Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters and world created by JK Rowling. Anything you do not recognise is my own creation. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

– CHAPTER NINETEEN –

The Graveyard

I stand at the kissing gate that guards Luna's resting place, overcome with that cold sense of purpose that precedes death. My hand reaches out of my invisibility cloak and touches the freezing surface of the handle. I watch as drops of rain roll down my sleeve, across my skin and onto the dripping gate, the last of tonight's downpour. My heart beats frantically; it alone senses the impending danger. It alone knows that the time has come.

I turn the handle and enter. Nothing, not even the desperate tattoo in my chest, will turn me from my purpose. My only regret is that I will not get a chance to kill Sayer. All those times he had sat feet from me, smiling his smug smile, all missed opportunities. But it does not matter now. He may have had her in life but I alone will have her in death.

The wind picks up the fallen leaves around my ankles and carries them down the lane, past the graves I know so well. Thinking I hear a fell voice in the air, I halt my steady funeral march. I look this way and that, ears pricked. But there is nobody. Nobody but the old Muggle man that trails behind me. But he is firmly under my control; his cataract-ridden eyes are blank and unfocused. He is blissfully unaware that his death will pay for life.

I continue my progress, deeper and deeper into the graveyard. I turn the Resurrection Stone in my hand and picture that the lane is flanked on both sides by loved ones. In my mind's eye, they nod as I pass them, quietly approving of what I have come to do: James, precisely the same height as me with glasses and messy hair; Lily, long red hair with proud, brilliant green eyes; Sirius, tall and handsome and reckless; Lupin, shabby and weather-worn but full of love; and Dumbledore, smiling widest of them all, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. They form a guard of honour that leads to her grave where a shadowy figure waits. I imagine it is Luna, delighted to find that I have not given up on her, even in death.

But it is not Luna.

I order the old man to stop and edge forwards. All I can hear is the rustle of autumn leaves that run past like a whistling stream. As the leaves caress the stranger's ankles, I recognise the crouching figure.

'Sayer …' I whisper, barely able to contain myself.

Sayer stands up and looks straight at me; not through me, through the mythical cloak that none can penetrate, but right at me. I emerge from beneath my birth right and Sayer does not betray a flicker of surprise.

'I knew you would come,' he says.

I go to disarm him, but realise that he does not have a wand with him. He has delivered himself to me, like a lamb to the slaughter. I raise my Elder Wand; rather than defend himself, he raises his hand.

'Before you do it,' he says, 'I want to explain some things.' I prowl around him until I am on the higher ground. 'I'm unarmed, Harry. You have nothing to fear from me, except the truth.'

The truth. The word pierces me with the ferocity of a hundred searing knifes. 'I know the truth,' I spit. 'You killed her.'

I expect Sayer to recoil in anger, to fight the accusation, but he simply nods, his pale face betraying nothing but pain. 'I don't deny it,' he says quietly. 'But before you kill me, there are some things you need to know.'

'This isn't one of your Healer sessions! I'm not at your mercy anymore.'

Sayer shakes his head slowly, and I am surprised to see that he beholds me with something akin to pity. Not once do his eyes fall on my wand.

'Wrong as usual, Harry. I'm guessing you know by now that Luna and I grew up together.' It was not a question. It hits me that this is the first time I have heard him say her name. The familiarity and tenderness with which he says it sends fresh waves of anger coursing through me.

'Yeah, and you loved her.'

Sayer smiles sadly. 'Of course I did. Who couldn't … I'd never come across anyone so … so wild and energetic and fierce –'

'She was nothing like that!'

'But she was, Harry. You've never truly known Luna; the Luna you met and fell in love with was damaged – almost beyond repair – by the death of her mother.'

I feel my eyes narrow as each poisonous lie slithers out of his tongue. 'She got over her mum's death,' I say. 'Sure, there were times when she got sad thinking about it –' I recall the rare days when Luna would lock herself in her room and refuse to speak to me, 'but it was all behind her.'

'I tried to tell you in our first session, Harry: people deal with loss in different ways. Your coping mechanism brought you here, on the edge of murder. But Luna had a very different reaction –'

'Luna's mother died when she was a kid! You murdered Luna a few weeks ago! Are you seriously trying to compare –'

'No, I wouldn't dare compare the two; childhood loss is far more tragic –'

'My parents died when I was baby. So, in your world, I'm also "damaged": moping about like some tragic, scarred orphan …'

'Well, yes, but that's by-the-by. What Luna went through was unimaginable; it's a wonder she didn't become more of a sociopath –'

My anger bubbles over and I swoop down on him. We are almost nose to nose and I can see nothing but his pale eyes as my Elder Wand digs into his ribs.

'Insult her one more time,' I breathe.

Sayer takes a step away from me and stumbles backwards over Luna's gravestone, landing with a squelch on a muddy, waterlogged bed of leaves. He makes no attempt to get up, or wipe away the mud that splatters across his face. He simply looks up at me without a hint of fear.

'You never asked Luna how her mother died, did you?' he says.

'Of course I did,' I say, looming over him. 'Spell experimentation gone wrong, she said.'

Sayer starts shaking and, for a second, I think he is finally registering fear. But then I see the tears leak from his eyes and carve pale canals through his mud-streaked face.

'I was the first one to find her that night,' he says, his voice trembling. 'One minute, she's playing in the front garden, the next, she's holding the only thing left of her mother: her bloody dress! Can you imagine what that's like for a child?' I look deep into his eyes and, for the first time, Sayer's Occlumency has dropped. I see the truth of his words: a small girl, her once blonde hair stained red, clutches a sodden dress.

'The Luna I knew died that night. She had nobody to talk to. You met her father; nobody doubted his love, but he was not a fit carer. And then I was sent to France by my family. So she buried the reality of what had happened and constructed an elaborate fantasy world. She needed help, but even if her father had taken her to St Mungo's, there was nobody who could give it to her! So –'

'– You became a Mind Healer,' I finish.

'Yes,' says Sayer, brushing the last of his tears away. 'Long before Hermione Granger ever dreamed up the Mind Healer division, I was in America learning and honing the art of Mind Healing. I spent years reading up on Muggle techniques and testing them in wizarding environments. I became skilled in Mind Magic, like Occlumency and Legilimency, and discovered ways of using Pensieves that perhaps nobody else had ever thought of. And then, last year, when I heard of your Mind Healing project, I returned to England, ready to take on Luna as my first patient.'

A silence falls between us, punctuated only by the howl of the wind. Sayer's eyes are fixed on a point beyond my shoulder, lost in thought.

'You wanted her to love you.' I throw the accusation at him like a curse.

'Yes,' he says, 'even though a part of me knew, in my heart of hearts, that she never thought of me the way I thought of her. I waited until her birthday. We always saw each other on her birthday – even at Hogwarts, we found a way to meet, even if it was just a two-way mirror or a firecall.'

I recall how I was never able to surprise Luna on her birthday. Every year, without fail, she would disappear for hours and return only in the evening. Every time I had asked her where she was, she would simply shake her head and change the subject. So this was why.

'I waited for her at our usual spot, but she never came.' Sayer's voice wavers; he takes a deep breath and continues. 'I went looking for her, but couldn't find your house –'

'My protective enchantments got in the way,' I say. 'So you used your Healer privileges to access the register.'

Sayer nods. 'The register doesn't post a date, so I figured that by the time anyone checked it, Luna would be my patient and me accessing it wouldn't raise any eyebrows. What I found at your house shocked me, Harry. Luna had recreated exactly the room her mother was killed in.'

'What?'

'Your living room,' says Sayer imploringly, 'was a mausoleum.'

I picture in my mind's eye the day we redecorated. Luna had been a woman possessed: she had hired an Archiwizard to change the dimensions of the living room so it met her exact specifications; she had spent hours tapping the upholstery so it was the perfect colour; and, despite my protests, had insisted on covering the walls with plants. It was the first, and last, time I had seen her so animated and determined.

And, finally, I understand why Luna died.

'You didn't think anyone was home,' I say, barely above a whisper. 'You wanted to destroy the room.'

Sayer's lip trembles and his eyes are shining with tears again. 'W – When I saw what I had done … I could not face it. After covering my tracks with Fiendfyre and wiping poor Jack's memory, I tried to end it all, but my magic would not let me. It was a sign; I had to atone. And the only way I could think of was to help you … s – she would have wanted that.

'But you didn't want to be healed. At every turn, you refused my help. Any time we brushed up against what was really going on with you, you would fly off the handle. It took me a while to get there, but I realised that while you were blinded by vengeance and thoughts of necromancy, I could never do you any good.'

I edge closer to him; a sliver of moonlight bursts through the clouds and the spectral glow exposes Sayer's anguish, his longing for death. The moment, we both know, is seconds away.

'Why did you oppose my vengeance?' I breathe. 'Why stand in the way of a man reuniting with his wife?'

'I was fulfilling Luna's wishes,' says Sayer. His chest is rising and falling faster and faster.

'What?'

'We spoke once about what she wanted if the worst were to happen –'

'Lies …'

'She wanted you to be happy, Harry. She didn't want you to dwell on the past; "he needs to find someone like Ginny", she'd said.'

'Lies!'

'But the more I spoke to you, the more I realised that it was impossible for you to do that without getting closure. It was no good me telling you these things, it had to come from the source.' His voice falters and his breathing becomes shallower. 'After you stormed out of our last session, it occurred to me that I could heal both you and Luna with one act: m – my death.

'You once let slip that you spoke to Dumbledore in King's Cross. I found no evidence that he had ever visited the platform as Headmaster. Hermione Granger, under Veritaserum, told me what had happened when He Who Must Not Be Named used the Killing Curse against you. She told me all about Horcruxes and her theories about how you came to talk to Dumbledore that night. Given what I knew about your frame of mind, it occurred to me that you might try and recreate those conditions for a chance to talk to Luna. That's why you've brought that Muggle.'

Sayer points a shaky finger over my shoulder where the old Muggle man is obediently standing sentinel, blissfully unaware of the events unfolding before him.

'Well, you can let that Muggle go,' says Sayer. 'He's innocent, I'm not.' Sayer lays his head to rest on the bed of leaves. 'Do it, Harry.'

The man who murdered Luna, accident or not, lays at my feet, shaking slightly in the autumn wind. I rip Luna's wedding ring from my index finger, which tears freshly-healed skin with it. I ignore the blood that oozes from the place the ring had been. What a perfect Horcrux this will make.

I carefully aim my Elder Wand at Sayer, whose eyes are closed; he could be sleeping. His mouth curves into a small smile.

'Avada Kedavra!'

A burst of brilliant green light illuminates the graveyard like a flash of lightning.

Neville was at the open kissing gate when a burst of green lit up a distant part of the graveyard. Was he too late? Had Harry killed William? Neville drew his wand and broke into a run, outpacing the whirling stream of autumn leaves. He took a shortcut, vaulting over the graves of Hannah's ancestors, and made straight for the source of the Killing Curse.

The shrieks of a voice Neville knew well filled the air; the wind seemed to carry them through his eardrums and into his very soul. Neville began sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him. So fast, he almost bowled over an old man that appeared out of the darkness.

'Stupefy!' wheezed Neville.

The old man crumpled to the floor and Neville bent over double to catch his breath. Blood was pounding in his ears; whether through the fervent drum of his heart, or fear of what he would find, he did not know.

Neville looked to his left. His blood froze.

William Sayer was lying spread-eagled on a muddy bed of leaves, eyes closed but unmistakeably dead. Neville was too late. But it was not William's body that terrified Neville.

Harry was shakily making his way to his feet. In the pearly light of the moon, Neville saw that his skin was deathly white and waxen, his black robes hung off a skeletally thin frame, and his eyes were red and fixed hungrily on Neville.

Neville's world came crashing down around him. To suspect was one thing, but to see the truth of it was quite another. The Boy Who Lived, the hero of the wizarding world, the man Neville looked up to, cared for, and came to love as a brother, had become a Dark Lord.

The thought hit him with the force of a steam train. There was no way back now, no way to reform him. The whole world would soon know it: Alice, the Weasleys … Teddy. Unless Neville did his duty. Harry was the target of his investigation, and there was only one way to close a case.

Neville got to his feet and raised his wand.

Harry made no attempt to defend himself. Neville could see the Elder Wand in his hand, recognisable even from where he stood. But Harry simply smiled and spread his arms as if waiting for an embrace.

The words began to form on his lips when a thought crossed his mind: why isn't he fighting back? With one flick of his wand, Harry could destroy Neville's one weapon. He had seen, in Lazarus' memory, Harry do it quicker than the blink of an eye. Never do what your enemy wants of you. Neville lowered his wand.

'Do your job, Neville,' said Harry. His voice was higher and colder than Neville had ever heard it. The sound of it raised the hairs on the back of Neville's neck.

How many times had Harry given him orders? How many times had Neville jumped at the chance to follow them? But not this time.

'I'm going to take you in,' said Neville.

Harry's red eyes narrowed dangerously. 'That's not how it works. You're not an Auror. Your job is to neutralise the target.'

Stupefy!

Neville's spell met an invisible barrier cast with such strength that Neville was knocked off his feet. The air crackled with the intensity of the spell. Neville rose to his feet; he had not even seen Harry wave his wand.

'You're a good wizard, Neville,' said Harry, who stood motionless, 'but there's only one way you're bringing me to justice.'

Glisseo!

Neville's charm snuck underneath Harry's shield and transformed the grass underneath his feet into dangerous, smooth ground. As Harry lost his footing, Neville ordered a tornado of leaves to surround Harry and, with a final jab of his wand, fiery red ropes snaked their way around where Harry was falling.

In a flash of searing white light, Harry was gone and Neville's binding curse was squeezing air.

'You have to aim to kill,' whispered Harry's voice from behind him.

Neville whirled around and saw Harry calmly emerging from behind a large stone cross, not a scratch on him.

Neville held his wand aloft and brought it down like a knife. The leaves whistled dangerously as they darted past him, razor sharp, heading straight at Harry, who was gone in a whirling of his cloak. Neville's ears pricked and instinct took over as he dove behind a nearby gravestone. It shattered with the sound of a gunshot as a spell hit it and shards of rock went flying. Before they could settle, Neville twirled his wand and a fog of debris surrounded him, blocking him from view.

'So you're fighting back!' called Neville. He could just about make out Harry's silhouette through the swirling mass of rock and dust.

'When you realise your life's in danger, you'll strike me down,' said Harry calmly.

Two spells soared towards Neville almost at the same time. He transfigured his cloud of debris into a stone shield, which deflected the spells and disappeared.

'You're not going to destroy my wand like you did the others?' shouted Neville.

Neville circled his wand above head like a lasso and a huge, searing ring of fire exploded forth and hurtled at Harry, surrounding him from all sides. The ground cracked and scorched in its wake. As it closed in on Harry, Neville capered and from the fire emerged molten steel that immediately solidified. Neville threw spell after spell at it, making it impossible to escape from.

'That's why I won't destroy your wand.'

Harry's voice came from the right. He was standing, unscathed, by Sayer's body.

Expulso!

Blue light surged out of Neville's wand but was deflected by Harry's shield charm on to Luna's gravestone. The stone exploded with a bang. Harry yelled as though the spell had pierced his heart and for a fraction of a second was staring aghast as though he could not believe what had happened.

A fraction of a second was all Neville needed.

Expelliarmus!

The Elder Wand shot out of its former master's hand and spun in the air, ethereal in the moonlight, straight into Neville's grasp.

'No!' shrieked Harry.

Stupefy!

Neville's jet of red light soared at Harry, destined to meet its mark, but was stopped by an invisible shield, weaker than the ones that had come before. Harry had his old wand in his hand. He was breathing heavily and his blood red eyes held nothing but malice.

Harry slashed his wand this way and that and a barrage of spells came raining down on Neville who only had time to raise his own; not the one given to him by Ollivander, but the Elder Wand. The spells simply vanished from existence before they reached him.

Fear registered on Harry's face for the first time. The wand he had so callously and selfishly ripped from Dumbledore's tomb was turning on him.

'Avada Kedavra!' snarled Harry.

Neville dove to one side and boiled over with hot rage. Harry, the man he had loved, the man he had worked with for the best part of a decade, the man he had named godfather to his only daughter, sought to make Alice an orphan.

'Daddy, promise me you'll never die.'

In his white hot fury, Neville turned the Elder Wand on Harry and wanted nothing more than to fulfil that promise by any means necessary. The Elder Wand bucked in his hand and a golden jet of fire shot out, heading straight for Harry's holly wand, the brother of Lord Voldemort's. There was a final crack as the spell met his target and Harry's wand was no more.

Neville marched up to Harry, who had fallen to his knees, his crimson eyes on the place his wand had been. How many targets had Neville approached like this, disarmed and ready for the slaughter. All it took was two words …

But Neville would not give Harry, the man who had kidnapped Alice, killed Hermione, and now tried to kill Neville, the satisfaction of death. He would not give Harry what he wanted. He would hand Harry to the Ministry.

Neville was ready to stun Harry when his side exploded and the ground rushed up to meet him. He could taste blood in his mouth. His wands were no longer in his hands. He had strength enough only to turn his head.

Ron, his face red and masked by angry tears, had dug the tip of his wand into Harry's forehead, right above the faded scar.

'YOU KILLED HER!' Ron yelled, his chest heaving and flecks of spit, or tears, or sweat flying.

Harry turned his face up to Ron, cold and without emotion.

'I killed her,' said Harry calmly.

Neville tried to move, tried to cry out to Ron, but his body was broken and his voice barely audible above the howling wind.

A shard of moonlight suddenly bathed across Ron's face: in that moment he was a wild, wounded hound ready to strike. And strike he did.

'AVADA KEDAVRA!'