The Prophecy Fulfilled

The Prophecy Fulfilled

A few more pops were heard, and several more cloaked figures appeared at the perimeter of the clearance. He was alone. Alone against about eighty dark wizards and Lord Voldemort himself, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.

It had to be now. Right now.

He took a deep breath.

The feeling he'd had, that he was about to get himself killed, swelled into an overwhelming premonition of doom. Harry's knees went weak, and a very large part of him wanted to bolt back to the castle and run for it.

But though he hadn't been much of a hero, one virtue he had never had to fake was courage. Not ever since he had found someone to be courageous for...

He took another deep breath. He had to do this. Not only because everyone expected him to, but because everyone needed him to. And most of all, very deep down within him, a small part of him that didn't want to run away wanted to go on and do what was right.

Harry let that part of him take over his body. He grasped that unnaturally reckless and brave side of him -best described by Hermione as his "saving people thing"- and held onto it for dear life...rhetorically.

In a voice that didn't sound like his, and with a powerful gleam in his eyes and a full standing posture, he spoke.

-Bet you didn't expect me here and now, right, Tom?

The last word had been purposely emphasized. Harry had decided a few months ago that the poor excuse of a human being in front of him didn't deserve to be called "Voldemort", and much less "Lord".

-So you underestimate my Sense, besides jumping to your premature death, boy? Though, now I think about it, you were bound to die tonight, just a few minutes after you saw your little fans be murdered themselves.

A new wave of determination surged through Harry as he thought of those who were counting on him; those who he wouldn't bear to lose.

-Not if I can stop you from setting a foot out of this forest!

-Less talk and more action, boy!

-NOT! First, be a man and let go of your pesky bodyguards. This is between you and me, and you know it.

- Don't worry, I already warned my "bodyguards" not to lay a finger on your fragile child body. So, I suppose you heard about the prophecy. Too bad we didn't hear the end, huh?

And without further warning, Voldemort sent a ball of fire from his wand, charging right at Harry's chest. Harry saw his red eyes gleaming like his green eyes had moments before, and his pale face with its snake-like nose looking more deadly than ever.

-Protego!

The life-draining shield was able to deflect the curse, though it was a pretty bad start to the duel, considering it had worn Harry out quite a bit. And as he recovered from this, Voldemort laughed yet another ball of fire, though it was bigger this time.

-Impedimenta! Protego!

Voldemort laughed.

-I see you've got your shield right, boy, but did you really thing you could have reduced my gift? It was quite generous, if I may say so.

Harry heard this from far away, as he was still working hard on maintaining his shield, and making it stronger. He closed his eyes, concentrating hard on anything inside of him that he could draw strength from, and passing it on to his wand. He thought of Quidditch, and Hogwarts; safe and homey as always, with Dumbledore still pacing in his office. He thought of his friends. He thought of the Weasleys, warm again in the Burrow. He thought of Remus, with a lifetime Wolfsbane supply and teaching again. He thought of Ron and Hermione, growing old together. He thought of Ginny, living happily; never knowing what he truly felt.

His shield seemed to dim at this last thought, so Harry -cursing himself mentally- pictured Fred and George Weasley instead, running their shop again, and forgetting about the Order or this war. Nevertheless, his shield was still weak.

He needed to linger. He needed to be strong.

-Give it a rest, Harry. What are you trying to do, you foolish boy?

The voice still sounded from afar, but it was more distorted and time passed; Harry was losing consciousness. He needed to draw strength from somewhere else.

His mind went back to Ron and Hermione. They would live until they were old and wrinkled, with many kids and a big house in the country. Ron would be a talented Quidditch professional, and Hermione would become a great Healer and a mother, because only she could ever manage both at the same time. They would have a family, and live happily together.

He wished he and Ginny could do the same.

Harry mentally kicked himself again. It always had to be her, the one who got into his thoughts and messed with him so badly. He wished he had never hurt her like he had, but he had to keep her away... for her own good.

He was supposed to be his strength. She was all he wanted to fight for. He would die for her. He was sacrificing himself for her.

A shrill, buzzing sound started to fill Harry's ears, and he could feel his shield grow stronger. It was becoming something more than just a shield; more than just magic. It was his power.

He knew what he needed to do now.

-Ginny, I know you are asleep but I also know you can hear me. I'm sorry I never had the guts to tell you this, but I love you. I love you with all my being, and I will do so until I die. I love you so much I am willing to let you go, though I never had you in the first place. Still, you made my life so much happier just by being in it. You completed me, for you were my only constant dream in a life full of nightmares.

The strange sound grew unbearably louder, until Harry could no longer tell if he was just thinking or saying this aloud. He felt the shield grow stronger, so he continued.

-I will die tonight, but I will die happy because I'm doing this for you. Peace will be yours, tomorrow. You will live in a world of peace, love and safety. As for me, I will finally be with my parents, watching you grow and enjoy a long life.

After this, Harry quickly pictured Voldemort's wand in his head and -concentrating on that image- opened his eyes.

Voldemort dropped his wand, as if burnt by it, and watched it shatter into a thousand pieces an instant later. At the same time, Harry's wand shattered as well, and the shield disappeared.

Harry fell to his knees, spent. Yet, he remained with a lifted gaze, watching Voldemort. The feeling of panic took over him again, but this time he was too weak to run.

A Death Eater came forward to Voldemort and kneeled, presenting his wand to him.

-You and me, Tom!

Harry had said this in the same voice he had used at the beginning of his "conversation" with Voldemort, though he soon resumed drawing fast, ragged breaths. He honestly didn't know where he had gotten the courage to utter those four words.

Thankfully, Voldemort's pride got the better of him.

-Leave him to me, Dolohov.

Again, a surge of anger rose through Harry as he learned just who was hiding underneath that cloak. That man had killed Charlie Weasley...

However, this lasted very little, since Voldemort advanced toward Harry shortly afterwards. Panic took hold of him again. He tried to stand up. He wouldn't die on his knees. He had to try at least once more, even if he had to fight Voldemort with his bare hands.

He couldn't stand up.

The shield had had very little effect, or at least much less than he had expected it to. He was exhausted.

Voldemort's eyes pierced through him, and his scar started to hurt again.

-Get up, boy!

Raising his voice, Voldemort continued speaking in a cold hiss.

-And this is the one who dares to call me "Tom".

A general laugh erupted from the circle of Death Eaters surrounding the two foes.

-I first thought it would be wise to leave you at last, but now I see just how pleasant it would be to carry your dead body to Hogwarts, and let everyone see their fallen "hero".

Harry stood up, at last.

He wouldn't let that happen.

Suddenly, Harry had an idea. He could still fight. Gryffindor's sword was inside the Sorting Hat. He could take it out of the hat, and Slytherin's sword would be there too. But... his wand was history.

He closed his eyes again, picturing the Sorting Hat this time. He made himself want the Hat. He made himself feel the handle of the sword in his hand. He made himself want to fight as Gryffindor had; with that sword in his hand.

Soon, the Sorting Hat arrived at Harry's feet. He bent and picked it up, taking the sword out of it.

-I wouldn't consider victory quite yet, Tom. And yes, I do dare call you that, for you are certainly no "Lord", and neither can you flee from death, like your name suggests. Take your weapon, and let us finish this.

He tossed the Hat at Voldemort, who grabbed it and took Slytherin's Sword out of it. His eyes were gleaming more that ever, and his unnatural laugh shook Harry's will.

-Oh Harry, you just signed your death sentence, didn't you?

Truth be told, Harry didn't quite know the answer to that question, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to find out.

A sword felt awkward in his hands, for he had only used it once before in his entire life. He started to swing it, blocking Voldemort's own attempts. He held the handle with both hands, but soon learned this prevented him from moving more swiftly. A few times, Harry barely missed a good stab.

Voldemort was also moving very fast, obliging him to walk backwards in defense, and almost making him lose his balance.

Remembering his first task in the Triwizard Cup, Harry resorted to Quidditch as a sort of guide to his predicament. He imagined the snitch was Slytherin's sword, and that his hand was Gryffindor's sword. This helped him stop more blows.

One, however, he did not stop.

The blade cut through Harry's upper left arm. He screamed and dropped the sword. However, he was surprised to hear Voldemort scream as well, for an identical wound had appeared in his arm, at the exact same place as Harry's.

Something clicked in Harry's mind now. His connection with Voldemort had deepened even further, now that they didn't have wands to block a part of that bond.

Dropping to his knees again, Harry tried to grasp the sword with his right hand as strongly as he could -the pain greatly weakened his arm- and made a small cut in another part of his own arm, while making sure Voldemort was still busy checking his arm.

He then looked up at Voldemort, wide-eyed. The cut had not appeared in him this time, though.

But...

Harry thought again, though he had a harder time concentrating, now that Voldemort had grabbed his sword again. He was lonely, and he was scared.

-You can't damage my body, you foolish boy. But I am almost immortal now, remember? I am made of stronger things than flesh.

Inwardly, Harry smiled.

That was not true, and Voldemort didn't even know it. When he had come back, Voldemort had used a mortal's blood, a mortal's ashes and a mortal's hand as main ingredients. This had made him considerably more vulnerable than before. And now the bond which destroyed their wands had been passed on to them. The love on Harry's "shield", on his eyes, on his whole being, had destroyed Voldemort's wand. And Voldemort's wand had destroyed his own, even if his wand wasn't being full-fledgedly attacked.

As he readied his sword, Harry thought of Hogwarts, Remus, Tonks, the Weasleys, Ginny, Ron and Hermione, for whom he would die for. He thought of his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Neville, Hagrid and Charlie, and countless others who had all died for/because of him.

-And I am made of stronger things than magic!

He plunged towards Voldemort, yelling as loud as he could, but at the last moment, he pointed Gryffindor's Sword down at the ground as he let Slytherin's dive deep into his chest.

Voldemort was yelling, too, but his yells sounded like screams of pain and agony. He pulled the sword out and retreated a few steps before toppling to the ground. Harry felt the sharp metal blade leave his body, leaving the wound open. A hot, searing pain invaded his torso and immediately spread throughout every inch and hair of his body. He fell backwards and tried to concentrate on that power he couldn't even begin to describe. But that thin line between pain and love seemed to fade constantly.

Harry was in agony, too, but he was okay with it. He was still scared, and he was still lonely, and he was still dying.

He was dying in love.

He did not like what he was seeing now. Death Eaters were squirming in pain as well, clutching their tattooed forearms. His stomach was leaking blood, soaking his pyjamas and his last Weasley jumper.

So he chose to close his eyes instead.

So it was that Harry Potter last heard the Dark Lord's screams. He last saw his Weasley jumper covered in blood. He last breathed the damp smell of the forest pines. He last felt the knitted fabric under his fingers, and he last thought that he had never really been alone, after all.

He didn't know if he looked like a coward now, but he no longer cared much for that. He refused to let that horrible snake-like face be the last one he ever saw on this earth. He felt a lot of pain now, too. So he shut his eyes as tightly as he could and clenched his teeth.

And, soon enough, Ginny's pure, smiling face was all he saw behind closed eyes. Her warm laughter was all he heard, and he could almost smell her hair and taste her lips.

His face relaxed, but he kept his eyes shut. The pain was going away now. So were the warm laugh, the sweet taste and the wild scent. But her face...

Her face would be forever on his mind.

And a small smile curved on his lips before his whole body went rigid and numb.

So it was that Harry Potter heard, saw, breathed, felt and thought no more.