Chapter 26
Albus Dumbledore slid the ring off his finger and with one wave of his wand, the stone popped out of the setting. "This was to be a gift to you, after I was gone."
Harry peered at the dark octahedron sitting on the desk. It didn't look like it could resurrect the dead, despite what Rory had told him. "Um, sir…if you give me that, I'll have all three Deathly Hallows. But what does it really mean to be the Master of Death? I don't want to become immortal or anything."
Dumbledore fixed him with a soft blue gaze. "Of course you don't, Harry. You aren't seduced by promises of limitless power and everlasting life. The true Master of Death is one who doesn't fear death."
"It seems perfectly normal to fear death, sir."
"What we fear is not the moment of death itself, but the end of our existence. Those who would seek to avoid this inevitability, through abuse of power, are not fit to unite the Hallows."
Harry frowned at the Resurrection Stone. "Can it really bring people back?"
"What comes back is not a person, only a shade."
"But if these shades exist, doesn't that prove that death isn't as final as we think? They must come from somewhere."
"Perhaps from a plane beyond our own perception. Or perhaps from within the mind."
"Are they conscious? Can they communicate, answer questions?"
The old wizard shrugged. "I do not know, Harry. I am unfit to use the Stone. You may see for yourself, if that is what you wish. All you must do is turn the Stone over three times and hold it in your hand."
Harry lifted it gingerly between thumb and index finger and put it in his pocket, relieved that there was no rush of power like he'd felt while holding the Elder Wand. He certainly didn't need to be tempted, this late in the game. "Thank you, sir. Thank you for everything."
The platitude felt flat even as Harry said it. He had many conflicting feelings about Dumbledore and there was so much he could have said, but words were failing him now, and he was afraid to meet the man's eyes for fear he'd use Legilimency to discover Harry's intentions. Harry was surprised by how scared he felt, not of going through with his idea, but by the thought of keeping it from Dumbledore. In retrospect, he saw how he'd been groomed his entire life to fulfill the prophecy, and could not pinpoint a single decision that had been wholly his own. Things had just happened to him and around him that bore him forward, and he'd never really thought about it until the Doctor showed up. The Doctor wasn't quite a mentor, but his presence had been illuminating, showing Harry that he had at least some say in his destiny. Harry had the uneasy thought that if he asked for Dumbledore's permission now, he would never be able to make a decision for himself; he would never be able to grow up. "I don't know what else to say, sir, except thank you."
"That's quite all right, Harry. Thank you, too. You are so uncommonly brave. Infinite points to Gryffindor."
Harry laughed. "I'll see you soon, sir," he said, and turned to leave.
"It is done," said Snape, holding out the folded Invisibility Cloak for Harry to take.
"Thank you, Professor. I hope it wasn't too much trouble."
Snape shook his head. It had only taken an hour to remove the wards surrounding the red TARDIS. He was glad that Voldemort had ordered him to Disillusion the time machine; it would take some time to notice the absence of an invisible object. "Harry, are you sure you want to do this?"
"Voldemort must be stopped. I have to kill him. It's all right."
"It isn't all right, and you don't have to."
Harry looked him in the eyes directly, for the briefest moment. Though he trusted Snape not to read his thoughts, he suddenly didn't trust himself not to blurt it all out. "What do you mean?"
"There's another way. After he casts the Killing Curse on you…" Snape paused and swallowed, trying to rid his throat of an unfamiliar lump, then continued, "And after the time machine is destroyed, he will be mortal. I have a rifle, and I'm a very good shot."
Harry's eyes widened. "You want to kill him muggle style?"
"I've often wondered why firearms are conspicuously absent from the Wizarding World. A bullet travels faster than the Killing Curse. I've timed it. I've" –Snape's voice faltered as he noticed Harry's frightened expression— "had a lot of time on my hands."
"Don't do it. Please, don't. Stay in the dungeons with Dumbledore, like we planned."
"But, Harry-"
"If you do it, I'll never forgive you."
Snape eyed Harry intently, not quite expecting an explanation, but keen to receive one if one was forthcoming. After a heavy silence, Harry said, "I need to do it."
"Just because the prophecy-"
"For my parents."
Severus nodded then, once, and let his head hang slightly. "I'll be back by midnight," Harry said, walking to the door.
"You won't be the same," Snape said, with mournful certainty.
"I know, Severus."
There was a sidelong flash of green eyes. Then the Boy Who Lived was gone.
The forest floor was thick with moss and Harry's feet barely made a sound. The trees were in full leaf, creating a canopy so dense that starlight struggled to penetrate the gloom. Harry took his time in reaching the clearing he'd chosen, enjoying the darkness and the sounds that should have scared him, savouring the smell of the warm summer air, laced with the perfume of evergreens and the sweet decay of earth. A thin crescent moon shone down into the ring of trees, creating a circle of silver-blue light. Harry walked to the center of the clearing, removed his Cloak of Invisibility, and sat down. His watch read 11:11. He was calmer than he knew he had any right to be.
Voldemort did indeed send one of his Death Eaters ahead to check, and the man reported back nothing remarkable about that particular patch of woods, and no Aurors lying in wait. Voldemort knew of spells that only activated under certain set conditions, but he couldn't imagine a scenario wherein he could be overpowered, especially not with the Elder Wand in his possession. He let Harry wait until 11:45.
Harry leapt to his feet as the Dark Lord Apparated less than ten paces away, and stared in shock at Voldemort's deathly countenance, which was even more extreme than the last time they'd met. What have you done to yourself? he thought. "You're late," he said.
Voldemort blinked, laughed, and drew the Elder Wand, holding it like a conductor's baton. Harry did his best to look suitably terrified. "Well, Harry?" said the high, cold voice. "Will you resist me?"
Harry shook his head. Voldemort frowned. "That's too bad. Maybe a little incentive. Crucio."
Harry saw the curse hit his chest, but felt nothing. Nonetheless, he collapsed to the ground and began writhing and crying out as realistically as he could. It helped his act that he still harboured a lot of anger against the man who was trying to torture him, and now had a very solid excuse to scream at the top of his lungs. When Voldemort moved his wand away, Harry fell silent, but continued to breathe heavily for effect.
By the fifth curse, he was really getting into it, mixing in crazed laughter with the screams, and letting spill whatever filthy language came to mind. It was strangely liberating, almost cathartic, to lose control like that. When Voldemort twitched the wand away again, Harry heaved himself to his hands and knees and crawled towards him, pleading in the most broken tones he could manage, "Please, kill me…please, my life is yours, just take it. Take it."
Voldemort stared at him, then slowly crouched down and pushed Harry into a seated position, then onto his back. The Dark Lord pinned him down, and though his body was skeletal it had an awful weight to it and covered Harry's completely. It became very difficult to breathe, and Harry really did start to panic, with Voldemort's face so close, and the pressure getting heavier and heavier by the moment. Soon there was no air left in his lungs, and he couldn't draw another breath. He began to writhe and twitch in earnest, then, no longer pretending. "This is your death," said Voldemort softly, matter-of-factly.
He raised his wand, with agonizing leisure, to rest the tip directly over Harry's heart. The boy's hands clutched and yanked at the Dark Lord's cloak, desperately trying to push him off, to no avail. Voldemort waited until the limbs began to slacken, and the light began to fade from the tear-filled green eyes. Only then did he finally say the words, with quiet reverence, "Avada Kedavra."