Harry looked at the Doctor, who was still unconscious on the deck of the Tardis by the control console. Satisfied that the Time Lord was still alive, he pulled the doors closed behind him. He touched his wand to the door, whispered "Colloportus," and turned away as the doors sealed shut with a squishing noise. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before making his way to what he hoped would be his final destination.

It had been decades since Harry had last set foot on this side of Hogwarts. The last time he had been here had been when he had, against his better judgment, allowed the Board of Governors to talk him into acting as temporary Headmaster when Toliman Malfoy stepped down. It took almost two years before they finally settled on Victor Weasley (and that only when Harry threatened to leave the school headmaster-less if they didn't), who was surprisingly effective in restoring Hogwarts to at least a good portion of what it had been before the Avalon School of Magic had been founded early in the 22nd century.

The main gates opened easily at his touch, almost as though his destiny was welcoming him. As he approached the bounds of the Forbidden Forest, he looked back at Hogwarts itself, and stopped. His breath caught in his throat. He had almost forgotten how heavily damaged the castle had been in the opening salvos of the battle. Many of the walls had gaping holes in them, and he thought he could see movement in the exposed halls. His gaze wandered down to the Great Hall, and he could definitely see commotion through the windows. He thought of everyone who had given their lives needlessly in his war with Voldemort, of Fred Weasley, of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, of the dozens of others whose blood was on his hands, and felt his heart being crushed by the guilt he bore. There had to have been another way to get to Voldemort earlier, he thought (not for the first time), and they should all still be alive, with their whole lives ahead of them. Colin Creevey was the one that had hurt the most, and the one who still haunted him at times; the boy was underaged and had idolized him, and Harry knew that Colin had sneaked back to fight just to impress him.

He found himself fighting back tears, the first he'd shed for Voldemort's victims in more years than he could remember. It's a good thing I'm about to kill him myself, or I'd try to kill him myself, he thought, then chuckled nervously.

He looked back at the castle again, and saw a line of students streaming out the door, being led by an older man with long, stringy white hair; it took him a moment to recognize him as Argus Filch, who had been caretaker when Harry was a student and who had died a few years later.

Harry hurried down the path into the Forbidden Forest, hoping that nobody saw him. He slowed slightly once he was sure that he was out of sight of the school grounds, but still walked quickly. He knew he had not much time, and had to have his final confrontation with Voldemort before the other him did.

He took a few more steps into the Forbidden Forest before he caught himself. His own penultimate confrontation with the Dark Lord had been in the Forbidden Forest...but that was not where he was now. Voldemort would still be in the Shrieking Shack.

Harry retraced his steps, turning toward Hogsmeade once he left the forest. For the first time, he found himself worrying about his chosen path. What of the Doctor was right? Would letting the Dark Lord kill him now mean that he wouldn't kill the right Harry Potter later? Or would he even have to? He no longer had Voldemort's horcrux in him – that had been destroyed at the original Battle of Hogwarts hundreds of years earlier. Or would simply killing the future Harry be good enough? And what of Snape? Would the former Potions professor still be killed by Nagini at Voldemort's command? And would young Harry still know what needed to be done without the memories Snape had given him with his dying breath?

It will all work itself out, he told himself. Hadn't the Doctor told him that the time stream was very resilient and had a way of righting itself if it had been tampered with? Or would he notice? How could he tell if history had been changed?

Harry stopped thinking about all the metaphysical implications of what he was about to do when he realized he had reached the Whomping Willow. He looked down at the wand he hadn't realized was still in his hand. He had to get rid of it, he thought, or he would try to defend himself against Voldemort, and he didn't want the Dark Lord to get his hands on it.

He stopped just out of range of the Willow's branches and levitated a twig to press the knot at the base of the trunk. He waited a moment to be sure it was safe to continue, then crawled into the entrance. Harry cast a Wand-Lighting Charm to illuminate the tunnel, but only went in a few feet. Using the wand, he carved "CONSTANT VIGILANCE" and his initials on the wall, then pressed his wand into the ground beneath it and scooped enough dirt over it to bury it. It would be very difficult to find, but not impossible, and he hoped that it would be found by someone worthy someday...perhaps one of his children.

He crawled back out of the Willow and got away before he brushed the dirt from his knees.

Harry continued to the Shrieking Shack. The closer he got, the louder it seemed his heart beat in his chest, until he was sure that the Dark Lord could hear him coming. A part of him (granted, a fairly small part) wondered if he was doing the right thing, or if his crazy scheme would even work. A much larger part had long ago accepted that he would, or even must, die. He had accepted it hundreds of years ago, when he had faced Voldemort for what he thought would be the last time, and he had never not been ready to die since. He was not like Voldemort, who had stooped to levels of evil never before seen by wizard-kind, and he knew that what Voldemort had somehow done to him when he chose Harry as an infant was just as unnatural. And in a worst-case scenario, should Voldemort not kill him for whatever reason, it would at least delay the Dark Lord enough for the younger Harry to find and destroy Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem and for Voldemort army to not attack Hogwarts. That should save dozens of lives, which in Harry's mind was a fair trade.

Harry found himself at his destination. His hands were sweating. He wiped them on his shirt as he sneaked over to peer between the slats of a boarded-up window. Just as he remembered, the only occupants were Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy. Nagini was suspended in a transparent, glowing ball near the ceiling behind Voldemort. The Dark Lord was playing with his wand, his face a mask of bored indifference. Malfoy was watching his master intently, and Harry could see beads of sweat on his forehead.

Harry slowly walked around to the front of the shack and rapped on the door.

The Doctor had spent the past several minutes at the door of the Tardis, growing increasingly frustrated. He tried unlocking the door with his sonic screwdriver, tweak the settings, and try again, over and over, with the occasional break to try from the control console. He even pleaded with the Tardis herself to help, but nothing had worked so far.

"Bloody wizards!" the Doctor cried out as he threw his hands up angrily. He didn't have time to keep trying the door, not if Harry was walking to his death. He had one last idea, but it was a very tricky manoeuvre.

"Don't let me down, girl," the Doctor said softly, petting the console tenderly before he adjusted the controls and threw the lever. The Tardis dematerialized around the doctor, leaving him on the ground. He ran toward the Forbidden Forest with no idea what to look for, but hoping he wasn't too late.

The door flew open at Harry's knock. He stepped into the Shrieking Shack, showing more confidence than he felt, and the door slammed shut behind him with a casual flick of Voldemort's wand.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said, his voice little more than a whisper that rolled over Harry like thunder. "The Boy Who Lived. I've been expecting you, but I'm still surprised you came. Couldn't find anyone else to fight your battles for you, eh?"

"I'm done fighting. Enough people have died, Voldemort. Too many. You have Hogwarts, the wizarding world is yours. Kill me if you must, but leave the rest be."

The Dark Lord looked down at his wand thoughtfully, and Harry hoped that he would listen. He looked up, his red eyes glowing in the firelight.

"I think not," he said. A flash of green light was the last thing that Harry ever saw.

Harry's scar seared with more pain than he could ever remember feeling. He grabbed his head and dropped to his knees, moaning in agony.

"Are you all right?" the Grey Lady asked as she reached a spectral hand toward him.

Into his mind burst a vision of his own body, his arms and legs splayed in a quite uncomfortable-looking position, his eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Harry could tell that he was dead, and Voldemort was happier than he had ever been.

"No...it's impossible!" Harry gasped as he got to his feet unsteadily.

"I beg your pardon?"

Harry left her floating behind him as he ran back up the corridor toward the entrance hall to find Hermione.