Hermione Granger and the Beginning of the End

Say my name;

The sun shines through the rain

My whole life, so lonely

Then you come and ease the pain

I don't want lose this feeling...

**

"DON'T HIDE IT FROM ME--I KNOW--I KNOW EVERYTHING!"

In spite of the madness happening all around him, Harry Potter had the insatiable urge to burst out into laughter; the all-powerful Voldemort certainly didn't know everything. He had no idea that things were, as he had put it, about to become very interesting.

It was really unnerving how calm Harry felt. Everything in the past seven years had been building up to this moment, this final climactic meeting, and it was almost as though he had been dreading this battle so much that there simply wasn't any fear left in him. All that was left was cold, factual knowledge. He knew what had to be done--all he had to do now was actually do it.

Not yet, however. Not until it was just him and Voldemort. There was one responsibility that transcended even his obligation to save the world, and that was his responsibility to his family and friends. He had finally accepted that he was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, yes, but above all, he was a friend, he was a son, he was a brother, he was a...well, he didn't really know what the hell he was to Ginny, but he was something. And that something was much more important than any power-crazed sorcerer.

So when Harry saw his opportunity, he took the necessary course of action. Both hands out, he beckoned toward Bellatrix Lestrange to retrieve Ginny and Mrs. Weasley's wands, while using the other hand to swiftly, but safely, fly Ginny over the heads of the groaning Death Eaters and into his arms. Somehow, he managed to spin her behind him while catching the wands and tossing them to their owners. He kept one hand on Ginny's wrist so he could instinctively pull her down to the dirt when curses began to rain over their heads in rapid-fire succession. The vast majority of the Death Eaters were still moaning on the ground, incapacitated by the brute force of Voldemort's rage, so Harry knew that all of these spells had to be compliments of Lord Voldemort himself.

He had to move fast. He had experience in evading Voldemort's spellwork, and he knew he wouldn't last long just huddled on the ground, shooting out a few spells in his defense. Not even knowing what spell he uttered, Harry let it fly loose from his fingertips and rolled backward, scooping Ginny along with him so that they both rolled into the safety of the bushes marking the perimeter of the clearing.

"Get out of here," he hissed to Ginny before scooting over to the seclusion of a fallen tree a few feet to his left. Curses thudded into the trunk, splintering and splaying chunks of wood, but Harry didn't even flinch. He just sneakily peered over the edge to survey his odds. Mrs. Weasley had made it out of the clearing too, but it seemed that no one was paying any attention to her. A few Death Eaters had managed to finally stumble to their feet and under Voldemort's orders were obediently firing spells toward Harry and Ginny. It appeared that they had no idea where exactly the two students were hiding, and no one was brave enough to approach the perimeter after witnessing Harry's innate magical powers. Harry was, however, starting to feel more than a little tired from the repeated usage of wandless magic, so with a quick crook of his finger, he Summoned his wand back to him, as it had been residing in Macnair's pocket. At the same time, he shot a quick curse that caused two Death Eaters to hastily jump to the side. They were about to send a spell over in the general direction of Harry's curse, but a flurry of bright white light flew in the air across the clearing and distracted them. Harry seized the chance to Stun one of the Death Eaters from behind while the burst of light transformed into a pure white, shining bird of some sort that skyrocketed upward into the night. Harry's eyes narrowed as he watched it soar; that bird looked awfully familiar...

His attention was diverted from the unusual spell back to Voldemort as the sorcerer began to laugh again, a deep, throaty, mocking laugh that Harry despised with his very being; it was the same horrendous cackle he had used when he had killed Harry's parents. He waved his hand toward his underlings to stop their assault and raised his voice. "Come on, Harry," he called loudly. "Don't you want to come out and play?" Harry was very tempted to let out a snappy retort, but he just gritted his teeth and remained silent. Voldemort took a few considering steps forward, the red slits of his eyes roving over the perimeter. Harry let out a long breath as he slowly emptied his mind so that Voldemort was unable to find him. When the sorcerer spoke again, his irritation at his failure to find Harry's mind was evident in his voice. "Come along, Harry!" He took another step forward, but Harry reckoned that he was close enough, so he shot over another warning curse. It was quite satisfying to see Lord Voldemort himself flinch as a spell gouged a crater at his feet. He stared down at the hole in the ground and a smirk slowly snaked back along his sinister face. "Your father would have faced me--he at least died honorably!" Harry wrapped his fingers tightly around the spiky tufts of grass at his knees. "Your mother, however--"

Harry melded his lips together so that he wouldn't scream in outrage as he ripped and tore the grass he was clutching with all of the savage intensity he wished he could use to attack Voldemort. The rage was boiling in his ears, making it impossible to hear the rest of Voldemort's sentence, but it was probably a good thing he didn't. Just hearing Voldemort say his mother's name was enough to make him extremely tempted to charge out of the bushes and tear the flesh off of the evil wizard's thin throat.

Her lovely, cool, long fingers gently encircled themselves around his flailing wrists. Harry still instinctively jerked against her, although as always, her presence instilled a sense of soothing serenity. It was funny how someone as passionate and fiery as Ginny Weasley was could at the same time be the comforting breath of fresh air that Harry knew he would need for the rest of life--however long that will be, he added cynically in his weary mind.

"Don't," she warned, crouching low to the ground to look directly into his eyes. "Not yet--you should wait."

"And you should leave," Harry countered sharply. He really, really didn't want her to leave, since he only seemed to breathe properly when she was around, but he knew that she had to. He had to know that at least one person in his life would be safe. He would have said more to argue this point to Ginny, but his last thought sickeningly reminded him of something else. Raising his head a few millimeters, he scanned the flurry of Death Eaters now standing in trepidation and anticipation of Voldemort's next order. Voldemort, however, still wasn't ready to start bombarding the forest with spells, which bought Harry a bit more time to double-check his earlier observation and let out a small breath of relief.

"What?" Ginny whispered.

"Hermione got Ron," Harry answered. He squirmed slightly as he silently wished Hermione good luck in his head. He had tried to get Ron snap out of whatever state he was in, but it had been useless. Harry knew that if anyone in the world could bring Ron back, it had to be Hermione, but he had no idea just how Hermione was going to accomplish it with the limited time she had. He knew sooner or later that someone would notice that Ron was gone and go looking for him, and if Ron was still wavering when they got there--

"Ginny." Harry turned to look at her for the first time. There was only a thin sliver of moonlight breaking through the foliage, and a tangle of her fiery hair was hiding the majority of her face, but her eyes shone out vividly, nevertheless. He knew from those eyes that he would never be able to convince her of what he wanted her to do, but he was going to try anyway. "Ginny, go get your Mum and then find Hermione--she's trying to get Ron back and needs all the time she can get. If any Death Eater comes near her, cover her, or distract them, or call for me, or something. Just do whatever you can do, but don't let them get to Ron."

Ginny opened her mouth to argue, but another flurry of spells caused them to have to reciprocate with return fire and duck down once again. Harry quickly spoke up before Ginny could say something to convince him to let her stay. "Ginny, we can't let them get Ron!" Harry argued sharply, bile rising in his throat at the idea of his best friend turning into a Death Eater. The bitter taste in his mouth intensified as he thought about the precarious situation his other best friend was in. "And we just got Hermione back--do you really want to go through that again?"

Both of the Gryffindors' hearts squeezed at the memory of Hermione's funeral and how many hours they had sat by Ron's bed in the hospital. Ginny shoved her hair out of her face and swallowed hard. "I know," Ginny said quietly, glancing over her shoulder. "I know I should, but--"

"What are you waiting for--go get him!"

Harry swore vehemently; apparently, Voldemort was tired of waiting for Harry to pop back out and fight. Voldemort smirked as he raised his own wand toward the bushes and fired several purple-blue flames into a pile of brush less than ten feet from Harry and Ginny. The nearby firelight sent flickers of sparkling light into Ginny's hair so that it glittered with that reddish-gold tint Harry loved. He couldn't help himself; he knew that Ginny had rejected him and forgotten about him after he had thrown away his chance for eternal happiness, but he just couldn't stop himself from reaching out and carefully tucking one of the sparkling curls behind her dainty ear. "Go," he begged emphatically before starting to rise to his feet.

Except that Ginny's hands were still clutching his wrists. She jerked him instantly back to the ground. "No," she hissed furiously. Before Harry could argue with her, she was ducking low to the ground and dragging him further back into the forest. Harry normally would have been quite surprised that a girl so petite could propel him so easily, but Ginny Weasley surprised him every day. He wouldn't have been surprised if she was the one to kill Voldemort. In his mind, there wasn't anything that that girl couldn't do.

Zigzagging their way to throw off any Death Eaters who may be following them, Ginny was finally satisfied that they were alone and pushed Harry down into a sitting position with his back against a tree trunk. She fell to her knees in front of him, straddling his knees and placing her hands on his elbows to prevent him from getting up. If Harry had thought her eyes had shone with intensity before, he was dead wrong. That was nothing compared to the raw emotion that was exuding from them right now.

"Harry, just listen to me for a minute," Ginny pleaded anxiously, checking over her shoulder and around the tree trunk every few seconds. "And I'll go find Hermione afterward straight away, I swear, but just listen to me now."

Even in this desperate, dire situation, Harry couldn't deny anything to her, so he just nodded mutely. Ginny sighed softly and glanced down, unable to look Harry in the eye as she began. "Hermione figured out what you're planning--that you said what you said to me to beat him."

This was one of those moments in which Harry hated that Hermione was so smart.

"But, Harry, it won't work." Ginny moved her hands to either side of Harry's face, her thumb stroking his cheekbone. "You can't bottle it up Harry--you have to let it out to see its power. That's why Ron and Hermione are so strong, because they know just how the other feels about them. She told me to tell you again--but that's when I realized--" Ginny paused, blushing, and raised her eyes to Harry, "--that I've never actually told you. And I'm sorry I haven't Harry, because you deserve to know. It was just that I've always felt it, so I just assumed that you knew, but in case you don't, Harry--

"I love you."

They were just three simple little words, but it was thoroughly amazing how high his heart leapt up at the sound of those three words strung together. It reminded him of the first time that he had flown on a broomstick. He was soaring higher and higher above everything that was wrong, and the only thing that remained was the fact that the loveliest girl in the world had honestly said that she loved him. And from the way she said it and the way that she looked at him, he knew that it wasn't because he was the Boy Who Lived; she simply loved him. Even if his impossible dream came true and he was the most ordinary boy on the planet, she would still look at him as extraordinary. Subconsciously, Harry reckoned he always knew the intensity of Ginny's feelings for him, but hearing her say it aloud made all of those glorious feelings rise to the surface. He was flying, he was soaring, he was invincible, and it was all thanks to her.

Now he realized that she needed to experience this feeling, too. She had to know what it was like. Although Harry didn't reckon it would feel as exhilarating to hear the truth of how he felt about her, if she could just feel a ghost of what he was experiencing, it would be worth it.

He had to touch her while he said it, to reassure himself that she was real, so he slid his hands up to her waist before opening his mouth to say the words he had never said to anyone before.

"I love you, too."

It was as though a dam had burst inside of him. All of the feelings he had locked away for this girl had just come pouring out, and before he could initiate it, she kissed him. It was one of those kisses that utterly drained you as you gave everything you had to the other, yet at the same time, you felt as though you could leap over mountains and oceans in a single bound. It only lasted a few seconds, but Harry knew that the toe-tingling effects would be staying with him for a long time. He loved someone and she loved him back.

Ginny sat back on her heels with glittering eyes, and she lovingly ran her fingers through his mussed hair, one finger trailing along his scar before dropping her hand and getting to her feet. She held out a hand to help him to his feet, eyes searching for any indication of a potential threat. Harry hopped to his feet and she giggled quietly at his sudden exuberance. "Go get him," Ginny said earnestly with a squeeze of his hand before turning around and jogging away.

Harry blinked in shock. Was she honestly leaving now? "Where are you going?"

Ginny whirled back around. "Now you know how it feels," she joked lightly. "I was going to find Hermione and Ron," she said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. "You do still want me to--"

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said briskly, voice hardening as he slowly morphed from star-crossed lover to fierce warrior. However, the glow that Ginny had brought to his heart still remained. "It's just--" Harry used one of his precious moments to try to coherently describe what he was feeling. He had been trying to find a way to beat Voldemort for ages, and it was suddenly as though a light had been turned on inside of his heart and soul and he was seeing everything with crystal clarity for the first time ever. "--I just didn't expect it to be so simple."

Ginny smiled. "Harry, we're anything but simple," she contradicted teasingly. She backed away from him, not able to bear tearing her eyes from him just yet. "Good luck," she said earnestly, starting to look more than a little nervous. "And be careful," she begged in a whisper. With one last lingering look, she turned around and ran off to find her brother and her best friend.

Harry could only watch her go and pray that he would live long enough to see her face one last time. He purposely turned on his heel and strode back to the clearing to fulfill that blasted prophesy.

**

How can you see into my eyes like open doors
Leading you down into my core
Where I've become so numb without a soul

My spirit sleeping somewhere cold
Until you find it there and lead it back home

Wake me up inside
Wake me up inside
Call my name and save me from the dark
Bid my blood to run
Before I come undone
Save me from the nothing I've become

**

Hermione managed to get Ron as far away from the clearing as possible before dropping her hold, throwing off the Cloak, groping in his pocket, and heaving his wand as far away from them as humanly possible. Ron remained hunched on the ground, arm curled protectively around his abdomen. He hadn't realized who his attacker was just yet, despite the fact that Hermione couldn't bring herself to take her eyes off of him. As she stared down at him, her heart threatened to boil out through her throat, but a hard swallow managed to keep it from escaping.

This was it--this was the moment she had been waiting for. This was the one chance she had to save Ron, and she was the only one who could do it. Suffocating, stifling mounds of pressure were heavily bearing down upon her shoulders, and Hermione knew how awful it had to be for Harry. He had the weight of the entire world on his shoulders, and she was ready to lose it completely from trying to save the one person who just happened to be her entire world.

Hermione knew that she had to say something or do something to get him to snap out of this, but the only thing that came to mind was to whisper the delicious sound of his name. Ron turned his head toward her at the sound of her voice and he just stared for a long moment before harsh, arrogant laughter bubbled past his lips.

"Hermione," he returned with extremely false politeness. If he were standing, Hermione would have been certain that he would complete the sarcastic statement with a mocking bow. His face was half-hidden in shadow, but even the patchy darkness couldn't conceal the smirk and the cruel gleam to his eyes. He got to his knees, still wheezing slightly. "You came all this way just to see me?"

Although his demeanor was infinitely harsher and his voice bore no resemblance whatsoever to his typical low, reassuring tone, Hermione knew that stubborn jut of the chin from anywhere: he was challenging her. And Hermione had never backed down from Ron before. She certainly wasn't about to start now--not when she knew exactly what to do.

She tossed her hair defiantly over her shoulder and also raised her chin. "Don't flatter yourself," she admonished in her best lecturing voice. "I came for Ron, not you." Ron had started to chuckle in that gut churning, awful way, and Hermione raised her voice in an attempt to shut him up. "I'm not leaving until I get him back," she snapped.

"Pity," Ron remarked casually. He nodded to himself for a moment before springing forward and roughly tackling Hermione around the waist. Hermione grunted as she fell and squirmed, but before she knew it, she was pinned to the forest floor with Ron kneeling next to her, leaning so close to her that she could feel his hot breath on her shoulder. Her shoulder throbbed from landing on a gnarled tree root and Hermione winced, not at the pain, but from the realization of just how far away Ron really was from her. He had actually hurt her; he willingly, physically hurt her. And although she knew it wasn't really him, it still terrified and unnerved her nevertheless.

As always, he picked up on her discomposure, and the horrendous smirk grew even wider. "Scared?" he breathed mockingly into her ear.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to forget the words he was saying or the position she was in and just focused on the sound of his voice and the wonderfully familiar grooves of his fingertips encircling her wrists. She knew every inch of this boy, and if she could just concentrate and not let her fears and doubts overwhelm her, she would be able to find him in an instant. The way she was being restrained reminded her of the photograph Ginny had taken of her and Ron wrestling the summer after fifth-year, and the sheer power of that memory erased the fear that had been clawing at her stomach. The real Ron would never die as long as she kept that memory of him alive.

"No," she finally answered slowly, her eyes still shut. "Ron would never hurt me," she explained honestly.

Ron let out a snort of disbelief. "Why wouldn't he?" She was still so involved in reminiscing that she didn't even hear the muttered, "Nosy know-it-all like you."

"Because you saved me from a troll even when you thought I was a nightmare," Hermione reminded him. "You belched slugs for me. You jumped in front of a Blast-Ended Skrewt when you were annoyed at me about Viktor. You looked out for me every day when we broke up. Because one of the things I love about you is that it actually sickens you to see me or Harry or anyone else in pain, so there is no way you could inflict that on anyone." His grip on her stiffened slightly and Hermione opened her eyes, feeling brave enough to meet his eyes dead-on. "You could never hurt me," she repeated. "In fact, you would ask me to hurt you in this situation." Ron didn't look away from the intensity of her stare, and his eyes glistened for the first time with an emotion other than animosity. She used the opportunity to bend her elbow and awkwardly twist her wrist so that her fingers were pleadingly crawling over Ron's. "And it would kill me to do it, but I would--I would do anything you asked me to, Ron." She managed to sneak her fingers through the gaps between each of his so that they were somewhat holding hands. "This is real, remember?"

Ron's eyes flashed again; he obviously did still remember. It was utterly amazing how his eyes could still take her breath away even at moments like this. She held her breath as she lost herself in his eyes, reaching out as hard as she could empathically to try to draw him back. Her stomach spiraled up into her chest as she stared, her soul trying desperately to creep in and merge with his. It was rather ironic how similar her battle with Ron was to Harry's with Voldemort and how both battles were playing vital roles in determining the fate of the world.

Although Hermione knew that she was lying on the ground, it felt as though she were running down a long hallway. There was a door at the end of the corridor, and although the wind was whipping past her in the vain attempt to blow her backward, and her feet were sinking into the floor as though she were wading through quicksand, she kept moving. She wouldn't stop fighting, because she knew that if she opened that door she would be back where she belonged. She would be in the home she had always dreamed of. If she got to the door, she would be safe. Everyone would be safe if she brought Ron back, and that thought propelled her to lunge past the gusts of ice-cold wind and through the thick quagmire. She stumbled and almost fell, but her fingers closed around the doorknob nevertheless, and with a huge rush of blessed relief, the door opened a crack. Warm rays of light poured over her chilled body, and Hermione breathed at last--she was home.

SLAM

The door slammed shut and Hermione flew backward, the back of her head smacking into the soft dirt. She was back in the woods outside of Harry's house. Both her and Ron's shoulders were heaving as they fought to catch their breath. Ron broke the eye contact and Hermione's entire body sagged with disappointment. Empathy was not going to work this time. Ron went back to business, purposely avoiding her eyes as he ran his fingers searchingly over her pockets and her body. For the first time ever, the brisk, clinical feel of his touch caused her to shiver--it was so awfully obvious that someone else was living under his skin. "You came here unarmed?" he muttered. "Right stupid of you."

Hermione didn't know what possessed her to shoot out a response so readily and forcefully, but before her mind could catch up to her heart, she was already speaking. "I don't need a wand."

And she really didn't. She should have known it the moment she had opted to throw Ron's wand away rather than pocket it and use it against him. Magic was very useful in many, many situations, but it wasn't necessary here. After all she and Ron had been through together, wands weren't needed to channel the power they shared. All she needed was him, and suddenly she was the most powerful witch in the world.

Ron cocked his eyebrow in disbelief. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," Hermione returned before proving her point. With a strength that a girl of her size and stature did not normally possess, she slipped through Ron's wide hands. Ron growled as she evaded his grasp, but she didn't stay disconnected from his skin for long. Nimbly avoiding Ron's desperate attempt to restrain her once again, she scooted out from underneath him, sat up, and threw her arms tightly around his neck, locking her fingers together and wrapping her legs around his waist. Ron let out another yell of outrage and tried to forcefully push her hips away from his body and pry her fingers from his neck, but it was hopeless. Hermione was not about to let go until she was certain that when she finally did draw back and look into his face, Ron Weasley's eyes would be shining out at her again.

"Ron," she breathed. Her emotions were starting to catch up with her, and all she could say once again was his name. She buried her face closer to his shoulder despite his continued efforts to yank her away from him. "Please," she managed to beg frantically before having to revert to whispering his name again.

And that's when she felt him twitch.

It's funny how quickly an utterly confusing, muddled situation can in a split second become infinitely clear. One minute, Hermione's mind was buzzing with flurried activity, frantically straining to concoct the perfect plan to bring Ron back, and the next it became so obvious. There was no longer any confusion about what she had to do. In fact, there was no question of what her entire life's purpose was. She had been struggling to find her identity from the day she was born, but right now, she knew. Not only that, but she knew what Harry and Ron's purposes were, as well. Harry's had always been rather obvious--he was born to save the world. Ron's was less clear, but now Hermione knew that Ron existed in order to do whatever it took to help Harry win his war. Ron was here to give the world a chance to be saved.

And Hermione was born to give Ron that chance.

She should have known that this was the way to win him back. Ron had always told her to listen to her heart, not her head, and when she had first seen Ron, all she could say to him was his name. It was his name that was going to win him back--it was the essence of Ron that this imposter needed to see. The real Ron had always battled self-esteem issues, and now that teenager had to be reminded of just why the world needed a Ron Weasley rather than another Death Eater.

At whatever cost to herself, she had to give him his chance. And she had to give it to him right now. She couldn't plan it out or rationalize it at all--she had to let every bit of her pour out from her heart. She knew that it would be enough to win him back from the inhibiting depths of hatred he was currently lost within.

Without thinking, Hermione started to whisper furiously into Ron's ear. "Your name is Ron. Ron Weasley. Ronald Bilius Weasley. You were named after two of your uncles. Ronald was your mother's brother and Bilius was your father's. You're a true Gryffindor--a prefect, too. You should have been Head Boy, you know. I wish you had been.

"You love to fly. Your favorite team is the Chudley Cannons, and you still believe that despite the fact that they haven't won in over a century, you will live to see them win the Quidditch World Cup. You love Martin Miggs comic books. You love to play chess--your Uncle Bilius gave you the chess set you still use today, and he taught you how to play only a week or two before he died. Everyone in your family was shocked by how good you became. You started playing when you were eight, and you've never lost to anyone except Dumbledore.

"You have a wonderful family--five brothers and a sister. You're a lot like your Mum, and you love her to death, even though you complain that she nags you quite a bit. But even when you do complain, you know she only does it because she cares about you so much--just like I do.

"You and your Dad get along a bit better because you are quite different, although you did inherit that trait of his where your ears turn red whenever you're upset. You can talk to him about anything, and you're really proud of the way he didn't let people like Lucius Malfoy bully him out of his job at the Ministry, and that he was finally rewarded by becoming Minister. You wish sometimes that you were a bit more like him because he can be so patient.

"If you had to pick a favorite brother, you would have to say it was Bill. He taught you how to fly when you were only five, because he thought you had a natural flair for it. Your Mum threw a fit, but Bill would still teach you even though she forbade it. You admire him so much that you tried to grow your hair out like Bill's, but your Mum cut it while you were sleeping.

"Charlie taught you everything he knew about all the creatures he ever studied, because he hoped you would come work for him one day. You visited him one time and got to help him and loved it, but ever since Norbert, you've stayed away from dragons.

"Percy and you didn't get along much any more, but you still care about him and although you're really angry at him for what he's done, you're going to find it in your heart one day to forgive him. It's more than he deserves, but you've always given to people what they don't necessarily deserve, because you always follow your heart. You told him that before he died, and I was so proud of you for that.

"Fred and George were your tormentors when you were younger, but they taught you how to think on your feet and stick up for yourself, and that was exactly their intention. You're their only little brother, so they wanted to pass a bit of themselves along in you. They're quite protective of you, and they adore teasing you about me.

"You care about Ginny more than any of your brothers because she is your baby sister. She worshipped you as a kid because you weren't just her cool older brother, but because you were the only older brother who wouldn't treat her like a baby all of the time. You were her best friend back then, and you were the only brother who she told about learning how to fly on her own. You were the one who told her how to find your other brothers' brooms because you weren't about to let her use yours. She was always grateful for that, especially since you never told anyone and covered up for her quite a bit--if any of your brothers accused someone of flying their broom without permission, you took the blame.

"Your best friend in the world is Harry Potter. You met him on a train and were so shocked that the most famous young wizard in the history would want to sit with you. You didn't realize that Harry was equally as interested in you--he thought you were brilliant. You were friends from the word go and haven't quit since. Even when you fought, you still always looked out for Harry. He's your best friend and you would eat poisoned slugs for him if necessary."

Hermione didn't know when it was that Ron stopped struggling. His arms were limp at his side as he just sat there with Hermione clinging to him as if the world was about to end. He was just listening, and the fact that her stream of consciousness oration had had that effect on him amazed her so much that she decided to push her luck.

"He's in trouble, you know," she informed him steadily. "Harry's in loads of trouble right now. You could never stand to see Harry in trouble. You would never just sit by and let Harry get into trouble." She risked moving her hand up to rub against Ron's hair. "Are you going to just let Harry get into trouble?"

Ron's only response was to let out a loud exhale that Hermione couldn't quite read. He still didn't move or fight against her, but he also wasn't ready to jump up to Harry's aid. She still had a way to go, so Hermione moved on to what could possibly be her strongest weapon.

"And then there's me." She burrowed her chin more securely atop his shoulder. "You and me. We've been through an awful lot together. I--I don't even know where to begin--I-I just--I just love you so much, Ron. I don't know what else there is to say--I don't think I can describe how much you mean to me and how much I've missed you over these past few weeks and how much I need you to come back--not just for Harry's sake and your family's sake and the world's sake, but just for mine. Because without you, Ron--well, you are a prat, I know--but you're my prat and--you--Ron--you're just--"

Words failed her. You could categorically list Ron's attributes and all of the reasons that Hermione loved him, but he wouldn't get the emotion behind her. Words weren't enough anymore. She needed for him to feel all of the emotions behind every thought.

She tried again to express her thoughts, but with little success; there were just too many emotions whirling around inside of her. She didn't know when exactly the empathic connection returned, but once the door opened just a sliver, Hermione somehow unconsciously slapped it open with a tidal wave of emotion. Ron had always allowed her to let her feel everything going on inside of him, but she had always held back. Perhaps it had been selfish of her to restrain herself when Ron had been so forthright with her, but it was just too frightening for a teenage girl to let someone know all of her. Now, however, she had grown up, and she wasn't letting Ron see into the very center of her being just because she was battling for his soul--she was doing it because she was ready.

So Hermione just clung and channeled the torrent into him, unlocking the depths of her secret soul and sending him the intimate, deeply personal thoughts that could only be shared between two people who had been lucky enough to find each other in a world as chaotic as the one they lived in. She and Ron had always been very closely connected, much more so than typical teenage couples, but this transcended anything she had ever experienced before. She had always thought that Ron had felt emotions more intensely than she did, but now she knew that wasn't true. She had just as much overpowering passion as he did. She had never let it out like this, but that didn't mean she had never felt it. There was a wide misconception, she felt, that she was the levelheaded, logical one who balanced Ron's hotheadedness perfectly. But that wasn't all there was to her--there was so much more to her than books and logic. She had always had a fire burning inside of her, but now large part of that raging inferno burned for Ron and Ron alone.

She let him know that. She let Ron feel how she felt when she had first glimpsed that flash of Weasley red hair at King's Cross on September 1^st. He experienced how pleased she had been when he had called her a friend after saving her from the troll. He discovered how surprisingly proud and touched she had been when he had tried to curse Malfoy on her behalf, how a small part of her had actually accepted Viktor's invitation to the Yule Ball only to make Ron jealous. He now knew that she had been just as ecstatic as he was about the revelation made at the end of fifth-year and those three days they had spent together at the Burrow. He went with her through the slide of depression she had succumbed to when she had lost him twice: once to the Death Eaters, and once because of his own stubborn determination to keep her safe. He learned how difficult it was for her to trust him again, but how happy she was that she had, because despite everything, she loved this boy. And when it came right down to it, that's all that really mattered to her.

He followed her through the evolution of their relationship from best friends to something infinitely more; he now knew how she'd felt every step of the way. He learned about her childhood, her hopes, her dreams, her fears, and although he knew many of these things already, it was as though he was learning them for the first time because she was sharing it all with him in an entirely new way. For the first time, Ron felt what it was like to feel a deluge of pure unrestrained emotion--for him. He had finally learned the answer to the question that had been secretly plaguing his thoughts for quite some time: Why the hell would a girl like Hermione Granger pick him?

Hermione's eyes were closed again, and it was as though she could see a small flicker of light in the depths of ebony shadows. She continued to channel everything she had toward that light, willing it to glow brighter and banish the restraints of the inky darkness. She knew deep down inside of her that this was enough to win Ron back from whatever unfathomable recess he had been cast off into, but she also knew it could take a great deal of time. Her love was so powerful, but so was Voldemort's hatred, and she had no idea if or how Voldemort was fighting to keep Ron under his control. She knew that if Harry was fighting with Voldemort at the moment, the grasp on Ron's mind would invariably slacken, but would it be enough to bring Ron back right now?

Unfortunately, Hermione didn't get the answer to that question. All she received was a sharp, vicious yank to the back of her head as five thick, meaty fingers ensnarled themselves around a fistful of her curls. As soon as she was forcefully dragged out of Ron's arms, the empathic connection shattered and the air around her dropped at least ten degrees. Her voice came back as she screamed out the worst set of curse words imaginable and fought with every fiber of her being to free herself. She screamed, she struggled, she bit, she scratched, she kicked, she cried. But it was no use. She couldn't help him, she couldn't get back to Ron--she couldn't save Ron.

Although a tiny part of her had accepted that there was no hope, her stubbornness wouldn't allow her to not do her damnedest to change that. The Death Eater that almost caught Hermione and Ginny earlier was the one who had grabbed her and managed to spin her around. He jabbed his wand into the underside of her chin while continuing to yank painfully hard on her hair. She caught a glimpse of Antonin Dolohov kneeling down next to Ron. His hand was resting on Ron's shoulder and speaking to him in a quiet voice. Ron appeared to be listening intently, but his eyes were still resting on Hermione with utter bewilderment, as if asking for guidance.

As always, Hermione had no trouble telling Ron what to do. "Ron, don't listen to him," she shouted frantically, her heels slipping and skidding against the dirt as she struggled and fought to slide out of the Death Eater's tight grasp. She brought both hands up to the fingers wrapped in an iron vise around her hair and wrenched as hard as she could. "Stay with me, Ron--your name is Ron Weasley--remember that, Ron--your name is Ron Weasley!"

Her voice had been steadily rising in pitch and volume until it ended with a frantic squeak just before the arm that had been around her torso moved up to slap over her mouth. But that didn't stop her from shrieking Ron's name over and over again into the sweaty palm as she did the same in her mind, praying and willing that somehow Ron could hear not only the sound of his beautiful name, but all of the love that went behind it.

"That's enough!" the Death Eater holding Hermione roared furiously. He jabbed the wand so forcefully into her skin that a fine trickle of blood dribbled down her throat. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, all the while still screaming Ron's name. She knew that a fatal curse was about to be uttered at any moment.

"NO!" Dolohov ordered, jumping up to his feet and averting Ron's face from the scene. He strode over as fast as he could. "We cannot hurt her now," Dolohov hissed. He nodded surreptitiously over at Ron, who had somewhat recovered and was mutely watching the three of them with curiosity. "If anything is going to snap him out of it, it'll be seeing us kill his little bitch."

"We don't need him anymore," the Death Eater growled as he once again tightened his hold on Hermione. "We got Potter--why should we keep him around?" He cast a scornful look at the still dazed Ron. "He's useless."

"That boy," Dolohov reminded him coldly, "is an empath. He may be a Weasley, but he's anything but useless. The Dark Lord wishes for him to stay on our side even after Potter's killed." Hermione was still croaking out Ron's name, much to the Death Eaters' annoyance, so Dolohov decided to put a stop to the Mudblood's interference. He pulled her from the other Death Eater's slimy grip into his own. "I'll take care of her back at the house--you get Weasley back to the others." The very marrow of her bones was shivering with the chill of Antonin Dolohov's body pressed against hers. "Go quietly, my Mudblood," he crooned warningly, "otherwise Weasley here will find out just how awful that curse I used on you really is."

Hermione couldn't suppress a whimper as Dolohov forced her half-frozen legs to walk forward--he would do it in a second, she knew he would. She had to go quietly; there was no way on earth she would ever do anything to risk Ron's life. And now, Dolohov was finally going to fulfill his wish of killing the ugly little Mudblood who had outwitted him two years ago. As terrifying as it was to know that she was only moments away from death, she exerted all of her remaining energy on shouting Ron's name one last desperate time before the hand clapped over her mouth to silence her and she was propelled forward even faster out of the forest and toward the house.

There was nothing more she could do for Ron. She had given him all of the love that she had, and now he had to use it to finish the battle on his own. As connected as Hermione was to Ron's mind, it was still his mind, and Ron was the only one who could break it free of Voldemort. Harry had to fight Voldemort on his own, and so did Ron. As awful as it was to accept, there were just some battles you have to face alone.

As Hermione was pushed into Harry's parents' kitchen so forcefully that she collided with a thud into the counter and stumbled to the floor in an exhausted heap, she knew that her best friends weren't the only ones who had incredibly difficult battles to win.

She was about to face her own.

**

Hope dangles on a string
Like slow spinning redemption
Winding in and winding out
The shine of it has caught my eye
And roped me in
So mesmerizing, and so hypnotizing
I am captivated,
I am...

Vindicated
I am selfish
I am wrong
I am right
I swear I'm right
Swear I knew it all along
And I am flawed
But I am cleaning up so well
I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself

**

"Well, well, well--look who came back."

For once, Harry wasn't even affected by Voldemort's infinitely sister, chilling voice. He kept his face blank as he strode to the dead center of the clearing, his wand anxiously tapping away against the side of his leg. He knew what he had to do, but that didn't stop him from being very nervous about it, especially since four of the people that he cared about the most were somewhere out in the dense forest with a hoard of Death Eaters looking for them. Only a few Death Eaters were still in the clearing with their master, and they were all obediently flanking the perimeter. Only Harry and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named stood on what would soon be a raging battleground.

"Let's finish this," Harry said flatly.

"Very well," Voldemort agreed as he extracted his slender wand from one of his pockets. "No use in putting it off any longer." Harry had never seen him look so gleeful. He was almost giddy at the prospect of annihilating a seventeen-year-old boy. Voldemort gestured toward him, and Harry tensed in case of a surprise attack, provoking laughter from all of the Death Eaters. "No, no, little boy," Voldemort crooned. "We will finish this the traditional way. You remember our little duel a few years ago?" Harry nodded tightly. He still had nightmares about running in the graveyard in fourth-year. "Good." Voldemort deftly twirled his wand. "Let's begin, shall we?"

"If you could wait a moment, please, Tom."

Harry's stomach sank to his still-tingling toes with infinite relief, while Voldemort tensed and trembled as Albus Dumbledore strode to Harry's side. The headmaster placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, and while Harry's veins gushed with reassurances, Dumbledore spoke placidly to his former student.

"I believe in a traditional wizard's duel, Tom, that each participant has the option of using a second, am I correct?" Dumbledore forged on before Voldemort could answer. "Ah, yes, I believe I did write one of those laws once upon a time. Harry, I would like to offer my services." His blue eyes twinkled somberly down upon Harry. "Will you allow me to assist you?"

Harry could only nod mutely as his eyes drank in the scene at the perimeter of the forest. Even more Death Eaters must have received the word that Harry had returned, as they were congregating around one of the tree trunks to watch the final battle. However, there were also other people starting to appear all around the clearing: Moody, Tonks, Kingsley, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Snape, McGonagall, and Remus were among the few of the Order members who had arrived to help Harry save the day. All of these people supported him. Harry couldn't help smiling. He couldn't believe that there were times in his life that he had thought he was all alone.

Voldemort appeared ready to spit nails and spew fire, but Dumbledore serenely spoke over him again. "You did not believe that Harry would have to fight you alone, did you?" Dumbledore gestured to the Death Eaters. They all had their wands out toward the Order members who were just as ready and willing to fight. "Your friends, after all, have the privilege of supporting your efforts."

"Dumbledore," Voldemort spat out warningly, but Dumbledore only waved his hand impatiently.

"Choose your second, Tom."

Dumbledore was speaking in that voice he used to order around recalcitrant students, and it infuriated Voldemort to no end. His eyes burned and glowed with hatred. His wand shot up, but both Harry and Dumbledore raised theirs to counter it. Voldemort knew that even he couldn't hit both of them before they hit him. With gnashed teeth, Voldemort turned toward his not-so-loyal servants.

"Who will fight with me?" His eyes roved the cluster of sullenly silent goons, and the hatred in his eyes intensified when no one stepped forward. Harry would have laughed if it weren't for Dumbledore's warning squeeze to his shoulder. He couldn't help finding it hilarious that these idiots were devoted enough to Voldemort to drain their blood and kill for him, but they weren't willing to step up and take on a skinny seventeen-year-old boy and an elderly, perhaps a bit batty, wizard. "Will no one help me?!" His voice echoed furiously for a few moments before fading pathetically into the distance. "Antonin," he barked furiously with a sharp gesture. "Get out here!"

Harry's stomach jerked when Dolohov didn't step forward. It was clear that the Death Eater had a personal vendetta for Hermione, and she was out in the forest alone with Ron....

Voldemort rolled his eyes at the absence of his best dueler. "Bella?!"

Bellatrix Lestrange obediently began to step forward, but a new voice rang out behind her and stopped her cold. "I will help you, Master!"

Harry almost died on the spot.

The Dark Lord had regained his sadistic euphoria. "Come forward, Weasley," he agreed viciously, eying Harry.

Harry was just staring at Ron with wide eyes, shaking his head slightly, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of the water. The idea of dueling against Ron, his best friend, was inconceivable. He simply couldn't do it. He knew he had to kill Voldemort, but he would not do anything to risk Ron's life. He tried to step back and drop his wand in conceded defeat, but Dumbledore's hand clamped over his shoulder once again. Harry gulped but readjusted his grip on his wand. No, he told himself firmly and reluctantly, he had to stay. It had to end tonight, regardless of whether Ron was fighting at his side or against him. He could not live another day with this burden of not knowing whether he was going to live or die. He had to know, and he had to know now.

Ron's stride was long and cocky as he approached Voldemort. He was halfway across the field when he suddenly realized something and pivoted, briskly walking straight over to his brother, who was gaping as though he had never seen him before.

"Ron, what the hell--"

Fred's sentence was rudely interrupted as Ron abruptly stuck his leg out behind his brother and pushed so that Fred stumbled and fell on his back. The other Weasleys tried to intercept the attack, but other Death Eaters quickly moved to restrain them. Without any remorse, Ron knelt down, rummaged in Fred's pocket, and retrieved his wand. Without a word, he climbed back to his feet and returned to his master's side. "Lost my wand," he explained robotically. Voldemort had finally turned away from Harry's dumbstruck, horrified face to peer questioningly at Ron. Ron looked reluctant to elaborate, but after a moment of mental probing, he finally relented. "Hermione," he said in lieu of an answer. Voldemort snapped his fingers authoritatively, but Ron raised his voice again. "Dolohov is already taking care of her," he explained flatly. There was something about his voice that made Harry eye him carefully, but when Ron met his gaze coldly, he recoiled and averted his eyes. It was rather painful to see your best friend stare at you with such animosity. "Let's finish him first," Ron suggested. He paused slightly before adding, "After all, we are partners."

Harry's eyes jolted back to Ron. Voldemort nodded with a mixture of satisfaction and disdain, clearly not enjoying being on the same level as a bumbling Weasley. He completely missed the sight of two figures slipping off into the darkness of the forest. He actually had the audacity to reach out and possessively pat Ron on the back of the head as if Ron were some obedient schoolboy who had earned a gold star for answering the question correctly. "Good," he praised. He kept his hand on Ron when he realized how much it bothered Harry and the Weasleys, one finger possessively tracing the curve of Ron's shoulder.

Harry just swallowed hard, refusing to rise to the bait. "Are we going to do this or not?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Voldemort nodded and chuckled. Harry glanced over at Dumbledore, and for once, the serene old wizard brought anything but a sense of security and comfort. Ron's arrival had altered everything. Dumbledore hadn't counted on fighting one of his beloved students. Harry next looked over at the Weasleys with a pained gripping sensation clawing at his chest. They had already lost one son to the Death Eaters--he couldn't let them lose another one.

Ginny, he reminded himself desperately as he woodenly paced away from Voldemort with Dumbledore at his side, barely hearing Voldemort's emotionless voice counting off the necessary twenty steps.

"Now bow..."

Harry jerked forcefully down into a bowing position, and his face twitched in recollection of when Voldemort had used this spell on him before. He should have known it was coming. He had to focus, but having Ron stare at him from across the clearing was killing his concentration. All he could think about was how on earth he was going to save Ron.

"BEGIN!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!"

"Accio!"

Harry ducked and weaved, but it wasn't necessary. Dumbledore had summoned the fallen tree trunk up to block both Ron and Voldemort's spells, while Harry's bounced harmlessly a few feet away from Ron. Harry couldn't help sighing as he ducked and tried again. Damn it, Ron, I'm trying to help you, he thought furiously toward him. If he could just Stun Ron, then he would be out of the way and he could focus on Voldemort instead of worrying about whether or not his friend was in the line of fire or not.

Ron avoided the next curse again, but didn't return fire--he just rolled away toward Voldemort, who was shooting spells at lightning speed toward Harry. Harry gritted his teeth as he just let his instincts take over as Dumbledore had taught him. He bobbed, he crouched, he ran, he rolled--he just moved as fast as humanly possible, and somehow he miraculously avoided the onslaught. Dumbledore managed to block the brunt of the rapid fire with another tree. There was a split second of respite from the warfare, and Ron seized that opportunity to give his master a dire warning.

"Don't forget about Priori Incantatem!"

"I KNOW!" Voldemort shouted back as if his second were a bit thick, but when Harry got to his feet, he thought that Ron was anything but thick. Quite unintentionally, Ron had given Harry an idea. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Harry didn't dodge the spell, although several panicked voices shouted at him to. Instead, all he did was aim his wand very carefully and shout a spell of his own. It didn't matter what the spell was. All that really mattered was that it was aimed directly at its target: the ray of green light shooting toward him.

"NO!" Voldemort shrieked as his wand began to shake along with Harry's. Gold wire-like shapes started twisting around the two of them. Harry set his jaw, his cheek twitching, as he fought with everything he had to maintain his hold on the wand. This time it was much easier because of his maturity, newfound strength, and the fact that this time, there was a multitude of loving voices shouting their support. At least I'll get to see Mum and Dad again, Harry recalled wistfully as the bead started to jolt its way toward the core of Voldemort's wand.

But that plan went to hell as Voldemort suddenly wrenched his wand away and flung it as hard as he could. His wand, Harry's wand, and the golden wires all hurtled up into the air and flew so far away that they faded from sight. Harry clenched and unclenched his fist--now he had to rely on wandless magic.

Dumbledore was protecting Harry valiantly as he stood in a daze, but when Harry finally jerked into action, he rolled out of the protection of the tree trunk that was now lying in the middle of the clearing. He swore as he realized that he was in direct line of both Voldemort and Ron--who were grinning at him in very different ways.

"HARRY!"

It seemed like a million voices were screaming out his name in stark terror. Harry brought his hand up as he tried to think of something, anything to say to protect himself, but his mind was blank. For some reason, his gut was telling him that it was perfectly all right to stay in one place and unblinkingly accept his fate.

Voldemort smirked as he reached out to take Ron's wand. It would be appropriately painful for Harry to be killed by a Weasley's wand.

"HARRY, MOVE!"

Harry was very aware of what was going on around him. He knew that Dumbledore was vainly trying to counter his fatal mistake by a multitude of spells that Voldemort was successfully avoiding. He could hear Mrs. Weasley sobbing his name, he knew that Remus was trying to race out into the open and was being restrained by Death Eaters, but it was also as though time had slowed. It was only Harry and Voldemort: he, unarmed, and Voldemort with an outstretched wand, a smirk of triumph, and the two awful words that had spelled the death of his parents.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

And the wand turned into a rubber mouse.

Harry blinked, and then he had to blink again.

Did that just really happen?

Everyone just stared at the small rubber mouse jiggling slightly in Voldemort's trembling hand, mouths agape, quite unsure of what to do next. Fred abruptly felt his pocket for the joke supplies he kept in his robes and let out a quiet guffaw. And that's when Harry knew--his eyes shot over to Ron, who was barely concealing a wide grin of triumph and staring over at Harry. He shrugged casually with the mischievous gleam to his eye that he'd had when they had snuck out from under the Invisibility Cloak for the first time. "Oops."

Harry couldn't contain his urge to burst out into laughter any longer. They really were partners.

"OOPS?!"

The toy mouse magically incinerated in the gnarled hand of the irate wizard.

"RON, MOVE!"

But Ron didn't need to be told. Years of being the youngest Weasley son had trained him to know when he was about to be cursed from behind. Bursts of bright light narrowly missed Ron's head as he ran, dove, and slid under the fallen tree lying in the middle of the clearing. Harry somersaulted his way over to Ron's side, while Dumbledore returned fire with a newfound placidity.

"About bloody time."

"Excuse me for thinking that the Boy Who Lived could handle Lord Voldemort on his own," Ron retorted cheekily. He winced and crouched down lower when a spell hit too close for comfort. Harry couldn't help reaching out and clapping Ron on the back. It was so good to have his best mate back.

"We're going to have to work that out before we actually start getting paid for this," Harry commented as he almost casually jumped up and sent a spell hurtling toward Voldemort. He was starting to weaken now that it was three against one.

Ron laughed, but it was so forced that Harry ducked back down and turned his undivided attention to his friend. Ron swallowed hard and looked at something over Harry's shoulder. "Harry, she's--"

Harry didn't need to hear another word. "Go."

Ron gave one cursory glance over the tree before jumping up and making a run for it while Harry rose to cover him. Spells nicked his ankles, knocking him off balance and sending him tumbling into the raging torrent of dueling Death Eaters and Order members. Harry's stomach twisted--he hadn't even realized that the bystanders had turned on each other. Dumbledore was busy helping Mrs. Weasley and Remus deal with the drove of Death Eaters charging at them, so when Voldemort's eyes narrowed in Ron's direction, Harry knew he was the only one who could save his friend.

"Hey, hey!" Harry bellowed desperately. He hoisted himself over the trunk and rolled as close as he dared to Voldemort, making sure he was quite vulnerable, yet near. "Remember--ME!"

By some miracle, it worked--Voldemort paused in mid-thrust and just stared at Harry with careful and cruel consideration. Ron scrambled to his feet and took off running into the forest back toward the house before anyone could stop him. Once again, the flurry of activity in the forest had frozen at the sound of Harry's shout. Harry straightened himself up to his full height, his fingers tingling as they always did when he was about to use wandless magic. "This is between you and me," he stated firmly. "So let's end it right now--just you and me." He jerked his head toward Ron and the others. "Forget the rest of them--it's me you want."

Harry really didn't expect it to work. He was just trying to buy Ron enough time to get to his feet and out of the woods. He was completely shocked when Voldemort nodded in agreement and dropped his hand from Ron's retreating back. "You're right, Harry," he agreed much too complacently. "This is just between us."

His hands flew up again in another direction and crackled with that green hateful energy that could only signify the impending doom of one spell.

"NO!"

Harry couldn't bear to hear those words uttered. He blocked them out as he struggled and clawed his way over to somehow stop it before it was too late. He had already seen so many deaths. He couldn't bear to see another one--especially not his.

But sometimes, even your most desperate dreams can't come true, no matter how fiercely you pray for them. Sometimes evil prevails, the good and valiant are struck down in their prime, and those who remain have figure out a way to pick up the pieces of their mighty fall.

The comet of green sizzling sparkles sliced Albus Dumbledore right through the back, and without a sound, the great Headmaster of Hogwarts toppled over facedown into the dirt. In one second, the great white light of the world had been extinguished.

There were so many cries of anguish that Harry couldn't discern his own from the multitude of others. He wanted to run to his headmaster's side as McGonagall and Snape did, but he was rooted to the spot as he just stared at Dumbledore's still back. It couldn't just end like that--this was Dumbledore--he couldn't just die that quickly--it was inconceivable. Dumbledore couldn't just die in the blink of an eye--it just wasn't possible....

Harry's hands clenched at his side as he tried to stop his grief from turning into rage, and from lashing out against Voldemort in a way that he shouldn't. He was so tempted to just fly out and kill--this man had taken everything from him--why shouldn't he annihilate him? Why shouldn't he rip him to shreds? Why shouldn't he tear him up into little pieces and scatter his putrid remains across the mire of some inhospitable swamp? Why shouldn't he just kill?

"This is just between us," Voldemort hissed gleefully, absolutely ecstatic that he'd killed the meddlesome Albus Dumbledore. "And it wouldn't be very fair, now would it? I lost my second, why shouldn't you lose yours?"

It was boiling inside of him again, just like it had when he had seen Riddle. It was bubbling, and seething, and growing stronger and stronger with every mocking breath that Voldemort exhaled as he openly laughed at Harry and the Order's obvious anguish. He wouldn't expect it--it would be so easy--it would all be over in the flash of an eye, just like Dumbledore--and Cedric--and Sirius--and his Dad--and his Mum--

And by some miracle, that was the moment when her face popped up in his mind.

The fire instantaneously turned from an all-consuming conflagration of rage and hatred to one of burning desire, heat, passion, and love. Despite all of his doubts and emotional baggage, he had actually fallen in love with a girl who loved him back. And she was out there somewhere, fighting for him, so the least he could do was fight for her. He wanted to save the world for her. He wanted the world to be safe so that she could live the life she was meant to live and experience the same happiness that she had given him. He needed to stop Voldemort so that she could live.

And it wasn't just Ginny that needed to have that life. Ron needed it. Hermione needed it. Remus did, too. And so did all of the Weasleys, all of his teachers, all of his housemates, all of the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and even the few Slytherins who weren't too despicable. The Order members needed a new life full of light after their years of battling exhaustive darkness. Hermione's parents needed to learn that the magical world wasn't built on fear. The Dursleys needed to learn that, too. All of his friends, and their families, and their friends deserved a life better than the hell they were living. Everyone deserved to feel what Ginny made him feel everyday just by the power of her smile.

Once again, it was so bloody simple. Harry didn't know why he had wasted his time all of these years trying to derive a complicated spell or incantation or ritual to get Voldemort out of his life. It was so easy. It seemed wrong somehow that the answer was so easy, but perhaps it was only so simple to Harry now that he saw the light thanks to the love of a fiery redhead named Ginny.

So, as he slowly raised his eyes from Dumbledore's head body to stare down a towering, chuckling Lord Voldemort, he reached out his hand to perform the spell. But he was actually reaching for Ginny's hand, he was stretching his hand for Ron and Hermione, he was reaching out for Remus and Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley and everyone he cared about. He fueled them all--he was using them all. He had never told any of them aside from Ginny just how much they meant to him, but this was his way to prove that he really did. Without a doubt, this would let them all know that he cared, that he loved, and that he was willing to do anything in the world for them.

His head high, his hand steady, and his heart soaring with a whirlwind of beloved faces whipping around in his mind, he said the words he didn't think he could ever really say and mean it, as Bellatrix had told him a lifetime ago. You had to really mean it when you used an Unforgivable Curse, and he really did. He was ready to say those two awful words, because he was doing it for others--he was doing it for love, just like Remus had taught him.

"Avada Kedavra!"

When the mist finally cleared from the blinding, brilliant light that had shot out of Harry's fingertips, all that was left in the middle of the clearing was a dark-haired young man lying on his side, horribly still, but with a smile across his pale, slack face, and a melted, sizzling lump of charred robes and dark ooze--all that remained of the infamous Lord Voldemort.