Secrets Exposed

A/N this has been sitting in my ideas folder for a while now, never really found a good spot to use it but the scene itself just feels right. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, stood panting in exhaustion. He felt dozens of cuts and bruises throughout his body, and he was sure of several broken bones. His breathing was ragged and pained, either from the hole in his right shoulder or from broken ribs, probably both. He felt every bit of pain, yet nothing could stop the euphoria from lifting him. It was over.

It had taken two years, two long hard fought years to bring Voldemort to the point of defeat. Ron's death after he had abandoned them in the tent had hurt both him and Hermione, but it had finally given them a chance to express their feelings for the other. While that was a wondrous thing, it had been a heartbreaking one as well. He still had nightmares of listening to Bellatrix torture her at Malfoy manor, even though the bitch had been dead for a year.

It had been a fitting engagement gift, when he had presented Hermione with Bellatrix's head after the battle of Hogwarts. His only regret was that it hadn't been Voldemorts. Snakeface had escaped that day, retreating and regrouping. The last year had been a war of attrition, with the Light taking redoubt in Hogwarts while Voldemort had turned the Ministry into a bastion of the dark.

For the last three months Hermione had helped him plan this confrontation. Three months of sweat and long nights, three months of anticipation. Every idea, every possibility planned and compensated for. Three months of planning and in three seconds it went to hell. They had planned on Lucius leading the attack they'd tempted the death eaters into, but Voldemort had led it instead. As soon as he appeared, black robes billowing as he led his minions, everything changed. Ever since they had destroyed his last Horcrux, the snake Nagini, Voldemort had never left his sanctum. Now he had, and everything had changed.

Harry barely had time to kiss Hermione before he leapt to confront the most powerful dark lord in history. Spells flew around them, raw power hurled between the titans of this battle. They chased each other the length and breadth of the country, apparating and dodging, where one went the other followed. The last landing, thirty minutes ago and four hours after the battle had started, had been rough. Both combatants were bordering on exhaustion, and both knew they couldn't apparate again without splinching. This was the location for the final battle.

Harry barely acknowledged the people around them, even as he cast shields or summoned boulders to block Tom's curses at them. He vaguely recalled a statue of a lion exploding, the shattering of a stone monolith topped by another statue. He knew there had once been a fountain, for the remains of the water covered the hard concrete of the ground.

As Harry stared down at the life leaving the red eyes of Voldemort, he sagged. Barely able to remain conscious from fatigue, he used the sword in his hand to brace himself. Sword? Looking beneath him, he saw the sword sticking out of the headless corpse of Tom Riddle, it's tip straight through his heart. The blood ran black from the body, spreading quickly over the water covered concrete. Concrete?

He looked up, gazing around him at the hundreds of people surrounding the square. To his side he saw the remains of the statue of Heratio Nelson, the stone column that had supported him spread around him. At its base, previously hidden, was an obsidian plinth, from which he vaguely remembered pulling the sword in his hand. He glanced down upon the sword again, this time noticing the name etched upon the blade: CALIBUR.

Looking back up at the crowd, he stared at the awed faces, at the camera flashes, and the news van cameras. There was no way the magical world could remain secret now, no way to obliviate the entire world. He'd just proven magic was real, and killed a man with Excalibur on national, probably international, TV. And he'd done it in the middle of Trafalgar Square.

"Well Shit."