smiled. "You are indeed, your soul is whole, pure, and undoubtedly your own."
"If I'm not dead, then why am I here?"
"The spell acting upon the Horcrux dragged you here, but you can go back… or on."
"On?"
The old man nodded. "On."
His jaw worked at the lack of a substantial answer. "To Death?"
Dumbledore waved an arm wide. "Do you see your parents?"
He glanced towards where the Ravenclaw stands would be. "Yes."
"Then yes, it is an option."
His pulse quickened, or it would have if he were not here. "How?"
Dumbledore spun slowly upon the spot, deep in thought. "If we are upon a Quidditch pitch then… I'd grab a broom and take to the skies."
As the older man stopped speaking, from somewhere in the clouds, he heard the faint sounds of a whistle being blown. He pondered the thought of seeing his parents again after all this time, to meet them properly.
"Whatever you choose, is final." Dumbledore said almost warningly.
He glanced around once more, towards the Gryffindor stands which showed Voldemort. "He has the Elder Wand."
Dumbledore grimaced slightly but nodded. "True."
"I can't beat him, not like you."
Blue eyes bored into his. "No. Though that does not mean you cannot win."
"What do you mean?"
"Remember the Prophecy Harry."
"The power he knows not? You said it was love!"
"Love, a motivation for great actions, both terrible and good. It is in that which separates you and him, the why. Tom was always motivated by fear, fear of Death, of powerlessness. You, however, are motivated by revenge of love stolen from you, and only recently, hope of a love-filled future. You have overpowered him before, and merely due to your acceptance of death to boot. Love is always more powerful, your Patronus is the ideal example."
Dumbledore spread his arms wide. "Magic is what separates us from Muggles. Magic emphasises every part of us, and those with more magic can find it intrinsically tied to their being and emotions. Magical creatures react to such, as their own magic shares just as deep a connection. Wild Magic has and will always be there, waiting to be shaped by will, nature or Magic itself. Something that was much more pronounced in our early history, for before the discovery of wandlore of rituals, magic was felt rather than seen."
He then stepped closer to him. "Show Tom the strength of will instead of power alone, saturate yourself in magic in the way he cannot." Dumbledore then glanced upwards suddenly as if caught before pinning him with his electric blue gaze once more, saying nothing more.
Could I really beat him? "So that's all I have, a will and a why?"
"If you're after something more tangible, then look to Wandlore for answers. The consequences of the bond of blood you now share, not to mention you overpowering him in the Graveyard have had a profound effect upon your wand. Trust the bond you've forged for the six years you've wielded your Holly Wand, of what the both of you have learnt and achieved."
"Are you saying the same sort of thing happened again? Like how I gained the ability to speak parseltongue?"
"Yes, and no. Wand's always choose their Wizards; some wands of which react upon their own accord to danger, some have an affinity for specific magic or won't work for any other wielder than their first bond. Your wand may have learnt something from his." Dumbledore shrugged. "Many things are possible."
"You're saying I should go back?"
"Why not? You will be back here eventually."
Could he really do it? Go back? Back to the pain, fear and misery of those who had and will continue to lay down their lives while looking to him to save them all? It was truly peaceful here, calm, and comfortable.
There was only one thing that stopped him from grabbing a broom and taking to the skies for one final time.
A certain Bushy-haired brunette with freckles upon her nose and a penchant for being the most brilliant witch he will ever know. Someone that drank her tea with far too much milk in it and would squint her eyes just… so, when he was being cheeky. A girl who worked hard to be extraordinary, to fulfil her ambitions, sometimes even at the lack of her own health. Someone who, while afraid of brooms, rode tandem with him to rain down spells upon hundreds of Acromantula.
Where would he be now, without her.
If he hadn't snuck away with Ron to find her that Halloween night in first year.
He tore his eyes away from the images of her upon where the Hufflepuff stands would have been to find the old man smiling at him as if he knew his thoughts. "How do I go back?"
The old man's smile widened. "Where do you go after the game is over?"
He shifted his gaze over to the entrance that led to the changerooms, it made him think of Wood's impassioned speeches, of the Twins snickering away in the corner, of stowing away his kit and making his way back towards the school with his friends.
His feet were moving before he'd consciously decided upon his course of action.
…