(Disclaimer: see first chapter.)
Beta: RedButterfly33, to the bitter end. :P Thanks, girl! ^^
A/N: Some usually pretty positive characters may behave a bit OOC in this chapter. It's easily explained, though: They are angry. They are desperate. They've got nothing to lose and a great deal of hatred. Also, the spell being cast here is of course non-canon. It's a bunch of quasi-latin non-sense, just ignore the exact words. :P
12.
July 31st, 1998
"It begins." Draco's voice trembled.
Harry cast a worried glance at the pale young man at his side. This was the first time in three months Draco was allowed to leave their quarters. He had spent his days researching ancient curses and modern illusions, as well as practising his magic; but due to lack of physical exercise, his body was in fairly poor condition. Adding to his burden, he would have to play Harry's slave all day today. Different from his 'Master', he did not wear Death Eater's robes wreathed in dozens of static defence wards, but a pair of skin-tight leather pants, a sheer string vest and a collar.
Harry and he had woven every defensive ward they knew into this collar; still Draco felt remarkably defenceless in the degradingly skimpy attire. With a shiver, he looked over the battlefield.
To his left and right stood ranks of Death Eaters, shoulder to shoulder with Voldemort's other allies. On the far side of the field huddled a colourful, motley crowd of all sorts of creatures. Men, centaurs, and even House Elves stared at the enemy with empty, resigned eyes.
Draco recognized some wizards in the traditional garb of the Order of the Phoenix, as well as a handful wearing Aurors' robes. To his great horror, nearly half the force was dressed in Hogwarts school robes.
"They have so few fighters left they are sending even the children and House Elves into battle." He exchanged sad glances with Harry.
The dark-haired youth sighed. "Fawkes said they have no hopes of victory. I only now really understand what he meant..." The alarmingly small group of fighters for the light gathered in front of the time-honoured gates of the wizarding school looked utterly pathetic compared to the ordered double ranks of Voldemort's Death Eaters.
Voldemort stepped forth.
"Hand the school over without a fight and your misery will come to an end that much sooner!" A malicious smirk stretched his thin lips and there could be no doubt in anyone's mind that even in the case of a total capitulation, he would make his victims suffer before their death.
Minerva McGonagall stepped forth in turn. "We do not negotiate with unscrupulous murderers! Drop the games and prepare to die, V-Voldemort!"
Harry had to hand it to his former Head of House: Even when her voice nearly broke, her upright posture showed nothing but just anger and a readiness to go down fighting.
Voldemort was not impressed. He laughed. "Tell me, Headmistress, is this all that is left of your piteous resistance? My field marshal will be bored."
His eyes deliberately strayed to Harry, who played along and pulled Draco close by the collar. "Not to worry, my Lord. I shall find ways to keep myself entertained."
Without further ado, he pressed a hard kiss to Draco's mouth.
It was their last kiss before the battle. None of those watching suspected that it was not about lust or dominance for the two young men. Rather, it was a desperate attempt to feel the other once more before the imminent events might separate them forever.
Ron despondently averted his eyes.
This... person masquerading as Harry had nothing in common with his old school friend any more. Hidden in the backwaters of his mind, the hope had lingered that Harry might have killed the Dursleys more by mistake and actually was on their side, still. Upon seeing the degrading kiss Harry forced on his former school-yard enemy, however, Ron finally had to admit that nothing was left of the Harry Potter of old.
This man who made Ron pity even Draco Malfoy was responsible for countless murders. He led Voldemort's troops from one bloody slaughter to the next. He no longer acknowledged any friendships. He was hard-hearted and cold... and he would likely be the reason none of them survived today.
Ron just hoped for a quick death.
"Avada Kedavra!"
With an unnecessarily great gesture, Harry sent another Auror to the dirt. His illusion was as perfect as ever. Macnair, at his side, threw him a triumphant look before surging ahead into the thick of the fighting.
"Now, Draco," Harry whispered to the blond standing close to him.
While all around them the battle raged on, the two convicted Dark Wizards retreated to the edge of the fray, towards the Forbidden Forest. There, they started reciting a spell so complex no-one had attempted to cast it for many centuries. It required two wizards speaking the incantation in absolute harmony. One discordant sound, even the hint of mistrust between them, and the spell would fail.
Draco closed his eyes in concentration. Sweat was beading Harry's forehead, but he forced himself to keep an eye on the battlefield. If Voldemort realized what they were up to before it was done, all would be lost.
"...noctem aeternam..."
At the moment, Voldemort seemed fully content to cut an aisle of death through his enemies. Green lightning flashed around him and bodies lined his path. Scores of strangers died before Harry's eyes as they had done many times before. But this time, familiar faces were among the victims, too. Professor Sprout. Firenze. Ron.
"...vindicate et..."
Tears streaked his cheeks while he watched the horrid slaughter, powerless to interfere. The spell demanded his full attention.
"...adesse et numquam..."
Draco had brought the spell to Harry a month ago and they had practised it day and night since. Yesterday morning, they had finally managed it for the first time.
So many of Harry's former friends had already fallen. Luna. Dumbledore. Ginny. Shacklebolt. Hagrid.
They may have betrayed him, yet it brought him no satisfaction to see people dying all around him who had accompanied him through his school years, with whom he had fought, cried and laughed.
"...liberare non potest..."
Today, he would put an end to it all. The Muggles would never know what had happened; and the wizarding world would probably only realize it in a few weeks, when the first of them dared poke their heads out of their hidy-holes. Over the course of the last three months, an increasing number of witches and wizards had emigrated from England, seeking refuge from Voldemort and his right-hand man. Only the few courageous souls who had turned up for today's battle still held the fort. Harry hoped the group would still have living members by the end of this day.
"...et perire!"
He looked at Draco. The blond opened his eyes, caught Harry's gaze and held it. Their hands were locked, the battle around them forgotten, as both wizards could feel the magic they had conjured around them.
"You have to lock the target."
"I know. Today, I really become a mass murderer."
"There is no other way. Farewell..."
"You too..."
Harry gently extracted his hands from Draco's grip and held out his left arm to the only human friend he had left. The Dark Mark glimmered cold and foreboding on the pale skin. Draco reached out a hand. The magic condensed between his fingers and Harry's arm. Now...
"POTTER!"
Harry and Draco whirled around, wands raised.
Alastor Moody and Minerva McGonagall stood facing them, blood-spattered and with madness in their eyes. It broke Harry's heart, still he knew he now had to lock the spell on target. Otherwise, it would have all been in vain, all of it...
"Potter, how could you! How could you do this to us!" McGonagall was just as desperate as everyone else, but s fire still burned in the depths of her eyes, demanding, if not justice, at least revenge.
Harry gave her a tormented grimace. "I am not the one who betrayed anyone, here. And I have to dispatch Voldemort now, so please, Professor, give me just one more minute, then you can-" He did not get any further than that before Moody cut off his words.
"Caedus!"
Draco's wand lowered before Harry had even raised his. "Protego!"
The spell was closely followed by a curse from Harry's wand that hit McGonagall and sent her to the ground.
Moody was shaking with rage, his eyes narrowed to angry slits. "Malfoy! Why are you protecting a Death Eater who is abusing you?"
"He does not abuse me - and he will defeat Voldemort."
"Well, well, the right-hand man makes his grab for power. Potter, I never knew you were so ambitious. Avada Kedavra!"
Harry jumped aside and pulled Draco along. The killing curse whistled past his right ear. With a smooth roll, he got back to his feet, turning quickly back towards his enemy who was already casting another curse.
Harry countered while Draco stood up. Moody opened a veritable machine-gun fire of curses and Harry could do naught but react. With Draco's help, he finally found a gap in the old Auror's defence. All the while, the energy of the unfinished spell hung shimmering between the two Azkaban escapees.
"Sa-"
"Avada Kedavra!" Harry had reflexively masked his Stupefy as a killing curse, like always. But while Moody went down, another voice sounded behind his back.
"Sectumsempra!"
"AAAAAaaaaaaah!"
Harry incredulously watched Draco collapsing beside him. A wide, bloody wound gapped across his chest, stretching from his left shoulder to his right hip. Blood welled in a red gust from Draco's body, seeping into the grounds of Hogwarts.
They had both focused on Moody and let McGonagall out of their sights. The proper old teacher had cast one of the darkest curses - barring the Unforgivables - at Harry's back. Draco had stepped in its way at the last moment.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry cast at the old woman with such force that her wand burst and she was swept off her feet, falling down hard several meters away. Harry knelt down and pulled the bleeding Draco into his arms.
In that moment, Harry realized what he had not wanted to admit to himself all this time: He may not have loved Draco the same way the blond loved him; but in his very own way, he did reciprocate Draco's love.
How else could this moment be so painful?
"DRAAAAACOOOOO, NOOOOOOOOO!"
"Harry," Draco whispered weakly, "the spell..." He raised a trembling hand.
"Draco! I was the one supposed to die today, not you!" Harry cried in despair. "You were supposed to live..."
Draco smiled. "How could I live without you?"
Harry sobbed. His hot tears fell upon Draco's shredded torso. Neither of them noticed the wound slowly closing. But what difference did it make? Draco had already lost too much blood. There was no hope.
"Draco... If not for you, for whom am I supposed to save the wizarding world?"
"For yourself..." Draco's voice was fading.
Harry laughed harshly. "Myself?"
"Harry, I know you want to die, but you also wanted to-" cough, cough "- chrm... to kill Voldemort, for so long - you mustn't give that aaaaaah-" a gasp "- ...give that up for my sake. It is all that is left."
They looked at each other for one long, unblinking moment. Then Harry slowly extended his right arm.
"I love you, Draco."
Draco smiled at him again, but this time, it looked pained. "It isn't nice to lie to a dying man," he forced out before turning on his side and spitting out a lump of blood on the grass.
"No, you don't understand... I have always balked at the thought, but today I finally understood. Not Fawkes was there for me during the three worst months of my life, Draco. You were! Do you really think all that was meaningless? Do you imagine I could have shared your bed if I didn't feel attracted to you?"
"Attracted..."
"Do you believe even for one moment we could have even attempted this spell if you did not have my absolute trust? I love you, Draco. I love you!"
Harry laid his head on Draco's immaculate, white chest and cried.
"Then prove it to me... Show me the magic our love has wrought. That is my last wish..."
Harry allowed Draco to seize his arm. Searing pain shot through him from the point of contact and he fell into darkness.
Neville had been hit by one of the first Avadas out of Harry's wand. He was more than a little surprised to find himself coming back to consciousness from a short blackout on the fringes of the battlefield. He should be dead.
He groggily tried to get up, but found himself incapable. Panic seized him at the thought Potter might have botched the curse and he was now paralysed rather than all dead, and would have to remain thus for the rest of his life. Then, logic reasserted itself as he found that his arms and legs were by no means numb, just limited in their mobility. He knew this feeling intimately, having thoroughly experienced it in his first school year. It was a full body-bind curse.
While he was still trying to puzzle out how an unmistakeable, green Avada flying straight at him could have turned into a Petrificus upon impact, he suddenly heard voices.
"I am not the one who betrayed anyone, here. And I have to dispatch Voldemort now, so please, Professor, give me just one more minute, then you can-"
"Caedus!"
With rising confusion, Neville listened in on the evolving duel. He heard McGonagall dizzily getting back up after an Avada and being felled again by an Expelliarmus. He witnessed the last words exchanged between Potter and Malfoy.
And he began to understand that they had made a terrible mistake.
Then, the screaming began.
Voldemort licked the blood off his shortsword. In the midst of the battle, he could not use the Cruciatus for lack of time, but a simple Avada did not satisfy his bloodlust. He wanted to make his victims suffer.
The Order and the handful of Aurors were no match for his Death Eaters. Even if he and Potter had stayed at the fortress, they were sure to have won this battle. It was disgusting how little resistance was left. So he wanted to enjoy this battle while it lasted. The most painful curses he knew along with his shortsword left a trail of writhing wizards and other creatures screaming out the last painful breaths of their miserable existence in his wake.
No-one even came close to his level of power, not a single one of them could harm him. Only Potter would have been strong enough to challenge him. But he was busy with his toy and seemed to have mostly lost interest in the fighting, Voldemort thought with a nasty smirk.
The smirk dropped abruptly from his face as agony pierced his body like a stroke of lightning.
His eyes wide with disbelief, he saw his Death Eaters dropping like flies around him, one after the other going down screaming and clutching their left arms, crumbling to the blood-soaked lawn where they thrashed in unmistakable death throes.
He felt an immense wave of magic washing over him and felling his Death Eaters by the dozen. Mechanically, he turned towards the source of the power. His motions were slow like those of an old man.
There, not three hundred meters from him, lay the Malfoy boy. Potter had collapsed on top of him. His black hair hid his face, but Voldemort clearly saw Malfoy's hand pressed to Potter's Dark Mark.
There could be no doubt who had caused this disaster.
"POTTER, YOU TRAITOROUS BASTARD!"
With these words, Voldemort breathed out the last of his power. His vision narrowed as he watched the cold floor rushing up to meet him.
Then he saw nothing more.
Hermione slowly came to her feet.
She had been hit by a ricochet shot - she had no idea what curse it had even been - and lost consciousness for a spell. That alone would have meant certain death in any other battle. Not so in this one.
As she had done once before, she returned to conscious life despite her certainty that she would be leaving it behind for good this time.
Around her, the Death Eaters were screaming. She did not know what had happened, but it was obvious that the dark-robed figures lay dying. As she looked around her, the screams slowly petered out. An unnatural calm spread out.
All unmarked followers of the Dark Lord had done a runner the moment the first Death Eater succumbed to this unknown magic. Now the sparse survivors of the light side were standing alone on a battlefield littered with corpses.
They had won. But nobody understood why.
Slowly, Hermione moved towards the centre of the battlefield, where Voldemort was still in his death struggle. He seemed unconscious, yet his body reared, twitched and thrashed. Together with the other survivors, Hermione looked on in morbid curiosity as the Dark Lord led a hopeless battle against his own death.
Neville wished he could move, could go to Harry and tell him he was sorry. Could go to the man who had been his friend and who had sacrificed himself today to save those who had betrayed him. Could be there for him in these last minutes.
He had heard the Boy-Who-Lived collapsing, only to start seizing and audibly thrashing about right after. Then Harry started mumbling. Neville listened.
He knew he would not forget a single word until the day he died.
"Potter! What curse is this?"
"It is the curse that will end you, Tom," the boy's tired voice answered.
"What have you done!"
"I have woven a net that sucks magical energy from a target, together with Draco. Your Mark was the target. Through it, I have reached all of your followers... See, you would have been better off not giving it to me, after all. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, isn't it. "
If a disembodied mental presence could grin, Voldemort was sure Potter was doing it right now.
"Why are you in my head?"
Genuine bafflement answered him. "But I've always been!"
"Always?!"
"YOU gave me this scar. Don't tell me you forgot what you did to me through it in my fifth year?"
"Have you been spying on me all this time?"
"Of course I have. Didn't have much choice in the matter, though..."
"That's impossible! I would have noticed!"
"Draco was a good Occlumency teacher."
"Malfoy? Your TEACHER?!"
"You cannot imagine how much I learned this summer about play-acting and the art of suggestion, Tom."
"It was all an act? ...Then you killed all those people just to complete your farce? - How oddly unscrupulous, for a Gryffindor."
If Potter had to get him into this dead-end situation, at least he could suffer for it. But against his expectations, the other's mental presence seemed downright joyful when Potter answered him.
"Tom, if all went to plan, I will have murdered your entire following today by sucking out their magic life force. But the countless bodies I have supposedly slain before never existed. You know I did not cause the Dursleys' deaths. And there were only three times I have killed in your service.
"The first was during my initiation; the man was a prisoner and would have died regardless. The second was Wormtail. Yes, I know: I said Lestrange did it... I am not sorry that you killed him as a result. The third happened during the attack on Hogsmeade. A little devil tried to kill his classmate. I deflected. The curse took his life as it bounced back. It was more or less an accident, or so Draco told me."
"No... Everyone saw you cast Avada Kedavra..." The confusion was palpable.
"Not everything is as it seems, old man."
"…"
The conversation halted as both wizards felt their life force dwindling.
Suddenly, Potter was radiating a strange determination, as though he had formed some kind of resolution.
"Draco did not want me to die today. But if it has to be, then let us make an end. I am tired of talking to you."
"Potter, what are you d-"
"INCENDIO!"
Like Neville on one end, Hermione and every other survivor able to get back to his or her feet had listened to the conversation from the other end with growing horror. Harry was innocent!
When Harry spoke his final word, flames leapt from the bodies of the two mightiest wizards of the century. Hermione watched dumbfounded how Voldemort's body was consumed in front of her eyes. Within seconds his lifeless body had been completely burned down. Nothing remained of him but a small pile of ash being slowly dispersed by the wind.
With tears blurring her vision, she looked over to where an identical plume of smoke to the one behind her curled up towards the sky. That must have been Harry's position. Harry, whom they had wrongfully sent to Azkaban. Harry, who had died for them.
I'm sorry, Harry!
Fawkes flew across the battlefield. His sharp eyes followed the flow of magic. When he felt Draco and Harry spanning their net, he alit in a tree at the edge of the forest to watch the proceedings. The spell took him in and soon he felt incapable of averting his transfixed eyes from the immense amount of raw magical energy the two boys had gathered between them.
Too late, he noticed Alastor and Minerva approaching them.
He had to watch helplessly from the distance as Draco fell. He could all but hear something within Harry breaking.
Softly, he whistled a sad note. Now Harry surely would not consider the way back. Voldemort's death had just become a one-way road inescapably leading to Harry's death, as well.
He watched nearly apathetically while events played out as they must. Harry went down; twitched; grew ever stiller.
People cried. The wounded moaned. Sorrow enveloped the field.
But then -
A light.
Fire.
Fawkes straightened up.