Chapter 4

May 2, 1998

10:14pm

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light shot out of Lord Voldemort's wand as he cast the Killing Curse at Harry Potter. The curse connected squarely with Harry's chest, sending him backwards – his body arcing gracefully as he rose in the air before landing on the ground and rolling to his front from the force of the fall.

"My Lord!" Bellatrix Lestrange screamed.

Voldemort had been thrown to the ground in the same way as Harry, but was shooing away any efforts to help him back to his feet. Once he was up, he ordered Narcissa Malfoy to check to make sure the boy – who hadn't moved an inch – was well and truly dead. Although, he couldn't fathom how Potter could be anything but.

"He is dead," Narcissa confirmed after draping her body over the boy's, feeling his chest for a heartbeat and – apparently – finding none.

Voldemort ordered the half-giant, Hagrid, to carry Harry's lifeless body to the castle, where it would be shown off, to force the rebels into submission.

The walk did not take anywhere near the amount of time it had taken Harry to build up the courage to go face Voldemort and walk to his death.

"Harry!" shrieks of despair and mourning rang through the darkness as one by one, they saw his limp body dangling in Hagrid's arms. There was still resistance, though, and in just a few scant moments, Harry found himself falling out of Hagrid's arms onto the ground. He whipped his invisibility cloak over himself and Apparated away to the location he knew he must be needed.

"Snape!" Harry shouted as he cracked into place on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. It was empty, though, but not bereft of the pools of blood that had flowed from the Potions Master's neck care of the bite from Nagini. Harry looked around for several seconds before he was satisfied Snape wasn't there.

"Kreacher!" Harry shouted again. There was a crack and the ancient elf appeared.

"Yes, Master Harry?" Kreacher bowed slightly as he spoke.

"Kreacher, can you find someone for me?" Harry knew the elf could do it, since he'd found Mundungus Fletcher less than a year prior.

"Yes, Master Harry," the elf answered.

"I need you to find Severus Snape. When you do, I want you to go back to Grimmauld Place – I'll be there – and tell me where he is." Harry glanced at his watch. He figured it would be a while before Kreacher could find the injured (and probably dead, by now) man, and Harry knew he had to get back to the castle to kill Voldemort, now that the evil bastard was mortal again.

"Master Snape has already come to Kreacher, Master Harry; Master Snape came to the Black Household not long before Master Harry calls for Kreacher," the elf stayed in a half-bow, so Harry couldn't see his face clearly.

"What?" Harry blurted out, shocked. "Is he still there? Is he all right?"

"Master Snape is not at Grimmauld Place, Master Harry. Master Snape says, 'Tell the whelp I shall live.'"

Harry suppressed a choked sob of laughter. "All right, Kreacher. You can go back home now. Thank you." And before he had finished the last word, the elf was gone.

Harry went back under his cloak and Apparated back onto the grounds outside of the school – as close as the wards would let him. As he approached the gates, he noticed that it was surprisingly calm, given that he was sure there was a battle waging inside. He walked as quickly as he could up to the front doors of the castle, which were wide open, and he heard the chatter of the surrounding students. From the tidbits he was able to pick up, everything was over. Someone must have cast the Killing Curse at Voldemort and since the Horcruxes were gone, it killed him just like it would have any other person. Except Harry, apparently. He shook his head at the improbability of his situation, smiling as he remembered Dumbledore's conversation with him at King's Cross while he had 'died'.

So he wasn't needed. Wanted, maybe, but not needed. Not right now. Harry felt suddenly sick as he thought about the aftermath of Voldemort's demise. In one blinding flash, he saw what his life would be for the next half century. He wanted to vomit. He turned on the spot and Apparated away to Grimmauld Place.