The Last Battle

Chapter One: April 15^th

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"I have to do this."

"What?"

"No, you don't!"
"Yes I do." Harry responded quite calmly, despite the way his heart was pounding violently against his chest.

"No you don't!" Hermione protested again. "Harry, you don't have to. Nothing says you -"

But Harry cut her off, saying, "Yes, I do, Hermione. Don't you understand? I was sure that you, of all people, would understand...?"

Hermione shook her head, looking lost in thought. He searched her face for some sort of emotion, but he found none. Instead, he turned to Ron, whose face was also unreadable.

"Don't either of you get it?" he asked quietly.

They were in the common room - it was hot and loud, as it was toward the end of the Easter holidays. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all sitting at a table, doing homework, as usual. As N.E.W.T.s were approaching, the teachers were relentless - they piled on the homework every day and especially over the weekends.

"Not really, mate," Ron said, shifting uneasily in his chair. "I mean, I'm not as smart as you or Hermione..."

"Nonsense, Ron," Hermione said irritably. "You have the intelligence, you just don't put it to use."

"Oh, whatever," Ron said grumpily.

"Quit fighting!" Harry exclaimed, annoyed by their constant bickering, his patience cut short by the lack of understanding, the horrible throbbing of his scar, and his knowledge of what he had to do.

"Okay. You know that prophecy about me and Voldemort?"

Hermione dropped her quill on the table; her elbow hit her ink pot and sent it flying across the table, covering everything within four inches with blackness but ignored it, gaping at Harry. "You mean..."

"'For neither can live while the other survives'," Harry said heavily. "Dumbledore told me, remember?" He got out his wand and flicked it at the massive cloud of black that was slowing seeping across the table; it vanished instantaneously.

"Two years ago..." Ron added, staring at Harry with disbelief. "Yeah, I remember."
"Yes, that's all very good, Harry," Hermione said, looking very worried, "but how do you know...how do you know...that you have to fight him...today?"

Harry sighed, absentmindedly ruffling his untidy hair. They didn't get it. And they never would. He just had to. "I just know, okay? No specific reason. I just do."

"Is it...your scar?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded slightly, thinking hard. "I don't know where he is. But all I know is that I have to face him...tonight. Not tomorrow night. Tonight."

"We'll be with you, Harry."

"Never fail, you, mate."

"We'll always be at your side, through everything."

"I promise."

"We promise."

Harry was surprised but touched at these words said by his ever-loyal friends. "Thanks, guys," he said, his gaze softening and his anger and frustration melting away.

"I'm the only guy here," Ron pointed out softly, a smile playing on his lips.

"Besides me," Harry added.

He looked at Hermione; her knowledge had always helped him, and he would be forever grateful. Her knowledge, especially about women, had and always would help him; because when he didn't understand Cho or Ginny, he could turn to Hermione and find the answers and consolation he needed, whereas Ron couldn't even think about doing that, as Ron could barely tell flirting from fighting--to him it was all the same. But Hermione...she was just always there, and she always had the right answers. Sure, they had their fights, and she wasn't as close to him as Ron was (only because of the gender issue), but they were the best pair of opposite gender friends you could find.

Then he looked at Ron. Ronald Bilius Weasley, the boy who had stood by him through thin and thick, minus half of fourth year. He wasn't the smartest boy you could find in Hogwarts, but he was almost always honest, caring (especially toward Hermione), sympathetic (he was, in fact, the King of Sympathy), and always quick to joke. He had been a big help to Harry, just like Hermione--in first year, in second year, in third, in fifth, in sixth...now in seventh. He couldn't help feeling safe around Ron--whether it was because he was Hermione's boyfriend, or because he was so big, Harry didn't know. Maybe because Harry felt comfortable around Ron--like he could be himself, not like at the Dursleys. Or maybe because Ron was as close to family (besides Sirius) to anyone, anyone in the world, besides Ginny and Hermione, of course.

Ginny. He loved her. Oh, how he loved her. The previous summer had began, for the most part, with shy glances and even shyer smiles, then, suddenly, they were pressed together, their bodies hot and sweaty as they covered each other in kisses and caresses, hands touching inappropriate body parts and tongues wandering into mouths other than their own. That was how they had spent the first week of summer like that but, then, Harry had made up his mind; he, Hermione, and Ron had to find the final Horcruxes. They had been, at first, planning not to return to Hogwarts but in the end, it was Mrs. Weasley who requested they return to school for their N.E.W.T.s so they could get decent jobs. If they even survived.

The Horcruxes. The only one left was Voldemort himself. They had found Nagini one evening, while they were camped a very short distance away from the Riddle House, where they supposed Voldemort was hiding out again. Very carefully, Hermione shot a very well-aimed Killing Curse at the snake which had immediately died. Shocked and terrified but very pleased with herself, Hermione had crept out from the tent, grabbed the snake's body, and quickly buried it.

But that was only one. There was still the cup, the locket, and something of Ravenclaw or Gryffindor's. Many weeks later, Hermione, upon sudden inspiration, had gasped, "Harry! We need to go to Grimmauld Place!"

So they did. After they watched Hermione run up the steps and enter the house, Harry and Ron found Hermione, instead of, as they both thought, flipping through a book, trying to pry open the locket that Sirius had found before their fifth year. After some tugging and pulling, in which three of Hermione's sharpest nails broke and Ron got a bloody nose, Harry suggested they use wands, which made both Ron and Hermione blush and feel incredibly stupid.

Many tedious hours followed that announcement, with little talking and lots of nail-biting and pacing. As night fell, Hermione was allowed to go to sleep on a chair while Ron and Harry worked tirelessly into the early morning hours, fully aware of the growing threat of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Finally, at four in the morning, with Ron half asleep but determined, the locket's hinges creaked and it opened perhaps a millimeter at the most. Hermione awoke at the noise and realized that the locket was so old that the contents did not have to be released for them to be destroyed, but if the locket was destroyed in its entirety, then its contents would be destroyed too.

"Any three year old could have told you that, Hermione," Harry had said later, "but just with smaller words."

The locket was destroyed within moments. Quickly the trio rummaged throughout the house, finding nothing but the remains of Kreacher's 'room', rat skeletons, and lots and lots of dust. Only when Harry slipped and found himself in a room lower than the basement did he notice something. He shouted up for Ron and Hermione, who jumped down to join the Boy-Who-Lived rather reluctantly. They hunted all through the strange room, searching through every nook and cranny but finding nothing. Harry couldn't shake off the feeling that something wasn't quite right. Then he remembered, with a pang of sadness, the spell Dumbledore had used to find the rope to the boat while they were looking for the fake Horcrux. He used it, pointing it at every corner of the room, before finally a large sky-blue bowl, suspended in mid-air, appeared, an invisible seal over its open top, a white-gray-green gas swirling around inside it. Excited, he and the other two examined it. Careful, cursive letters were carved into the side of the bowl: Rowena Ravenclaw. They had tried to curse it, destroy it, but to no avail; the curses and spells merely ricocheted off it and hit the walls. Already exhausted, the trio decided to call it a day.

They awoke and tried again. Every curse and hex they could think of they hurled at the bowl but nothing happened; the bowl just floated with apparent ease, never even moving an inch to the left or right.

Hermione sat down, panting, her busy brown hair in her face, which was glistening with sweat. Ron sat down beside her, equally tired and sweaty, and wrapped an arm around her waist, and then kissed her.

The bowl suddenly shattered, pieces of blue porcelain flying in every direction and scratching Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The mist swirled as it became smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared.

Forever.

~*~

"Harry!"

Harry jolted out of his remembrances and looked at Hermione.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah...fine..." he replied, his stomach clenching uncomfortably at the thought of facing Voldemort in a few hours.

"No, I can tell you're not, Harry." Her eyes were shining with sympathy and she smiled slightly. "Don't worry, though. Everything will be fine."

But, as she returned to her Potions essay, Harry thought, Is it me she's trying to convince...or herself?