A/NAs a friend of me once said: One never sees it coming, but come it does.

Actually I was pretty busy of the late and I tried my best to finish the German version before book six comes out. Sadly, I might not even accomplish that and I just couldn't spare any time for the English translation, so I figured that I'd have to make you all wait for after the book, for an update. But now guess what? Cecelle, who has been translating for me my Challenge fic (I translate her Fic instead, which is awesome), unexpectedly sent me the next translated chapter yesterday. Isn't she great? So now you get an update, and even more, an update which is written in a much better English than I manage:-)

On Top of that, Slytherinssilversnake was very fast in helping me out with a question or two and Lucidity did the Betaing in hyper speed.

You have only them to thank for this update.

Chapter 62

And at the end remains…

And then a few things happened almost simultaneously. Harry saw the green light coming towards him, unable to even close his eyes in face of the inevitable. As if out of nowhere, a shadow grew up from the floor in front of him.

"Finite Incantatem!" a squeaky voice called out.

Immediately, the stiffness fell off Harry. He blinked automatically - and then he saw Wormtail, dead on the ground.

"Wormtail, you idiot!" Voldemort shouted grimly.

Harry was completely flabbergasted by this sudden turn of events. Peter Pettigrew, the traitor responsible for the death of his parent, had just now saved his life, and in the process – accidentally or willfully - had lost his own. But he seemed to overcome his astonishment quicker than Voldemort, who still seemed to be boiling with anger. Even while still scrambling off the ground, Harry screamed, "Stupefy!"

The curse hit Voldemort in the stomach. He was knocked back several meters, and lay dazed on the ground.

"AVADA…"

"NO!"

The two almost simultaneous exclamations and a loud crashing noise made Harry turn around quickly. Malfoy lay motionless next to a heavy oak table, turned over on its side. Between him and Harry stood Dobby. He was turned towards his former master, his arms in front of him in a gesture of defiance.

"Master Malfoy has no power over Dobby any more. Harry Potter freed Dobby. Dobby will not allow you to harm Harry Potter. Dobby can fight back now. Master Malfoy will never order around this house-elves any more."

Relieved, Harry smiled at the house-elf, who was now looking towards him. "Thank you, Dobby."

"Do you really believe that you will be able to defeat me with your childish hexes, Potter? You are not strong enough to match the power of Lord Voldemort," Voldemort's voice was taunting him from his corner of the room. Harry watched as the Dark magician rose to his feet again and threw an angry look in the direction of where Malfoy had fallen to the floor. To Harry's distress, Voldemort didn't appear to be much impaired – he cast an evil, self-assured grin in Harry's direction.

"You surprised me, I have to admit. But now I am warned. You will not succeed in doing that again."

Determined, Harry retook his battle position, but he was getting nervous. He had put all his magical power into the Stunner, yet Voldemort was completely unharmed. Again he asked himself what had possessed him to seek out the most powerful Dark wizard in the world without reinforcements. Snape had previously been quite vocal in his aggravation over the fact that Harry would jump recklessly into dangerous situations without giving it any thought at all. But this time, it had been different. Snape himself had caused him to follow Voldemort – most likely in his blind desire for revenge. And now? Harry suppressed the urge to look at the wizard, who was still hunched up on the ground.

"I am not that easy to defeat, Voldemort, as you will find out in a second." Harry tried hard to sound more confident than he was feeling. If he could just stall Voldemort long enough, he might be able to buy enough time for the others to come to their aid.

Voldemort laughed, shrilly and hissing. "If you are referring to the Prophecy – I discussed that a long time ago with Malfoy. It isn't important. I will kill you, and that will be the end of it."

"Prophecy? What Prophecy?" Harry asked perplexed.

Voldemort only laughed louder. "The old fool didn't tell you about it? Isn't that delicious! I suppose he was trying to protect you from the terrible truth once again."

Harry felt the flame of anger within him fan high like a torch in the wind. It appeared that Voldemort knew something he didn't. Something important; something that they had kept from him yet again.

"What are you talking about?"

Voldemort looked at him arrogantly, yet at the same time amused. "There was this Prophecy about me and you, you know? I only knew a part of it, but before I could find out the rest, I realized that the old fool had destroyed the only known copy in the Ministry. He always wants to protect you, but it doesn't always work out right, does it, Harry? Albus can't protect you any more than your parents could. You know why I killed them, Harry? It was you I was interested in, not them."

Harry sharply sucked in his breath, and balled his fist tightly around his wand, but Voldemort continued to speak unperturbed.

"In the Prophecy it said that one day a child that exactly matched your description would cause me no end of trouble. That is why I wanted to kill you back then. Your parents stood in my way. If you had never existed, they would still be alive."

The flame of anger had now turned into a white-hot inferno. Voldemort was lying. He was the one who was responsible for the death of his parents. He. This monster. Yet the last words of the Dark wizard kept echoing in his head. If you had never existed, they would still be alive.

"You lie. It isn't my fault," he cried out. "Avada Kedavra!"

A sickly, pale-green spark jumped from the end of Harry's wand, and with a poof disappeared into nothingnessVoldemort again laughed mockingly. "My, my, Harry. You have to want to kill for the curse to succeed. But you can't do that, can you, my boy? Look here. I'll show you how it works." And with that, the Dark wizard turned his own wand towards Harry.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry was furious, but at the same time confused. How was he supposed to defeat this powerful wizard, when even his parents had died because of him? For the second time in minutes he watched as the green beam of Voldemort's death curse left his wand and shot towards him. Harry knew that he should duck, but for some odd reasons his legs didn't obey this instinct. He simply could not permit the death of his parents to have been in vain. Because of him, Voldemort had come to Godric's Hollow. Because they had defended him, his parents had died. He knew he had to show himself worthy of this sacrifice, of this unconditional love.

The air around him seemed to grow warmer, and he had the feeling as if gentle, loving hands made of fluid warmth held his wand hand out in front of his chest, while a tender voice whispered soundless words into his spirit.

From the corner of his eyes, he imagined he could see Ron's red head and Hermione's bushy hair, but it was nothing more than the mirage of a dream, and the vision immediately faded again into his spirit. All coldness and fear melted from him, and an all-encompassing feeling of warmth and comfort almost took his breath away.

As if from very far away, he was aware that the green beam of light hit the tip of his wand, as if magnetically attracted, and was absorbed into it. Time seemed to stand still, and everything became white and quiet, with the exception of his wildly beating heart and the loud rush of blood in his ears.

And then there was a terrible bang, and a beam of light, spitting sparks, writhing like a wild, tortured dragon, shot back at Voldemort.

The eyes of the Dark wizard widened in surprise just before the beam of lightning enveloped him. A piercing scream filled the salon and made the panes of glass in the window tremble, just before Voldemort, surrounded by green light, exploded in a hissing ball of fire.

The force of the explosion knocked Harry off his feet, and he landed hard on his back. The wand in his hands erupted in a single, violent flame, and Harry cried out in pain as he dropped it.

It rattled across the polished floor, and Harry watched as his wand burned up in a matter of seconds, until nothing was left but a small pile of black ash. Then, there was ghostly silence.

Harry's whole body hurt, and he was exhausted, tired beyond endurance. Breathing heavily, he let his body sink to the ground and closed his eyes. Rest. For just one second.

And then it was there again, the gentle touch of warm air, which seemed to envelop and caress him, to settle into his bones and drive away a part of the pain and exhaustion.

"You have done well, my son."

Immediately, Harry shot back up. "What, who?" But there was no one there. Yet he could have sworn that he had heard a whisper-soft, feminine voice. Was it imagination? Or could it be… He remembered the feeling of being safe, comforted, almost as if he was being held by…

"Mom," he whispered in an almost inaudible voice, but he did not receive an answer. With a last comforting caress, the warm air slowly faded away, and then it was gone. He sat on the cold marble floor of Malfoy's salon, every bone in his body aching as if he had just run a marathon, and Voldemort…

Voldemort had disappeared. Just a few scraps of burned cloth and a scattered pile of ashes were visible where once there had stood the most powerful Dark wizard in the world. Could it really be true? Was Voldemort really dead? Instinctively, he felt for his scar. No stinging or burning any more? No more visions through the cursed old wound? At the moment he could only feel the normal, slightly wrinkled tissue of an ordinary scar.

But if it was finally over, why was he feeling no joy? Why was there just melancholy emptiness in his heart, and the feeling of loss? At the same moment he asked himself the question he already knew the answer. The price had been too high. He was sure now that it had been his parents who had helped him to defeat Voldemort – and they could only do that because they were dead.

And how high a price had Snape paid? Harry was certain that the picture of the broken man would haunt him for the rest of his life. He was all of a sudden aware just how much of what he had initiated with his letter had been sheer crap. Crap of such magnitude that he had caused things worse than death to happen to a man. He would have never considered the thought possible before, but at the moment, he honestly believed that it would have been better for Snape had he not survived having his throat slit. How could he ever again stand in front of the Potions master and look him in the eyes?

Drawing in courage with a deep breath, he turned towards the man. First he should probably at least check how the Potions master was doing.

Harry really had hoped that his former teacher would have awoken from his rigidity on his own, now that Voldemort was dead. And that he would not have to pry him off the floor with his own two hands. His wish was only partially fulfilled. Snape actually was back on his feet, but he was far removed from coming out of his horror-induced - rigidity. Even though he seemed to slowly get himself together to a certain degree, and something like consciousness stole back into his black eyes, it was obvious that he was still incapable of defending himself. Malfoy's psychic restraints over him were too strong.

And then there was the fact that he was only on his feet because Lucius Malfoy was holding him up.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

T.B.C.