The End

Amicably, this chapter contains parts from the original book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I thought about a lot of ways I could start it, but the scene I wanted to incorporate had to be the part of the utter chaos of the last battle in Hogwarts, and to represent it perfectly, the only thing I could resort to doing was picking up the part from the original book itself.

Therefore, I do not own the canon part of this chapter.

ENJOY!

He was lying facedown on the ground again. The smell of the forest filled his nostrils. He could feel the cold hard ground beneath his cheek, and the hinge of his glasses, which had been knocked sideways by the fall, cutting into his temple. Every inch of him ached, and the place where the Killing Curse had hit him felt like the bruise of an iron-clad punch. He did not stir, but remained exactly where he had fallen, with his left arm bent out at an awkward angle and his mouth gaping.

He had expected to hear cheers of triumph and jubilation at his death, but instead hurried footsteps, whispers, and solicitous murmurs filled the air.

"My Lord … my Lord …"

It was Bellatrix's voice, and she spoke as if to a lover. Harry did not dare open his eyes, but allowed his other senses to explore his predicament. He knew that his wand was still stowed beneath his robes because he could feel it pressed between his chest and the ground. A slight cushioning effect in the area of his stomach told him that the Invisibility Cloak was also there, stuffed out of sight.

"My Lord …"

"That will do," said Voldemort's voice.

More footsteps: Several people were backing away from the same spot. Desperate to see what was happening and why, Harry opened his eyes by a millimeter.

Voldemort seemed to be getting to his feet. Various Death Eaters were hurrying away from him, returning to the crowd lining the clearing. Bellatrix alone remained behind, kneeling beside Voldemort.

Harry closed his eyes again and considered what he had seen. The Death Eaters had been huddled around Voldemort, who seemed to have fallen to the ground. Something had happened when he had hit Harry with the Killing Curse. Had Voldemort too collapsed? It seemed like it. And both of them had fallen briefly unconscious and both of them had now returned. …

"My Lord, let me —"

"I do not require assistance," said Voldemort coldly, and though he could not see it, Harry pictured Bellatrix withdrawing a helpful hand.

"The boy … Is he dead?"

There was complete silence in the clearing. Nobody approached Harry, but he felt their concentrated gaze; it seemed to press him harder into the ground, and he was terrified a finger or an eyelid might twitch.

"You," said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small shriek of pain. "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."

Harry did not know who had been sent to verify. He could only lie there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and wait to be examined, but at the same time noting, small comfort though it was, that Voldemort was wary of approaching him, that Voldemort suspected that all had not gone to plan. …

Hands, softer than he had been expecting, touched Harry's face, pulled back an eyelid, crept beneath his shirt, down to his chest, and felt his heart. He could hear the woman's fast breathing, her long hair tickled his face. He knew that she could feel the steady pounding of life against his ribs.

"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?''

The whisper was barely audible; her lips were an inch from his ear, her head bent so low that her long hair shielded his face from the onlookers.

"Yes," he breathed back.

He felt the hand on his chest contract; her nails pierced him. Then it was withdrawn.

She had sat up.

"He is dead!" Narcissa Malfoy called to the watchers.

And now they shouted, now they yelled in triumph and stamped their feet, and through his eyelids, Harry saw bursts of red and silver light shoot into the air in celebration.

Still feigning death on the ground, he understood. Narcissa knew that the only way she would be permitted to enter Hogwarts, and find her son, was as part of the conquering army. She no longer cared whether Voldemort won.

"You see?" screeched Voldemort over the tumult. "Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio!"

Harry had been expecting it, knew his body would not be allowed to remain unsullied upon the forest floor; it must be subjected to humiliation to prove Voldemort's victory. He was lifted into the air, and it took all his determination to remain limp, yet the pain he expected did not come.

He was thrown once, twice, three times into the air: His glasses flew off and he felt his wand slide a little beneath his robes, skittering to the ground, he mentally groaned at the lost chance, acquiring a wand was going to be really difficult, but he kept himself floppy and lifeless, and when he fell to the ground for the last time, the clearing echoed with jeers and shrieks of laughter.

"Now," said Voldemort, "we go to the castle, and show them what has become of their hero. Who shall drag the body? No — Wait —"

There was a fresh outbreak of laughter, and after a few moments Harry felt the ground trembling beneath him.

"You carry him," Voldemort said. "He will be nice and visible in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid. And the glasses — put on the glasses — he must be recognizable —"

Someone slammed Harry's glasses back onto his face with deliberate force, but the enormous hands that lifted him into the air were exceedingly gentle. Harry could feel Hagrid's arms trembling with the force of his heaving sobs; great tears splashed down upon him as Hagrid cradled Harry in his arms, and Harry did not dare, by movement or word, to intimate to Hagrid that all was not, yet, lost.

"Move," said Voldemort, and Hagrid stumbled forward, forcing his way through the close- growing trees, back through the forest. Branches caught at Harry's hair and robes, but he lay quiescent, his mouth lolling open, his eyes shut, and in the darkness, while the Death Eaters crowded all around them, and while Hagrid sobbed blindly, nobody looked to see whether a pulse beat in the exposed neck of Harry Potter. …

The two giants crashed along behind the Death Eaters; Harry could hear trees creaking and falling as they passed; they made so much din that birds rose shrieking into the sky, and even the jeers of the Death Eaters were drowned.

The victorious procession marched on toward the open ground, and after a while Harry could tell, by the lightening of the darkness through his closed eyelids, that the trees were beginning to thin.

"BANE!"

Hagrid's unexpected bellow nearly forced Harry's eyes open. "Happy now, are yeh, that yeh didn' fight, yeh cowardly bunch o' nags? Are yeh happy Harry Potter's — d-dead … ?"

Hagrid could not continue, but broke down in fresh tears. Harry wondered how many centaurs were watching their procession pass; he dared not open his eyes to look. Some of the Death Eaters called insults at the centaurs as they left them behind.

A little later, Harry sensed, by a freshening of the air, that they had reached the edge of the forest.

"Stop."

Harry thought that Hagrid must have been forced to obey Voldemort's command, because he lurched a little. And now a chill settled over them where they stood, and Harry heard the rasping breath of the dementors that patrolled the outer trees. They would not affect him now. The fact of his own survival burned inside him, a talisman against them, as though his father's stag was kept guardian in his heart. Something seemed to swell in his pocket. But he did not have the time or moment to see what it was.

Someone passed close by Harry, and he knew that it was Voldemort himself because he spoke a moment later, his voice magically magnified so that it swelled through the grounds, crashing upon Harry's eardrums.

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

"The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

There was silence in the grounds and from the castle. Voldemort was so close to him that Harry did not dare open his eyes again. He was unarmed. It would do no good to risk it for just a single peak.

"Come," said Voldemort, and Harry heard him move ahead, and Hagrid was forced to follow. Now Harry opened his eyes a fraction, and saw Voldemort striding in front of them, wearing the great snake Nagini around his shoulders, now free of her enchanted cage.

But Harry had no possibility to acquire any kind of weapon or wand. He was unarmed and surrounded by Death Eaters who marched side to side around them, laughing, passing retorts in the air while marching forward…

"Harry," sobbed Hagrid. "Oh, Harry … Harry …"

Harry shut his eyes tight again. He knew that they were approaching the castle and strained his ears to distinguish, above the gleeful voices of the Death Eaters and their tramping footsteps, signs of life from those within.

"Stop."

The Death Eaters came to a halt: Harry heard them spreading out in a line facing the open front doors of the school. He could see, even through his closed lids, the reddish glow that meant light streamed upon him from the entrance hall. He waited. Any moment, the people for whom he had tried to die would see him, lying apparently dead, in Hagrid's arms.

"NO!"

The scream was the most terrible because he had never expected or dreamed that Professor McGonagall could make such a sound. He heard another woman laughing nearby, and knew that Bellatrix gloried in McGonagall's despair. He squinted again for a single second and saw the open doorway filling with people, as the survivors of the battle came out onto the front steps to face their vanquishers and see the truth of Harry's death for themselves. He saw Voldemort standing a little in front of him, stroking Nagini's head with a single white finger. He closed his eyes again.

"No!"

"No!"

"Harry! HARRY!"

Ron's, Hermione's, and Ginny's voices were worse than McGonagall's; Harry wanted nothing more than to call back, yet he made himself lie silent, and their cries acted like a trigger; the crowd of survivors took up the cause, screaming and yelling abuse at the Death Eaters, until —

"SILENCE!" cried Voldemort, and there was a bang and a flash of bright light, and silence was forced upon them all.

"It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!"

Harry felt himself lowered onto the grass.

"You see?" said Voldemort, and Harry felt him striding backward and forward right beside the place where he lay.

"Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

"He beat you!" yelled Ron, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more.

"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds," said Voldemort, and there was relish in his voice for the lie, "killed while trying to save himself —"

But Voldemort broke off: Harry heard a scuffle and a shout, then another bang, a flash of light, and a grunt of pain; he opened his eyes an infinitesimal amount.

Someone had broken free of the crowd and charged at Voldemort: Harry saw the figure hit the ground, Disarmed, Voldemort throwing the challenger's wand at his feet and laughing. Harry could feel the wand around his toes. Maybe he will be able to pick it up before something happens. He could only hope.

"And who is this?" he said in his soft snake's hiss. "Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"

Bellatrix gave a delighted laugh.

"It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"

"Ah, yes, I remember," said Voldemort, looking down at Neville, who was struggling back to his feet, unarmed and unprotected, standing in the no-man's-land between the survivors and the Death Eaters. "But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?" Voldemort asked Neville, who stood facing him, his empty hands curled in fists.

"So what if I am?" said Neville loudly.

"You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

"I'll join you when hell freezes over," said Neville. "Dumbledore's Army!" he shouted, and there was an answering cheer from the crowd, whom Voldemort's Silencing Charms seemed unable to hold.

"Very well," said Voldemort, and Harry heard more danger in the silkiness of his voice than in the most powerful curse.

"If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head," he said quietly, "be it."

Still watching through his lashes, Harry saw Voldemort wave his wand. Seconds later, out of one of the castle's shattered windows, something that looked like a misshapen bird flew through the half light and landed in Voldemort's hand.

He shook the mildewed object by its pointed end and it dangled, empty and ragged: the Sorting Hat.

"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School," said Voldemort. "There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"

He pointed his wand at Neville, who grew rigid and still, then forced the hat onto Neville's head, so that it slipped down below his eyes.

There were movements from the watching crowd in front of the castle, and as one, the Death Eaters raised their wands, holding the fighters of Hogwarts at bay.

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me," said Voldemort, and with a flick of his wand, he caused the Sorting Hat to burst into flames.

Screams split the dawn, and Neville was aflame, rooted to the spot, unable to move, and Harry could not bear it: He must act —

And then many things happened at the same moment.

They heard uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the out-of-sight walls and pelted toward the castle, uttering loud war cries. At the same time, Grawp came lumbering around the side of the castle and yelled, "HAGGER!" His cry was answered by roars from Voldemort's giants: They ran at Grawp like bull elephants, making the earth quake. Then came hooves and the twangs of bows, and arrows were suddenly falling amongst the Death Eaters, who broke ranks, shouting their surprise.

Harry rose up from his position, much to the shock of the few who were still watching him, he rolled over towards the side where Neville's wand was, but the spot was empty. There was nothing there.

Chaos reigned.

"HE'S NOT DEAD!"

"HE'S ALIVE!"

"HARRY'S ALIVE!"

His eyes roamed over the area in search of something, anything he could use as a weapon but there was nothing there. The chaos continued, and everyone, albeit shocked to the bone that he was still alive was moving, trying to get out of the way from the arrows that rained continuously, the roars and groans, and the knives that came soaring in the air, a succession of elves in the distance foreseen as they came marching forwards.

His eyes met Voldemort's, who was sprawled across the butchered grass, clutching at his chest and a loud groan made him turn his head towards the scene where Neville skittered across, a long silver blade hanging from his hand, a familiar ruby glinting in the dim light of the surroundings. The blade was covered in a oozing black liquid, and Nagini's familiar form lay dormant at his feet, head sprawled across at the other side of the gathering. The snake was dead. The final horcrux was gone.

A voice reached Harry's ears, an ear splitting shout that made his head turn,

"POTTER!" and he saw Malfoy- Draco Malfoy's blonde head literally flying across the scene. His hand went forward instinctively, catching the wand that came flying across the air. He did not waste time. He could ponder later as to why Draco Malfoy of all people had come affront, giving him a wand. He rose to his feet, turning towards Voldemort who lay sprawled across the grass still, none of his followers making a move towards their master, to help him up. He laid there like a wounded animal, clutching himself as if trying to prevent his remaining soul from leaving his carcass by sheer willpower, but it was all in vain.

"Accio Elder Wand." The words left his mouth as a whisper just as he had intended, and the Elder wand clutched in the hands of Voldemort seemed to float away from his hand as if it was just waiting to get away- landing in his hand. An unfamiliar warmth spread through his body, quickly replaced by a cold that was uncomfortable but not unwelcome. Harry's magic was singing. He turned away from himself, determined not to get lost in the ever addictive feeling of the power that surged through his veins. He turned towards the bleak form of Voldemort.

But before a curse, a hex, anything at all, before anything could leave his lips, his attention was stolen by a singular screech behind him: Bellatrix stood at the outskirts of it all, surrounded by the few countable Death Eaters that were left in the field, those who were maybe too injured, already dead, or actually loyal to their Lord,

"YOU TRAITORS!" her meek voice pitched across the field as a high volume screech turning multiple heads in the direction. The battle seemed to stop for a moment as everyone stopped.

Everyone was looking at what was happening. The Malfoy family, the fear etched face of Lucius Malfoy, the ever so cold face of Narcissa Malfoy tuned in their direction as she clutched her son's body, physically shielding him from anything that might come to harm him. Draco's face was shielded from view, but Harry could see it from the corner of his eyes, a face that was normally so guarded was contorted in pain and unmistaken fear that was in his eyes made something churn inside Harry's mind. He did not want to see it. He wanted to pull it away from his face until there was nothing but peace left. Wait what-

But his thoughts were cut off in their entirety when Bellatrix raised her wand, the familiar jet of green pilfering from the end of her wand and hitting Narcissa's body in the center of her head. Her body dropped with a loud thud, and another curse came from her wand, soaring through the air-

Harry tried, he did, but he did not succeed.

Before he could bring anything in between, maybe conjure something, summon something to stand in the curse's way, it hit Draco's form square in his chest, his body- now corpse- skittered over, falling over his mother's own limp carcass in an clumsy way.

But that was not what caught everyone's attention. That was not something Harry could focus on when his own body limped, his knees giving up on supporting his weight. A sharp pain seemed to course through him as if he was being hit by a hundred crucio's at once.

A scream left his body at the agony, an ear splinting scream that made everyone turn around with frantic breaths, but he laid down, drowning in an uninvited despair that coursed through his veins, the pain coursing through his blood, as if his very soul was being separated from his body against his will.

He could not breathe. He didn't see when Ron and Hermione came forward, separating from the whole gathering, holding his body, trying to contain his pain. When Neville ran across the people in his direction, Luna and Ginny followed him, the DA members leaving everyone behind as they skittered across the ground in his direction.

He didn't hear Hermione's frantic shouts, he didn't feel the slaps from Ron who was trying to get his attention. He continued screaming, trying to hold himself steady, trying to fight the pain, the agony, the despair but it did nothing. It felt like he was being ripped in two, like there was nothing left. The blood in his veins felt like a boiling fluid that was coursing through his veins, his throat felt ripped apart but it did not stop, the screaming, the agony, nothing stopped.

Everyone around him was going frantic, teachers and adults shouted at the children to get out of the way so they could see what was happening, to aid in something. The death eaters saw their last chances and fled, Bellatrix trudged towards Voldemort's limp body, disapparating them both with a crack.

And suddenly, it stopped.

His body exploded in a flurry of bright light- filling every crack, every break, every single being. The scorching hot glow burned through his surroundings, through people that surrounded him, friend or foe, human or a creature. It didn't matter. Nothing could've been saved. Everything was turned to ash.

They didn't get time to scream. They didn't get time to even comprehend what was happening. One second they were there and in the other everything was ash. And in the middle of the destruction laid a single body, a single corpse in between piles and piles of ash.

The savior of the magical world was dead. Harry Potter was dead.

It didn't stop. The glow burned through miles across, turning everything to ash in its wake. Friend, Foe, Flora or Fauna. It didn't matter.

And he didn't die from something someone had expected. Not like Dumbledore had planned he would die. Not like any Death Eater or his friends would've expected he'll die.

He didn't die from the never ending hunger in his stomach when he used to sit in his cupboard, discarded for days after being beaten up by his uncle.

He didn't die fighting the troll in his first year, or by being crushed by Fluffy, or by the shade of Voldemort that had once possessed Quirrel.

He didn't die at the hand of the basilisk that had once scoured through the walls of Hogwarts in his second year.

He didn't die at the hands of the ruthless dementors who wanted nothing but just a mere taste of his soul.

He didn't die fighting a dragon, didn't drown in depths of black lake, didn't die fighting Voldemort after he was beaten and battered with curses and torture, after his blood was used to resurrect the shade of the man who had once killed his parents.

He didn't die after hours of torture from blood quills, or dueling death eaters who had no business being so smug after getting beat down by a teenager.

He didn't die being caught between an army of inferi, or while dueling snatchers, running away from everything his life had once stood for.

Hell- he didn't even die even after walking to his own death, accepting that he was going to be dead, that he had to present himself to his death to save everyone no matter how much he just wanted to run away, to save himself.

He died when his soul splintered in pieces, leaving his body while searching for a connection that no one had expected or seen coming.