A/N: It gets worse before it gets better ...
"How … touching," spoke an all-too-familiar voice laced with mock sympathy. "You will, of course, want to take a few moments to grieve for your loved ones before we allow you to join them in death."
At the sound of that voice, Harry drew his wand and made to lunge toward his nemesis. But before he could fully stand, his wand flew out of his hand and invisible bonds stopped his progress. Looking around, he realized that Ron was also disarmed and bound, and they were quickly being surrounded by a massive crowd of Death Eaters. Cloaked figures poured out of the forest like a river overflowing its banks.
Voldemort stepped forward, massive snake at his side, and grinned at his quarry, now defenseless and completely at his mercy. "Now, now, we can not have you causing any more trouble, can we? I do hope you are comfortable. We have many things to discuss."
Quiet laughter could be heard from the group, all of whom looked at the boys with utter hatred and no small amount of eagerness to see them killed at last. By the looks on Harry and Ron's face, the feeling was completely mutual.
Tearing his eyes from the faces around him and looking back into Voldemort's snake-like face, Harry spit out, "You bastard! I've nothing to discuss with you. Your pursuit of power and immortality have destroyed our world. How can you not see that? You'll have nothing and no one to rule! Everyone whose families you've destroyed will rise up against you and destroy you, if not now then soon. You will not win!"
For the third time that night, Voldemort let loose a chilling laugh that rose in volume until he screamed, "You are nothing but a fool, Harry Potter! Do you not understand that there is no one left besides my loyal followers? Look around you! I have destroyed my opposition, down to the last tiny infant clutched in his mother's trembling arms. I will not make the same mistake I made last time. This time, there will be no resistance!"
Harry's face paled and his eyes widened at that information. "Ev-everyone? There's no one left?" But that means … Dumbledore's Army, the students and teachers at Hogwarts, the Order … "Hermione …" he whispered. Next to him, Ron's breathing was labored and his face was streaked with tears.
Looking around at the cloaked figures in the early morning light, his eyes sought out the one in whom there might be one last shred of hope. Could he dare hope that the spy turned traitor might have one small bit of integrity? Emerald eyes met obsidian eyes for a brief moment, and the image of a phoenix flashed in his mind. Harry blinked in surprise, but when he looked again at his hated professor and one-time ally, the man's face was as blank as ever.
"That is correct, Potter. For years, I have been nothing if not methodical in my quest to exterminate the vermin that dared infest our world. Today, I stand before you victorious in that quest! Everyone you ever knew on the side of the so-called Light, and oh so many you did not, has paid the ultimate price for their foolish belief in a prophecy that never came to pass. They paid the price for their belief in you, boy. I am afraid their blood is upon your head."
"That's not true! Harry didn't kill anyone. It was you and your effin'—" Ron's shouts were cut off with a gurgle when he was hit with a tongue-severing spell and started choking on the blood that filled and spilled out of his mouth.
"And you, Weasley. Blood traitor!" Voldemort hissed. "Your kind are an abomination to the name of wizardkind. You may be pure of blood, but you are worth less than the dirt on which I will build my kingdom. You have brought this fate, and that of your family, upon your own shoulders by forgetting your place in this world and consorting with filthy trash."
He leaned closer to Ron and trailed his wand along his cheek in an almost gentle gesture. "You could have been great, you know. That was what you always wanted, was it not? Pity, then, that you chose the wrong path, all for the sake of a weak half-blood fool and a Mudblood whore."
At the sound of Harry's immediate and vehement defense of Ron and Hermione, Voldemort straightened up, turned and reached a bony hand forward to grasp the bespectacled boy's chin. With seemingly inhuman strength, he pulled Harry to his feet. Then he conjured a wooden cross and heavy iron spikes. With a final spell, he sent the spikes tearing through Harry's hands and feet, pinning him to the wood while his tortured screams echoed through the still air.
"It is fitting that the so-called 'savior of the wizarding world' meet his end the way another Muggle-loving Savior once did, is it not? Let us see if our savior will rise from the dead this time!"
As the jeers and cheers rang in his ears, Harry once again looked at his former Potions Master, who shot him an intense look and gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. With a flash of insight, Harry understood that the time had come to play his final hand. He struggled for a moment to center himself, then he slowly blocked out the sound of Ron's suffering, his own agony and his distraught emotions. Looking into Voldemort's eyes, he opened the connection and pushed forth the images of destroying each horcrux over the last three years. One by one, pieces of Voldemort's soul had been destroyed, and it was with grim satisfaction that he made that fact known now.
Howling with rage at that information, Voldemort swung his wand around and flung every Dark curse he knew at Ron, whose body split open and overflowed with maggots, then blistered and burned. It didn't take long for his choked cries to stop and his body to crumble to dust, with nothing left intact save for his very recognizable red hair and one badly battered trainer.
Enraged by his friend's death and finally certain of his own, Harry's intrinsic magical power surged in one last desperate attempt to complete his task. Recognizing it for what it was, he focused everything he had on channeling that energy to avenge Ron, Ginny, his friends and everyone who had ever known the shadow of Voldemort's evil. Sparks flew from his outstretched fingertips, and with one final surge of strength, he sent a jet of crimson light from somewhere in his chest directly toward the snake. Nagini reared back but could not escape the onslaught of power. With a great judder, the snake's head burst open and its body sank to the ground with a dull thud.
Voldemort whipped around and took in the site of his familiar, and final horcrux, laying dead on the grass. His mouth dropped open in shock, then clamped shut as his surprise turned to rage with the realization of his own mortality. Looking toward Harry, he saw a final look of triumph flashing from the boy's green eyes.
His anger exploded outward in a hoarse shout and a massive energy surge that dropped no fewer than 20 Death Eaters to the ground. He then ground out the last words Harry would ever hear. "It. Is. Finished."
With a flick of his wand, a green light flew straight toward Harry's face. Harry, completed depleted of magical energy and knowing he had done all he could to defeat Voldemort, closed his eyes in peace and all but embraced the light. The Boy Who Lived … lived no more.
At that very moment, a glorious sunrise burst over the horizon, throwing shades of amber, russet and gold across the land and illuminating the castle in a way that would bring artists to their knees in worship of its beauty. That beauty, however, was not enough to bring hope to the dark scene displayed on the field. There would be no new day for the Light. It was, indeed, finished.
The Death Eaters watched in silence as their Dark Lord nearly collapsed on the ground. He brought a skeletal hand to his forehead and closed his eyes as though fending off faintness. But after a moment, the feeling must have passed, because he stood tall once more and waited to see what would happen. The minutes ticked by, and soon it became clear that the boy was truly dead this time. The smile that graced their Master's face was chilling in its malevolent triumph. With one last flash of his wand, he slit Harry's throat and stomach, and he watched with satisfaction as blood seeped out of the wounds and dripped to the ground.
Cheers rang out from the assembly, but they were quickly silenced when the Master raised his hand. "We will celebrate tonight. First, we must make preparations for our new dynasty to begin. There is much to be done. Severus, lower the castle's anti-apparition wards so that we may proceed with haste."
"Yes, my Lord," answered a smooth baritone voice. The man in question, still the rightful headmaster of the school and therefore in authority over the building's magic, raised his hands to the sky, murmured a low incantation and watched intently as the last magical field around the castle rippled and dissolved.
As the Dark Lord made to sweep away from the area, he was stopped by a gentle clearing of a throat and a tentative "My Lord …"
"Yes, Severus, my most faithful and trusted servant"
"What shall we do with this … mess?"
"Leave it for the creatures of the forest. I am sure they must be hungry, and I have no wish to deprive them of such delicious sustenance. I am, after all, a benevolent Lord."
"I see. And the girl? She was to meet them here. If it pleases you, I will see to it that she does not survive."
"Ah yes, the little Mudblood. She is of no consequence to me. If the girl is not already dead, she will be soon. Let her see what we have done here. If she has any intelligence at all, she will kill herself or flee rather than face us. And if she does not, then we will teach the filthy chit her place – begging for mercy beneath our feet."
"As you wish, my Lord."
With that, the Dark Lord turned and vanished with a crack so loud the birds rose in a cloud from the nearby forest, startled by the sound. Under the pretense of directing the remaining troops, the raven-haired wizard watched as, one by one, the Death Eaters transformed into black smoke and flew toward the castle. When only a few remained, he moved into the shadows and cast a disillusionment charm on himself before silently walking behind where Potter's body was on display, lifeless and pale in the morning light.
Two low-ranking Death Eaters hung back, and when the last of their brethren streaked away, one turned and walked toward the hut. After a moment's hesitation, the other followed suit. Their coarse conversation drifted toward the disillusioned wizard in snatches.
"—like t'see what she's got under her robes, if you know what I mean!"
"—sully yourself with such filth? You know what 'e thinks about—"
"—always say, the dirtier the better, aye? What 'arm's gonna come from a little slap-n-tickle with the bitch? She's—"
"—no accountin' for taste, I reckon. Suit yourself, but I'm not—"
"—as good as dead anyway, ain't she? She might as well scream for us before, durin' an' after, I say. An' maybe we can get our just reward by deliverin' 'er to the Dark—"
"—ain't goin' anywhere near the Dark Lord! Are you mad? Ain't worth the—"
"—Shut your gob! I hear someone comin'! Now get down."
The men crouched low beside the steps to Hagrid's hut, just hidden from the path that led down to and along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Unknown to them, another pair of eyes joined them in watching the path in anticipation of the girl's arrival.