The End at The Beginning

Ready though he was, he wasn't looking forward to any of this.

On a good day, the Forbidden Forest was treacherous and unforgiving, though with the activity of the battle that had been raging on for the last ten or eleven hours, it was likely that there would be some additional dark creatures lurking about.

He donned his invisibility cloak.

It wouldn't suit him to die accidentally or be eaten before he'd even reached Tom. Though he suspected that any of the Death Eaters and their allies who might be hiding out there knew full well that he was to be killed by Tom and Tom alone.

That wouldn't be likely to prevent anyone from roughing him up or torturing him though.

Winding his way through the footpath he'd found in the underbrush; he was still certain he was headed in the right direction.

The sunrise was stunning. An almost jarring contrast to the night before – it was a panoramic explosion of purple with a gradient hint of pink and orange which faded steadily to black behind him to the west. Surprisingly, its beauty wasn't lost or wasted on him.

If this was to be his last little while alive, he damn sure had no intention of giving Voldemort the satisfaction of seeing him be miserable through all of it.

Admittedly, that was more than partly due to his time spent alone with Hermione just a few short minutes ago. She loved him, and that kiss had infused him with enough emotion that he still somehow had the audacity to feel giddy as he was walking out to his fate, though not entirely so.

Still, Tom would not be extracting any additional enjoyment from this victory by way of breaking Harry's spirit this morning.

Harry knew that all but the last horcrux will have been dealt with after he's …gone. It almost felt odd, to be so near the end of the conflict that had defined much of his life. He had every faith in his friends to get the rest of the job done in his absence. They wouldn't let him do this and let it all be for naught.

Nearly a hundred yards into the forest, he realized that he'd yet to see another living creature. Perhaps Tom wanted him in good condition for his final task.

Thus, he let his mind wander.

In his mind, he was back at the castle. Or more accurately, he was thinking of what the future would hold for those he was leaving behind.

He could see Neville in a few years, either running his own apothecary stocked with plants he cultivated himself, or back at Hogwarts apprenticing under or otherwise working with Professor Sprout. He might not be one of her Hufflepuffs, but they had grown close given how much he loved spending time in her greenhouses.

It wasn't hard at all to imagine Luna travelling the world in search of all manner of odd creatures, cataloging them, and perhaps starting a new column dedicated to them in the Quibbler.

Thinking of Ginny, he knew she'd be doing something involving Quidditch in some capacity. Even if she didn't end up playing – which was certainly on the table, she loved the game itself too much to not get involved with it in a bigger way; be it as a player, coach, commentator, or reporter. He wished he'd had a chance to say a proper goodbye to her. Their relationship, though plagued with the turmoil of everything going on around them, had been great, though unbalanced. They cared deeply for each other, but Harry couldn't quite compete with the image of Harry that Ginny had formed in her head. That fact could largely be blamed on years of hearing fantastic tales about the boy wizard who defeated the darkness and lived a magical life, fighting monsters and injustice before even going to Hogwarts – so many bedtime stories had followed that formula through her entire childhood. Obviously, she knew better, but he had regularly gotten the subtle impression that the reality of him was something of a disappointment compared to the Harry of her mind. With the benefit of hindsight, and though it had been hard on them at the time, their split was a good thing for the both of them.

He thought of Ron, wondering if he'd be the one to take Nagini out of the equation in the next couple of hours. Would he eventually achieve his dream of being a professional keeper for the Canons? It wasn't out of the question; his playing had always been brilliant. If not – after all of this mess he'd be a damn fine auror, and any new ministry regime would jump at the opportunity to hire him. The idea of Ron being happy after all this was over was a pleasant one. That is why we've been fighting all this time, after all…

His thoughts trailed inevitably back to Hermione, and he wondered what she was doing right now. It was an odd feeling, having had that conversation as they did, knowing they'd be unable to pursue anything. He hoped it would be a good memory for her as it was for him – it was practically giving him the very strength to stand at this point. He was quite sure she'd be the sort to appreciate it for the beautiful moment it was, and not keep it for too long as a painful reminder of what could have been. Notions like that could be both a salve to calm and a knife to cut, depending on one's mindset. Hermione was powerful, courageous, brilliant, and strong though; He was certain she would remember him well and live a life every bit as beautiful as she herself was.

He could easily see her in a few years, having obviously gone back to acquire her seventh year of schooling, acing her N.E.W.T.s, and getting a job doing literally anything her heart desired. Merlin knows her marks would support it, though it would probably be something to help people – she cared too much about injustice for anything else. It would probably be rebuilding the wizarding world initially, and then – if he'd have to bet – working on reforming relations with other magical races and creatures. She'd get fulfilment out of that, and he wanted that for her.

Oddly enough, his thoughts wandered to the copy of Beedle the Bard that Dumbledore had left her. Though perhaps not too oddly, as she'd had it visibly on her person for nearly the last year almost as though it was a part of her. It was truly an instrumental tool in their quest eventually, though it had been rather frustrating at first. Something so seemingly trivial left to her while Ron had a unique artifact in the deluminator, and he'd tried to give Harry the bloody Sword of Gryffindor, and that old snitch for some reason. Eventually of course, the book proved an essential part of the puzzle. The sword had certainly proved useful once it made its way to him too.

Nearly every item Dumbledore had given them in his will had proved useful in some capacity. The Snitch though, was an anomaly.

He dug it out of a pocket and breathed onto it once more.

As before, that frustratingly vague text… "I open at the close" showed itself again as though embossed onto the surface of the small shining ball.

"Well, if ever there was a close, this is it."He said in an exasperated tone as breathed once more onto its golden shell, waiting a few moments just in case something happened before he put the Snitch back into his inner jacket pocket and continued into the thick of the woods.

—X—X—X—

He eventually heard indistinct voices in the distance.

Impatient voices…

It would seem he was encroaching upon his deadline. Not that it mattered, at this point, he was close enough.

Before he approached the apparent clearing where a group was waiting for him, he removed and securely stowed the cloak. It had been his father's and even at this moment he didn't want it to end up damaged unnecessarily.

"I thought that he would come…" he heard a familiar voice say in a tone that somehow carried both rage and disappointment "I expected him to come." Voldemort's voice was clear and cold as an arctic night.

"I was… it seems, mistaken." The nearly skeletal man continued.

"You weren't." Harry said clearly as he stepped around a large oak into plain view of those gathered in the clearing.

Voldemort whipped around to see Harry with a nearly elated grin on his oddly deformed face.

"What are ye' doin' 'Arry‽ No!" Hagrid's voice cried out from the crowd. He was shackled securely and being held both physically and at wand point by about four or five Death Eaters, who rapidly silenced him.

There were maybe about a dozen more fanned out around their master. The infamous inner circle was all represented. Bellatrix Lestrange, Malfoy's parents Lucious and Narcissa, Yaxley, Nott, Goyle Sr., Crabbe Sr., and Anton Dolohov, among others.

"I was beginning to think you were going to make me kill them all." Voldemort said, his voice still cold and unamused. He had a subtle look of disappointment as though he wished he'd needed to spill more blood at the castle.

"Good evening, Tom. Sorry I'm late." Harry replied crisply, ignoring the jibe "I'm here to turn myself in. I understand there may be something of a bounty, and I'm interested in collec- "

"SILENCE" Voldemort roared. "You insolent... child."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Those gathered clearly hadn't been expecting any wise remarks from Harry in his defeat.

Harry hadn't been expecting it either.

He was at the end of the line, and he knew it. He hadn't lied to Hermione – he truly did accept it. But he also figured the longer he kept Tom talking, the longer he indulged whatever this charade was going to be, the more time those remaining at the castle would have to recoup and prepare.

Harry was operating on instinct alone at this point, something he'd proven time and time again he was good at. He was also quite thoroughly spent. Emotionally exhausted after his goodbyes with Ron and Hermione, though the thought of her still made his heart pound pleasantly. He didn't feel like himself.

That new, warm feeling in his chest was still there even though if he were being honest with himself, he was starting to beat himself up for not having that conversation earlier. He wanted desperately to keep the feeling warmth, that pleasant feeling of completeness in him, and he might have enjoyed it longer if he'd been less scared. If he had that conversation a few years ago.

He needed to get out of his head, stop ruminating on his regrettable decisions. Let instinct take over again, but his emotions were fraying and unstable after the events of the last hour.

A few silent seconds ticked by as he gathered himself.

"On the last… " Harry grinned defiantly, somehow channeling the showmanship of the twins, "you are quite right indeed. I am a child… Yet it was a fair bit of effort you put in over the years, Tom, trying to kill me.… Just. A. Child."

Voldemort regarded him with an empty, shocked expression. This was not the fearful, broken, youth he'd expected.

Harry felt his anger take over, and there was plenty of it. He didn't have it in him to stand and deal with Voldemort's perceived slights, he was about to be murdered anyway. Perhaps it was selfish to allow himself a small amount of catharsis, but it's not like the truth of this encounter would ever find its way to the Daily Prophet or anyone else.

This monster standing before him was the man that killed his family. He was the reason that Sirius spent 12 years in Azkaban and the rest of his life on the run before his forces acted again and killed him outright.

He was the reason Harry had been left to the tender mercies of the damned Dursleys instead of living with loving parents. The reason Hedwig and Dumbledore were both lying cold in the ground. He'd told Pettigrew to kill Cedric.

Harry felt weightless as he let himself fall deeper into his anger, his pain, his emotions that he'd learned to carefully control and keep tethered. His magic rippled in the air around him.

For his entire life, he had kept his emotions on a short leash for fear of violence at the hands of his aunt and uncle, and fear of judgement at the hands of the public who didn't know or understand him but loved getting into his business, distorting it, and reporting on it anyway.

Too often he reigned in his emotions for fear of being further ostracized at school. Whether he was the heir of Slytherin, marked for death by the grim, a rotten cheat in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, or just an angry kid with too many ghosts following him around – it was always something.

As much as he loved the school and the people in it, no one in their right mind and with eyes to see would argue it had always been kind to him…

But now, in this clearing he could let those emotions all run free; sure, it might kill him, but that is why he was here after all, and the sensation of letting go sent his head spinning.

In a grand departure from his sprightly, defiant tone a few moments ago, Harry said coldly and with acid in his voice, "The greatest, most feared, most powerful dark wizard to exist since Gellert Grindelwald in the bloody forties… And what is this‽ the 6th time we've squared up if you count the time I was wearing a bloody onesie in a crib‽"

It felt good to vent, and nothing he said was inaccurate.

Turning slightly to address the gathered Death Eaters, he carried on, "Hard to explain the whole 'getting obliterated' bit that first time, wasn't it Tom? Did the thought ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, that's just what you bloody get when you set out to MURDER A DEFENSELESS TODDLER!" Harry roared at the end, turning to face Tom from a distance.

He took a deep breath and looked around at his slowly brightening surroundings – the rising bloom of color on the horizon was slowly casting more light into the forest. Some of the faces that had been sneering and laughing earlier seemed darker now, even with the added light, as though they'd never stopped to think about the reality of what he'd just said.

Now speaking slowly, clearly, with a tone that carried the sadness and pain of all the nearly 17 years of torment he'd been through along with the losses he had witnessed these past 10 hours and the 10 months before, "And now, even tonight… You can't knock off a bleeding school without an army and all night to do it… And even in the end – it's me here surrendering to you."

There it was… He'd managed to make Voldemort's success somehow sound like a failure – as though he was only winning because Harry handed him the game.

But he may have pressed his luck a mote too far.

Voldemort seethed and began to bring his wand around slowly and almost dramatically, his eyes deadly.

This was probably it. He was about to become "Harry Potter, The Boy Who Died."

"Ah yes, of course – " Harry blurted out with resignation, unsure even as he said it where he was going next.

"by all means, try and murder me unarmed again, I'm certain it'll go great for you this time as well."

At that implied warning, Voldemort hesitated.

Perhaps James' quick wit had indeed been genetic.

Harry did take some joy in putting Tom off balance, knowing full well that the loyalty of those in the clearing was of paramount importance to him. The fact that he was surrendering would make lashing out too far on Tom's part seem panicked and out of control – and that sort of appearance didn't lend itself to people throwing themselves at you in pursuit of power.

This hadn't been the drawn out encounter he was hoping for a moment ago but getting in a dig at Tom's power and 'honor' was just about as much as he could hope for. In brief hindsight he was surprised he hadn't been struck with a flashing green bolt to the hereafter in the middle of any of his last few sentences.

Regardless, any seed of doubt sown in a Death Eater now might save a life or ten at the castle later this morning.

It was worth it.

It looked like Harry was going to need to force Tom's hand into action here… Best to get on with it.

He looked away from the monster that had haunted his dreams for his entire life and tilted his head back to take in the sunrise once more.

It was still beautiful, though there was less purple and much more reds and orange now in the balance as compared to just a short while ago. He let his eyes stay open unblinkingly for a moment, hoping to let the peaceful view linger for just a few heartbeats after he closed them one last time.

He held his empty hands out slightly from his sides, palms open to the front, as if waiting for a hug. His head was still tilted back slightly trying to etch this one last gorgeous sunrise into his mind.

He finally closed his eyes. It wouldn't be long now.

He could still see the sunrise. It was stunning, but not as much so as the other subject of his thoughts.

There was a quiet rustling maybe ten paces in front of him.

He could still see her eyes. Full of love, full of compassion. He wished again that he could stop time, and stare into them just a bit longer.

He heard the swishing of robes, and perhaps the whipping sound of a wand slashing sharply through the air.

He was sad he wouldn't be with her, but glad for what they'd shared in their seven short years together. That comforting warmth had settled comfortably into his chest after they both finally leveled with each other, and it was still there, radiating peace. It wouldn't, couldn't, be ripped away.

"Avada- "

He could still feel her hands on his bare skin. Her soft lips on his. Even in the damp fog of the morning, he smelled vanilla and fresh parchment. She loves him, and he loves her.

"Kedavra!"

He could not be with her, but he wouldn't be far away.

—X—X—X—

Hermione was just outside the castle's main entrance hall, near the bottom of the stairs. She'd tracked Harry's steady progress to the forest for as long as she could in the dim light of the early sunrise before he'd made it to the edge and out of sight.

She'd offered to go with him into the breach, into the forest, and into the circle of death he was destined for. Harry would entertain none of it though, not that it surprised her in the least. He wanted her safe and argued that her remaining in the relative safety of the castle here would make his last task a bit easier on him. Though the facts of the matter broke her heart, that was really all she needed to hear to be convinced.

She'd been worriedly pacing in front of the stairs for nearly ten minutes now, with her eyes locked on the spot she'd lost sight of Harry, and it had garnered her a bit of attention.

Aside from some distant prying eyes she could feel on her from the castle, Ron was nearby. He'd walked as though in a trance when he approached but he didn't come terribly close to her. He was sitting about eight or ten steps up from the bottom of the ancient stone stairs. He had a vacant stare as he gazed, unfocused, at some spot maybe a few feet in front of him. He looked numb, and disturbingly still as though he'd been frozen in time. She could relate.

She knew what was coming. She knew she didn't have a say in the matter. She knew she could be doing something useful just now, something to help, something to soothe.

She knew it was futile.

She'd been strong and powerful and precise and steady throughout the entire year. Through the endless waiting, the hungry nights when supplies ran short, the actual torture toward the end. She could damn well afford herself 5 minutes to let her guard down and break as it fell.

The waiting was killing her. She shuddered at the selfish thought. She'd wait like this for years if she had to if it would let him somehow emerge whole from this ordeal. But she knew that was impossible.

She thought back over all the times in the last 5 years she'd considered hugging him, or just putting her arm around him… or better yet, having his arm around her. How many terrible times they'd suffered together, often him more than her, and she'd rationalized herself away from holding his hand when he'd likely needed it as much or more even than she'd wanted it. She could kick herself now that she knew he'd always felt the same, but that was just the benefit – or maybe the curse in this instance - of hindsight.

She focused on a few times, only months ago – in that shabby tent in the wilderness. A look in his eye she hadn't placed, hadn't recognized. She knew now that he'd probably wanted to kiss her, hold her close, tou-

She suddenly twitched violently as though electrocuted, wrenched violently from her distraction, as the dregs of a vibrant green flash just barely filtered through the leafless trees that she'd been desperately staring into for the last quarter hour.

She stopped breathing.

She felt as though all the air had been forcefully ripped from her lungs.

A moment after the sickly green light assaulted her senses, a bright white flash lit the forest for only an instant.

As her knees buckled under her, she allowed herself to fracture. In her mind's eye, she was reliving every wonderful moment of her life that had Harry in it, and she was not surprised to realize it was most of them.

—X—X—X—