Transcendence

Harry's head was buried in his hands as sobs wracked his body. No force on earth could dispel this horror. Sweat ran in rivulets down his temples and between his shoulder blades. Each breath came in choked gasps. Every few seconds his body would shiver from either cold or fear; he wasn't sure which one. The early light of day confused him; was it not twilight that shrouded his room? The light blue of the décor was rendered misty grey and his cries eased into shuddering pants.

He threw the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His shirt clung to his body, and he peeled it off and dropped it on the floor. Hermione was washing the laundry tomorrow. Today. Wearily he stood and walked downstairs to the kitchen, swaying with dizziness. He sat in a windowed alcove and gazed out into the bleak morning. A bare tree branch scratched the glass as a breeze swept through the yard. The world, the bills, the love, the life, the hate, the dishes, the laundry fell away as he leaned his forehead against the cold glass and sighed. He jerked his head back and away as if he had been bitten.

"What's the matter?"

Harry turned to find the source of the voice. Remus Lupin leaned against the doorframe leading into the front hall. Harry smiled. "My breath stinks."

Remus raised his eyebrows and pulled a seat from the table. "Yes, I suppose it does." Even his descent onto the rickety chair was graceful. "Your father had the most god-awful morning breath I've ever had the displeasure of smelling. He used to wake me up by breathing on me." His eyes gazed past Harry into memory. "I have a heightened sense of smell. He knew that."

"I'm seventeen."

Remus cast a level look into Harry's eyes. There was nothing. "I know. Your birthday was a fortnight ago."

"I feel like I'm a hundred."

He couldn't keep staring into the abyss. "Harry," he began slowly, "this won't be easy. You shouldn't have this weight, but you do. You shouldn't have lost your parents, but you did. You should still be a child, but you're not."

The abyss stared back into him. "I haven't been a child for a long time, Remus."

Remus looked at his hands. They were strong, but old. Wrinkled and scarred. "Harry, we'll find a way to beat him, I promise, we'll..."

"I'm going to kill him," Harry stated. Remus looked back into Harry's eyes. "I will win. I know that. You should know that too." Harry smiled at him.

He was unnerved. He had thought Harry needed some sort of confirmation; instead, Harry had given him an answer. Remus just didn't know the question. "Why?"

The abyss was infinite. "We're all the same. Underneath it all, we're all the same. Capable...of the same." He stood and walked towards the door, then paused. "Because it's what I'm supposed to do." And Harry walked away.

The Boy Who Lived didn't give legends much substance relating to the long-awaited final confrontation. White against Black, Yin against Yang, Good against Evil, God against Satan, Light against Dark. These wars were distant and separate from the struggle between The Boy Who Lived and Lord Voldemort. There was no dark, and no light. Harry was not the good and innocent hero. Neither was Voldemort the dark and evil villain. They were the same. They were allies and enemies, friends and foes, comrades and nemeses. The Chosen One walked over to the disarmed and bound Dark Lord and spoke softly. He clasped the bare head with one hand and whispered into his ear as he drove a dagger into the heart. Tom Riddle's eyes widened at what Harry said as his creation gently laid him back against the hard earth. "I am a monster as you are, of your making, just as you are a good man as I am, through my doings. You marked me as your equal a lifetime ago; I now mark you as my likeness for a lifetime to come. You were right. We are the same, underneath it all. Underneath it all, we are all the same. We are all killers, and lovers, and sinners, and saints." Tom's breaths were choked by blood flooding his lungs. His chest heaved and caught with every effort. Harry spoke again. "May your next lot in life be better, Tom Riddle." And Voldemort died.