Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

Chapter 26 - A Storm of Rose Petals

The salvation of this human world lies nowhere else than
in the human heart, in the human power to reflect, in
human meekness, and in human responsibility.

~~Havel

The damp wood crackled and spit as the fire scorched its length and burnt it as fuel. Harry was seated before the small blaze, upon a wooden chair, and his hands were glowing. Beside him a huge pile of wooden arrow shafts, with metal tips, stood faintly glowing in the darkness outside of the ring of fire, and somewhere off in the distance an eagle shrieked into the night.

He was alone, and hadn't seen anyone for hours apart from the servant who brought crate after crate of fresh arrows to be modified, as well as his dinner. It had been four days since the High Mage had visited him in the wagon, two since he had laid out his plans for the Endless Plains, and in that time he had added his power to over seven thousand arrows. Working night and day, in the wagon as the army marched, and on his own without any distractions when it didn't.

It would not be enough, and he would be working long into this night yet.

On his right an equally large pile of arrows were not glowing, as he had yet to infuse them with power, but he wouldn't sleep until every one of them - some eight hundred - were changed. Time wouldn't allow it. He never had enough time - and that was what it always came back to.

Harry was barely using an ounce of his awesome power for this task, and yet his forehead was marred with sweat, his face grim and his jaw tight. A wild light flashed beyond his dim eyes, and despite the warmth of the fire he was shaking slightly. Down on his right arm, a throbbing pain coursed through the bruised and scarred skin over which Tarishma's stitches barely held Allarius' poisoned wound closed.

They had had to be replaced twice, as moving too fast had torn them clean apart. Long red and purple lines were visible stretching out around the wound, and Harry knew it was an infection - of a type never before experienced by anyone - and when the infected veins reached his heart, when then lines finally made it there.... he was dead.

The High Mage and many Healers had tried all they knew to cleanse the wound, and Harry had tried himself as well but it wasn't budging. The medical wards the Mages had placed on the cut were only slowing the poison. Once again, it came down to time.

Ten days or so until the army reached the Endless Plains... could he survive until then, or will the evil poison claim him before that. Time - it always came back to time, and how Harry never had enough of it. If things looked bad, he had already decided to abandon the army and seek out Allarius on his own.

He could travel faster alone... how... he couldn't remember how.... ah, yes, on the broom. That was one memory that continuously tried to slip away. On the broom he could reach the Plains in a day, but what waited there would most likely destroy him without a force large enough to distract it.

One hundred thousand demons - at the least, and scouts occasionally made it back from the Plains reporting that the numbers were increasing by the thousands. It did not bode well for the army, and that is why Harry increased his pace with the arrows. Time was against him, in more ways than one, but he had had worse odds.

Hadn't he? The frightening thing was he could not remember.

Palms still glowing, Harry pressed an arrow tip into the left and, knowing instinctively what he was doing, forced raw magic into the tip - not a lot, as it could melt the metal and make the arrow useless - but enough to drive the point home, so to speak. He placed it carefully into a quiver on the ever-growing pile to his left.

Behind him a thousand fires dotted the valley that the army had camped in this night, and Harry could hear muttered conversation, swords being sharpened and horse's hooves upon the ground. He forged another arrow... and another, which was, of course, followed promptly by another. Fifteen to a quiver, and then a new one was needed.

Infusing the arrows with magic was second nature to him now, and Harry's mind drifted to others thoughts and plans as he continued his work on the weapons. He thought of the Endless Plains, of the strategies he had decided upon, the sacrifices that would be made.... it would come to swords, he knew that. The demons were relentless, insane and driven on by eternity trapped in darkness, arrows wouldn't stop them all. Tomorrow he would work on the swords of the cavalry, and maybe the quarterstaffs of the foot soldiers.

As the night wore on the pile of arrows on his right dwindled and the one on his left grew. A lance of pain shot up and down his wounded arm with every arrow he modified now, but Harry being Harry he ignored it and moved on defiantly against the wound. He would not let it slow him down, not when so much was riding on this wave.

"Still awake, Harry?" Tarishma asked, appearing out of the darkness to his right, stepping into the light of the fire.

Harry had heard her coming, however quiet she had tried to be. "You on patrol again?" he asked.

Harry supposed he could count Tarishma as a friend of sorts in this world - he had spent more time with her than anyone else, and fought beside her. That forged bonds deeper than years of friendship could. That said, he had scarcely seen her over the last few days. Having had a few nights experience back in Kinfriar with the charged arrows, she had been instructing hundreds of bowmen in their use and potency. What to expect, how powerful they truly were, and how it changed a shot.

"Indeed I am," she sighed, and hunched down on her heels at his side, glancing at the two piles of arrows in their quivers. "How is the wound?"

Harry shrugged and met her eyes. "It's killing me, but what're you gonna do?"

Tarishma frowned and brushed her dark hair back over one shoulder. "What can I do?" she asked, misinterpreting his words.

Harry smiled. "Never mind, I didn't mean you. Just something we say where I come from."

"And where is that? Surrey, you say, but I know of no one who has heard of it. Beyond the seas, perhaps?"

"It doesn't matter," he sighed. "Where... how many days do you reckon it will take us to reach the Plains?"

Tarishma gazed off north into the darkness out there, her brow furrowing in thought. "Possibly nine days, if we push hard, but then that could change with the terrain. I have never been further than the mountains we will reach tomorrow."

Harry nodded. He had heard much the same from others. "I better get back to the arrows," he said after a moment.

Tarishma stared at him for a while, her eyes unreadable, and then nodded and rose. "Take care, Harry," she whispered, disappearing back into the darkness. "Get some rest, you will need it all too soon."

Harry remained silent as she left, twirling an arrow between his faintly glowing hands. He gazed up at the heavens and the silhouettes of the mountains to the north. Unfamiliar stars stretched on for eternity, but he knew that distance didn't mean much anymore. How small everything was and yet how vital each and every world could be....

Trying to remember his life crossing universes, Harry seared his power into more and more arrows. Each one was a small victory for the Light.

*~*~*~*

Three Days Later

Racked with fever, hungry but unable to keep much food down, Harry allowed Tarishma to press a damp cloth to his forehead and rub special herbs and medicines into his ever-worsening wound. The deep purple tendrils of poison had spread to just beneath his shoulder and down as far as his forearm in the last few days.

Lying on his back in the wagon, three hundred glowing swords were lined up against the wall - all he had been able to manage today - and the cabin swayed slightly as the horse pulled it through the high mountain track, fifty thousand men and women trailing along behind.

Harry hated feeling so weak, so unable to do anything about it. Pain and injury he could handle, if it happened fast and even if it hurt a lot. But to waste away like this, slowly and quietly as the flame inside of him flickered, was unbearable. He was about ready to.... to what? Somehow reach Allarius sooner, but how... he had had a plan but... what was it?

Groaning in pain and frustration, Harry made a valiant effort to sit up but Tarishma forced him back down roughly, grumbling about men and their pride as she did. Harry choked laughter and her frown turned into a small smile.

"These medicines can only slow the poison, Harry," she sighed. "But it should be enough... hopefully enough to last another week or so. The poison spreads with increasing rapidity every day."

"Has the King ordered the soldiers to do as I asked?" he managed, remembering his plans of the previous evening. He had been summoned to the King's tent as the General for Demonic War, along with Deschan's other top men, and the High Mage. Harry had finally revealed his full plan for the army, and most had accepted it - seeing the small glimmer of hope and victory in his words. Evenson, of course, had argued with him on every single point.

"Yes, Harry," Tarishma whispered, dabbing his forehead gently. "The archers are being equipped as we speak, as are the cavalry and the foot. They're also being split into three separate forces... is that wise, Harry?"

Harry didn't speak for a moment, but just gazed up at the wooden ceiling in deep thought. The scouts, mapmakers, and others who had been to the Endless Plains had given him the layout of the land, and where the demon force was supposed to be - everything hung on that - and his splitting the army had seemed the best choice. It would mean thousands would die, but at least it wouldn't be tens of thousands.

He had made the choice and it was being done, those deaths would never happen if it all went to plan, the Twilight Plan he called it, saw it in his dreams. His overall plan that stretched beyond this world and reached... in the end... the source of Creation. Harry felt a chill that was unrelated to his sickness.

"It is the only chance for victory," he rasped, placing a hand on his armoured chest. "For true victory."

"Grace willing you are right, Harry," Tarishma whispered.

Harry sighed. "I don't think Grace has a hand in this one. I think this one is all on me."

Tarishma gasped, affronted. "Grace is all around us, Harry, you just have to know where to look."

Harry clicked his teeth thoughtfully, and then sat up fast, before Tarishma could stop him. She didn't know the truth about the Creator - couldn't know - and he couldn't lie around all day. Dizzy, woozy, Harry stumbled to his feet and turned around to Tarishma. She was staring at him sadly, regretfully, but with understanding.

Scarcely aware of what he was doing, Harry twisted his hand and light flared between his fingers of the right. He blinked and a long stemmed white rose rested lightly in his loose grasp. Dew drops sparkled off it and it was thornless. He heard Tarishma sigh, at its beauty, and then watched it bloom into life, the white petals opening and seeming to sing.

"Here," he said, and carefully handed her the rose. "Keep it close, it'll protect you... bring you luck."

"Harry..." Tarishma sighed, lightly touching the marvellous flower. "Harry, it is beyond--"

Harry waved away what she was about to say and headed for the door. "It's part of what keeps the universe alive," he mumbled, not hearing himself. His mind was elsewhere, on the piles of weapons that needed altering, yet words tumbled from his mouth. "What keeps it in balance ... If your Grace is anywhere, it is in those petals."

The wagon was moving as Harry opened the back door, and he sat down on the steps as they wheeled up and around the thin mountain path, supposedly making for a large valley between two of the tallest stone goliaths that stood as a border between the edge of the world and the Endless Plains. For one instant he thought it was raining white flower petals, but that could have just been the air.

The air was thin up here, and Harry could see his breath condense as he breathed. There was thin snow around the rocky road, and frost on the sparse vegetation. Off to his right the mountain fell away a few thousand feet back to the forest area the army had trudged through over the last few days. At the base of the mountains Harry could still see the army rising, and on the road back to the forest as well. He was amongst the first to rise to the high peaks in the wagon.

Remembering what he knew of the months when he left the mirror world of his own, Harry surmised that it was late November perhaps early December. Time had gotten funny for awhile in the last world he had walked through. The days had been longer, perhaps even double normal days and he had lost all track of time.

His vision faded as he gazed down into the forest, and he bit his lip whilst waiting for it to come back. When it did, he gazed down at his bruised and scarred arm, running with infected veins from one end to the other, and wondered what he did to deserve all of this. Why, when you got right down to it, did it always have to be him?

Voldemort was the one word answer. They were opposites. Good and Evil, Light and Dark, Right and Wrong. Everything one did affected the other in someway. It was frustrating.

"It's prophecy," he mumbled.

Harry's mind spun with thoughts and sickness, with best laid plans and fears. He found himself thinking wistfully of the day he would find himself back in his own world, back on the 20^th of March 1997. As if he never left.... God, it would be incredible. One hell of a story to tell, but then again it may be better if it never was.

"Should they know?"

He had discovered fundamental truths about the universe, about existence, about creation. Would anyone believe him? Would they believe his story, listen to his adventures... he knew of three people who would, and that was all that mattered in the end. But that day could be years away, a thousand battles away, a lifetime away.

And now, he rubbed his unshaven cheeks with the arm that didn't pain him, hid the one that did inside of his vest, and watched the slow sporadic snowflakes drop silently to the stone ground.

What was ahead, he didn't know.

What was behind, he was forgetting.

What was now, he was dying of.

Harry couldn't help but laugh, and it echoed across the high peaks of the mountains.

*~*~*~*

Three Days Later

Coughing and spluttering, Harry was slumped down in his chair at the elongated table inside of the large tent that belonged to King Deschan. His eyes were bloodshot, his arm purple and burning as if it were on fire. It felt heavy, and he wanted to slump to one side.

Worried glances were cast at him from around the table, from the King and the High Mage, Commanders of the army, and the Ministers for War. They weren't worried about him personally, he thought, just their chances in the battle if he were to die. Harry smiled grimly at each of their stares; he would be around for awhile longer yet.

They were camped in this low valley between two mountains for half of the day, and the next night whilst the army caught up after traversing the narrow mountain paths. As it stood now, thirty thousand men and women rested in the valley, and hundreds more arrived every hour.

"Commander Potter," War Minister Krell grumbled. "Will you be well enough for the conflict in four days time?"

Harry struggled to sit up straight in his seat and did so after a moment. He winked at the old bearded man. "I'll be fine... just you watch."

"There can be no error come the moment of battle," Deschan said. "Harry Potter, do you believe you can defeat Allarius?"

Harry nodded. "You saw me push him back, didn't you? It wasn't the first time... I'll, I'll work something out. The army just has to do its job - make sure the three forces are in position at the specified times."

"We will be there, Harry," the High Mage said, the blue haze shielding her eyes from his aura. Harry didn't want to think about that, it was unnerving. "But we must question your wisdom again. Is it wise not to use the pikemen as defence?"

Harry sighed. They had been over this a dozen times, but they still didn't understand. Their experience in battles was against other men, humans battling humans, it became an entirely different game when the enemy was a demon.

"There can be no defence against these demons," Harry growled, his voice weak though. He coughed and spluttered, sniffing as he did. "They are stronger than your pikemen, and, if we give them the chance, they will wash over any defence you try to mount. We must attack, as quick and as hard as we can. Deal them a blow that will send them reeling - the arrows I've modified will do that."

"Surely some defence is necessary," Evenson growled. "We leave ourselves open to annihilation without a vanguard of soldiers defending our ground."

Harry closed his eyes and uttered a curse. "Listen to me, and listen well," he said, feeling angry and in no mood for this. He was tired and sick damn it, and they had to listen to reason. "You are too weak to defend any position at all. These demons have existed for an eternity; have been imprisoned between universes for that time. They are blinded by hot rage and anger, and have strength enough in that to wash over you. Nothing can be defended against them - the best defence, Commander Evenson, is a strong offence."

The men spent the next twenty minutes arguing back and forth over this, sometimes looking at Harry to say something but he never did. If they didn't get it soon, they never would. He had done all he could to convince them... he hoped they came to the right choice. The High Mage remained silent as well, but then arguing amongst men wasn't her position - she was higher than that.

"Your arrows, Commander Potter," a man who Harry recalled as Alson began, "they can destroy a demon at one hundred paces?"

Harry nodded. "That is why you place the archers up the front of the battle, and as the demons draw near, you have the cavalry and foot run through as the archers move back. With any luck, you'll destroy several tens of thousand with the archers alone, giving me my chance to reach Allarius."

"And what will happen if you kill Allarius?" King Deschan asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

Deschan raised his palms in frustration. "What do you believe will happen?"

Harry managed a small smile. "I believe the universe may sigh in relief. I believe that the demons may be destroyed - may. And I believe, King Deschan, that a lot of bad things may be undone. But that's just what I... believe. What may happen could be a whole lot different."

"How so?" the High Mage asked.

Harry's pale sick face darkened. "Allarius," he began, "is Evil. He is everything wrong with anything, and can something such as that ever be truly destroyed? By killing him, I may deal a devastating blow against the Dark, but it will only be temporary at best."

"If the demon leader is destroyed, the demons themselves will leave our lands?" Harry couldn't remember the name of the man who had spoken, and he shrugged in response.

"A whole lot of ifs and maybes depend on this next battle," he replied. "Whatever happens, happens, and you'll just have to live with it either way."

Thoughtful silence followed these words until, "Do you know why the prison holding the demons failed?" King Deschan asked, directing his question at Harry.

Yes, Harry thought. Oh God, yes. "No," he lied. "Only that it did. We have to fight first and ask questions later. For now, just know that my strategy is the only one that will see you through to the end. Don't change it; don't modify it if you think you know better. Do as I've said and we have a chance."

*~*~*~*

"What are the Ways of Twilight?" he asked.

The Guardian shook, with fear and what could have been disbelief. "They... they..." it couldn't say.

"Take your time," Harry said neutrally. "Slowly. What are these Ways?"

"The throne... the Lost Hand..." the Guardian mumbled, shaking uncontrollably. "The Ways of Twilight are the resting place of the Creator, where all threads of existence meet and where they all were spun from. Anything is possible there, anything at all."

Harry nodded. "Sounds like a place to start then," he said pragmatically.

Harry awoke with a start on the tenth morning since duelling Allarius before fifty thousand people. His arm burnt, had been burning for days, and he was already tired beyond belief. Having given himself four hours sleep last night, he wanted to close his eyes again now and not open them for a year - if again at all.

"You know nothing, Harry, nothing. The Ways have been lost, unreachable, non existent, since the dawn of the Beginning. Some believe it is where Evil battled the might of the Creator and won... others say it is where the Creator used his might to create Good, at the last minute, and the strength required killed him. They have never been found, never even spoken of so freely until now."

The purple veins stemming from the infected unhealed wound now clawed down towards the centre of his chest, aiming for his heart. It would all play out over the next few days. For good or ill, fate would be sealed.

Rolling over and coughing up an ugly phlegmy substance that was speckled with seething black growths, Harry winced as the grass to his left burned and died, dissolving as the mucus touched it.

Despite Tarishma's warnings, he had spent the night outside under the stars on their last day within the small mountain range. Another three thousand arrows in their quivers were all piled neatly near the remains of his small fire, glowing faintly and crackling with power. Perhaps they would make all the difference, he didn't know, but would gladly give up a few hours sleep to save a life.

Groaning, his body wracked with fever and aches, Harry managed to stand and went in search of breakfast. It would just be some salted meat and a flavourless porridge, and it was doubtful if he could keep it down or not, but his stomach cried out for food. He was wasting away from this poison, and losing slowly all the muscle mass he had built up over the last year or so. Though that said, without the muscle he may have faded away to nothing days ago - at least this way the poison had something to feed of off.

As usual, the soldiers he passed in the camp gave him a wide berth, not meeting his haunted eyes. Some muttered a brief greeting, standard to his position - Commander - and returned to their bowls of slop. Harry ignored them, didn't know them, wondered if these would be the ones sacrificed....

Don't think about that, he told himself. None of this will happen... you'll change it.

Half an hour later and Harry sat on his own back in the small clearing he had slept in last night. Sparse trees and plant life grew in this valley between the two mountains, and off in the distance he could hear a river roaring down the slope. His hands shook as he gingerly swallowed the grey paste, and his stomach churned.

I should have gone and found him myself, Harry thought. I'm no match for him now - not like this....

A servant in soldiers garb came and began to remove the dozens of arrow quivers with only a small nod towards Harry. He paid her no notice and threw the rest of his breakfast slop away, his mind jumping from his plans and back to his own world.

Faces and images ran through his mind's eye.

Ron.

Hermione.

Ginny.

Laughing.

Crying.

Dying.

His breathing was ragged from all the fluid on his lungs but for a moment that was all forgotten as he thought, wryly, how life had been so much easier in his fifth year. It hadn't been simple by anyone's standard, but it had been normal compared to all of this.

How have I come from being angry at detention to battling for Existence?

In just over a year.

The army was packing up for another day's march behind him, one that would take them out of the mountains and give them their first glimpse of the vast, empty plains that marked the edge on every map Harry had seen in this world. What was beyond them wasn't known, what was on them was feared, and it would all play out within the next few days.

He supposed that he would have to meet with the King again tonight and make sure everything had been kept to plan. What he had laid out... it was the only way, even if thousands paid for it in blood.

Before all that though, he had a thousand swords that needed modifying. With any luck he could do it lying in the back of the wagon he had called home over the last week or so. With a little more luck Tarishma would be there to stroke his forehead with a damp cloth, and put some herbs into the unsealed black wound.

But then he had placed all his luck in surviving the next few days. Perhaps there wasn't any left for trivialities.

*~*~*~*

Two Days Later

To say the Endless Plains were endless was an understatement Harry wouldn't soon forget. He had never, in all of his travels, seen such a wide open and utterly huge space. It reminded him heavily of the infinity he had floated in within the Stream.

The army descended from the mountains twelve days after the battle between Harry and Allarius. Snow-capped peaks gave way to blooming earth and eventually, after trudging down the slopes and then up out of a deep valley bowl, they had stood above the Plains, and most were in awe at their sheer size.

They really were endless.

Vast empty plains sighing under a purple sky were what a dying and utterly defeated Harry Potter saw on the evening of the twelfth day. Fifty thousand men and women, thousands of horses and wagons, trailed behind him as the sun slowly set to their left in the west, casting ling shadows across the plains.

Harry thought he could see for hundreds of miles, hundreds upon hundreds of miles, and it was all just empty - except for one part, but then that was still to come. Long and wavy reed grass covered the endless miles, severely burnt or destroyed in most parts, but still growing strong on the impossibly large plains.

Harry's eyes flickered over a mass of dark blurs moving what could have been fifty miles away - even more. Distance was impossible to tell on these plains. He knew he was looking upon the demon army - or some of it at least. Thousands upon thousands of enraged beasts with strength enough to tear apart the world.

Dotting the plains were crude wooden crucifixes, and nailed to them were decaying humans and animal hides. Harry took it all in emotionlessly, assessing his battlefield with the hardened eyes of experience. So this was what happened to most of our scouts, and people from the outlying villages....

Crows and other carrion birds pecked at the corpses hanging on the wooden crosses for miles around, and dozens of them circled overhead with more coming every minute. Harry wondered if maybe they sensed the coming slaughter... he felt sick to his stomach about it, but maybe that was just the poison that was now millimetres from his heart.

Every breath was painful, agonising. Every movement made him feel sick and want to retch up whatever he had managed to eat. He knew he smelt pretty bad, knew he was wasting away uselessly. He knew that by this time two days from now he would be as dead as those hanging from the crude crosses.

"I don't care," he whispered. "But I can't die...."

He managed a small smile.

"The army is moving away in three parties, Harry," Tarishma came to stand next to him on the rise, her face a mask of sadness as she beheld his ruined form. "Your plan is being put into action... I..."

"Yes?" He continued to stare at the plains, their vastness, their openness... he could walk forever and never find their end....

"I believe this may be the last time we speak together, Harry," she sighed. "I am leaving with the main archers now... you are going with the swordsmen. I want to say goodbye."

Harry remained silent, his eyes watering from the sickness. His hands were shaking but they did so constantly now. Behind him thousands marched to what could be their deaths on his orders, and now he had to say goodbye yet again to another friend.

It certainly did seem, at most times, that existence was doing its best to ensure he was ground down into dust.

"Goodbye, Tarishma," he croaked. "Take care of yourself."

"Farewell, Harry Potter," she said, and gently touched his arm as the wind blew through the two of them, setting her hair flying around her face. "I will pray to the Grace for your survival in the coming battle."

Harry didn't move. "God... your Grace," he began, "doesn't give a damn about me." As if to emphasise this, he coughed up a mouthful of bloody and black mucus that scorched the ground it fell upon.

Tarishma turned and began to walk away, tears in her eyes and anguish on her face. "Faith, Harry," she said as she left. "No matter where you may have come from, faith must be strong in your culture. Why else would you do what is right? Remember your faith, Harry.... One day it may be all you have."

The orange sky faded to purple and red and then finally to the darkest black before Harry limped away from the stone rise. The stars of a foreign and strange world shone down upon him, his aura shone as brightly as the sun during the day, but he was closer to death now than he had ever been.

All around him now soldiers were being organised and moved onto the plains. Crows and ravens circled overhead in the darkness, and if Harry strained his ears hard enough he could hear demon cries on the wind. He knew they knew that they were here.

Limping, coughing and breathing raggedly, Harry spoke quick words with the assembled commanders before the main bulk of the army set out. He would be in the second wave of attack, after the barrage of arrows that would descend upon the demon lines - if they had liens and were not just a mindless rabble - and as the dead piled up he would seek out Allarius.

There was no doubt in Harry's mind that the demon would be hard to find.

It would be a titanic battle - one for the ages, and he did not know if he had the strength for it. Allarius had the power of hate behind him, was infinitely strong and as fast as a viper. Harry, on the other hand, wanted to lie down and die from the pain coursing through his veins.

But anything could happen... anything at all.

By dawn the next morning three separate forces marched across the Endless Plains on the edge of the world under the banner of the King of the Seven Lands. Under the banner of the white rose wrapped around the sword.

One force moved down the centre and was ten thousand soldiers strong. Swordsmen for the most part, at least a third of them were carrying magically enhanced blades courtesy of the dying boy in the front of their lines.

Several miles to their right, twenty thousand archers and pikemen moved closer to the demons that grew nearer with every step they took. It would be them who intercepted the enemy first, followed by Harry's force. Tarishma was in those lines; a white rose of her own wrapped in a silk cloth and tucked into her small pack.

To the far left a final wave of soldiers would reach the demon horde third and last - swordsmen, a few hundred of the remaining archers, and the cavalry made up this force. Twenty thousand more in all, and the last hope for the living. The King and the High Mage led this force.

All in all, Harry didn't think they could do any better than they had. The ground shook with their coming, and every now and again he could hear battle cries and snatches of song from the braver soldiers amongst the crowd. Some faces he saw were grim, others determined, most were fearful. And rightly so.

The sun was creeping over the plains from the east and had only just reached the far force on Harry's left, and when it did tens of thousands of sets of armour glinted in the sunlight and became a shining beacon of hope for all around. They were all glowing, glowing with the hope of one world.

No matter what happened this day Harry knew he would remember this, riding to war with comrades by his side and protecting his back. Friends, allies, those willing to sacrifice their lives for others. He would remember it, even if he stopped it from ever happening at the Ways.

It happened, after all. In one possible world along one thread of existence within an alternate timeline it happened - was happening right this moment. The gravest way to bring out the best in the human species is to attack them. These demons would learn that today, and beings in higher and lower plains of existence would take notice, and count the mortal humans with more respect than ever before.

In the end the responsibility of that came down upon the shoulders of one boy among fifty thousand of the humans. Harry Potter - he had affected matters and had wars fought in his name that he knew nothing about, and never would know. He was a boy who shaped destiny to his will, and was forever seeking redemption. Although... that... he scarcely remembered now - having sacrificed so much.

Harry himself managed to put one foot in front of the other as they neared the darkest force ever known. He was dressed for war - when wasn't he? - and had tied his rather long shaggy hair back into a small ponytail. His bloodshot eyes screamed defiance in the face of everything, and a glittering sword was strapped to his back with thin straps of leather. That, above all else, shone in the sunlight with magic.

Judging the distance now that he was down on the Endless Plains, Harry nodded to himself as he put their time at arriving just before sunset. They would reach the demons just before sunset. It was fitting, after all.

They would fight on the Endless Plains whilst the twilight sky hung above them. Thinking about it, Harry decided it could not have happened any other way. Twilight was the only time it would happen. When you got right down to it, twilight was everything.

Twilight was it all.

*~*~*~*

The sun slowly arced its way across the autumn sky, bringing with it early afternoon, and the prospect of war.

Harry felt tired... very tired, and wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest, to fight when he had strength. But there was no more time now, and never would be if he fell to sleep. It was a choice between death and an apocalyptic duel with Evil itself that he wasn't sure he could win.

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry winced as dizziness swept over him in pounding waves. There had been one short stop today about two hours ago for a small lunch, but now they marched for the demon lines with vengeance in their hearts for the burning and killing in their lands. An army in itself were the fifteen mages that rode with the third force, who were here to take revenge against the destruction of their fortress.... Harry couldn't' remember if that was why they were here, but it sounded right.

Perhaps ten miles away now, an army of darkness seethed upon the Endless Plains, and Harry could see even at this distance that they were being marshalled into some sort of rough lines. Allarius did have some control; it seemed, over the monsters he had set loose upon the mortal worlds.

Two miles to the right, Harry saw Tarishma's force, the main bulk of archers, about eight miles out from the demon lines. Soon now... it would begin soon. Harry had made sure his plan would still be strong if the demons decided to charge, or if they decided to wait where they were now. He hoped they would charge though, it seemed likely they would.

"They are so many," a soldier to Harry's left whispered. She was carrying a bow that already had an arrow nocked into its groove. "Do we stand any chance?" she finished with a whisper.

Harry turned to look at her, casting a critical commander's bloodshot eye over her. She noticed and her cheeks reddened, looking down as if ashamed. "S'alright," he told her, his voice a harsh croak. "Keep your chin up and fire those arrows as if possessed. You have enough firepower in that quiver to destroy twenty demons. All we ask are those twenty shots... after that you do whatever you want to do. Run, fight, hide. No one will think the less of you... because you made a stand, and no one can take that away."

She smiled, it was small and sad but she did. Harry returned his eyes to the darkness upon the plains up ahead... a darkness that was growing with every step he took and the demons became more and more visible. There were thousands upon countless thousands of them. More than one hundred thousand, perhaps one hundred and fifty thousand spread out for miles across the horizon.

Shrieks and cries reached his ears and the ground was shaking from all of the footsteps upon it in so small an area. He could see the main force of the demons... but could he see them all?

The sun had begun its downward arc towards the west by the time Harry had given up counting the monsters. It was disheartening to say the least, and he could see no sign of Allarius. The fight would begin soon - in whatever way the demon had devised - and it would be a slaughter on both sides.

The best laid plans never last beyond the first five minutes into the battle.

Harry wondered if that were true - he wondered about a lot of things... like what it would be like to live a normal life, something with homework and girlfriends, worrying about getting a job and impressing a girl. He washed these thoughts away with a snarl - now wasn't the time for fantasy.

The mountains that bordered these plains still stood impressively behind the marching forces - the largest army this world had ever known - and dark storm clouds were descending on their leeward side. By nightfall there may be a strong coating of snow upon the plains, but by nightfall it would all be over.

Another mile brought them closer to the fight.

The ground they walked upon now was burnt and hard. Not wavy reed grass but harsh dirt that was littered with small bones and hunks of rotting flesh. They were definitely in demon country.

Harry knew that Allarius had gathered this force here to destroy him - and only him. These fifty thousand men and women were probably a bonus for his army, but the main reason it was here was to prevent Harry from achieving his goal, whatever that goal had been at the time. Now the demon knew Harry could reverse all that happened, he would be throwing everything he had to make sure that Harry did not see the sunrise again.

Despite the pain, despite the sickness and fatigue, Harry was looking forward to the fight with a ferocity that caused his aura to ignite into a bursting tower of invisible light. Even in his weakened state he planned to wipe the floor with Allarius - to end the madness.

Someone has to end the madness.

Four miles perhaps lay between the two forces now, and the cries of hate and fear, of battle lust and anger were all consuming. Harry saw that the archer force on his far right had broken out into a quick trot, many having nocked arrows in their bows. With a cry and a signal to the other commanders in his force, Harry quickened the pace as well.

Twilight was almost upon them now and Harry began to feel a certain eagerness that overwhelmed his sickness for just a few moments. It was all about to be over, one way or another. After this he would have defeated one of the most powerful beings in Existence, and have a clean run at the Ways of Twilight, and however long it took to get there.

He was excited.

It was then though, just as the sphere of the sun finally touched the edge of the horizon in the west, that chaos erupted onto the plains three miles away. It was then, that Allarius made his move.

BOOM!

Heard from miles around and echoing even through the mountains back in the south now, a massive ball of pure raw magic, of the stuff that kept everything anywhere running, the blood of existence, exploded high into the sky above the demon force, and split.

Sparkles of power fell like snow in a whirlwind of magic as the sphere of light, of dark magic, split into a thousand piercing spears of power, each strong enough to rip through several hundred men, and began to rain down upon the army of humans at supersonic speeds.

The lances of hateful white light shot across the plains horizontally as well. It was like a barrage of arrows, but arrows that were pure magic. Allarius was definitely throwing his full weight behind this one.

There was scarcely time for Harry to react, to do anything more than gasp as the beginnings of the twilight sky flared magnificently with ten thousand spears of death. Yet react he did, leaping forward as his own arms blazed to life, a terrifying cry of defiance tearing from his sore throat.

Knowing what he wanted to do but not knowing how, Harry trusted to his magic as his army paused and everything hung on the next second as enough force to destroy them all was hurtling across and down upon their position. Some brave few raised shields against it, but that wasn't nearly enough.

"ALLARIUS!" Harry cried, and threw his fiery arms together with enough force to send a shockwave that knocked the soldiers behind him off their feet in the hundreds. The shockwave rose like a wave, a shimmering blue wave that sped across the plains in one long winding line, encasing the three forces behind a shield of untold size and strength.

Still screaming, Harry fell to his knees and dug his hands deep into the earth, his magic burning away the ground for that, and poured more and more magic along the curtain that stood thousands of feet high and dozens of miles wide. It was, without a doubt, one of the greatest uses of magic ever.

"POTTER...." a hiss of pure hate and malice reached his ears from across the plains, and although there were no clouds in the mauve sky, lightning crackled and ripped into the plains.

Allarius' spears of power impacted against the shield almost as soon as it was raised. Harry dug his heels in and poured his all into keeping it up and alive, as the power of Evil drove him back into the earth, cracking the ground at his feet and pushing it up behind him.

He screamed his throat to shreds but didn't hear it as a wind of cyclonic measure buffeted him and his shield. Ripples in over a thousand different places appeared on the shimmering blue curtain that stood between fifty thousand men and women and death.

And still the spears of light fell.

Enveloped in pure power, Harry radiated heat so strongly that the parched ground around him combusted into ash and dust. His arms were glowing with the ferocity of the stars, and whilst all of this was happening he could not feel the evil poison that was right now reaching out to clutch his heart.

If he let go of the power he would die.

And what's more he now knew it, being able to feel the poison in his veins with the awesomely heightened senses he possessed from using so much power.

Gritting his teeth, Harry pushed more and more power into his shield and stood up, breaking out into a jog. If the power in the shield had been flowing like a river before, that river had just become rapids. Harry began to run, keeping his arms forward and his power raised he moved the entire shield with him.

Behind him the soldiers of the army kept pace, but struggled against the wind that didn't seem to affect Harry. At this rate he would reach the demons first, and that would not be good.

You wanna wrestle, partner, a voice in Harry's head distracted him for a moment. It was Allarius, of course it was Allarius. At this point in the game who else could it be? All of the other voices were dead.

I'm coming for you, Harry sent back. I'm coming.

Then come, boy, the demon shrieked.

Two miles - maybe a few hundred feet less - separated the two forces when the demons started to run, and the final spears of light broke against Harry's shield. When the last spear did fall from the sky, Harry released the shield with a cry but wisely kept his arms glowing.

Shards of blue crystal light floated to the earth like snow, and gave strength to any of the soldiers who so happened to touch one.

Harry was far from done though. Two could play at this game.

Still running as if all of Hell was set loose behind him - although Harry doubted if he would run from that - he threw his blazing palms together once again, and this time envisioned a huge ball of destructive power. He screamed once again as magic spiralled up from his palms at the speed of light, merging and morphing into a sphere of power one mile high, that cast beams of healing light - almost destroying the orange and purple sky.

With a small smile Harry stopped running, clenched his fists through the power, and... tossed the sphere towards the demons. It was strong enough to wipe away at least a fifth of their force, strong enough to swing the battle in their favour before it had truly begun.

But no - Allarius could not have that.

A beam of darkness shot vertically up through the air to intercept Harry's ball of power. Allarius had cast his magic against Harry's, and when the two struck eardrums burst from the explosion and many were burnt from the searing wave of heat that followed.

Harry growled and then gasped as he beheld the place in the air where his sphere had been last. Night sky seeped in through the tear that the combined magics of both Light and Dark had torn through the fabric of reality. Twilight was still dominant in this world, but for that patch of sky where the magics had collided, an unfamiliar set of stars shone down upon the world. Another layer of reality, another possible world.

More than one man faltered as he beheld that. But the distance was closing fast now, as the demons surged forward with an eternity of hate festering in their hearts. Harry could smell them from here, and it made him want to retch and gag - made him wish he hadn't been born with a sense of smell.

Magic was thick on the air, from only two users. So far this battle, which held over two hundred thousand combatants, had only been fought by Harry and Allarius. That was all about to change - and change devastatingly.

Magic from the massive shield Harry had raised still fell as thickly as any winter thunderstorm or blizzard, and as he pooled his magic for another attack, an amazing thing happened that would stay with him for the rest of his life - however long that would be.

Perhaps subconsciously sensing the will of its master, the falling flakes of magic, some still half a mile high, pulsed with life and in one instant changed from sparkles of raw power and into the petals of a white rose.

Harry laughed out loud as he fired streams of power across the plains towards the demons that were now less than a mile away. Screams, cries, shrieks, bellows of fury and anger reached his ears - but he was willing to bet his magic that he was the only one laughing. Well, Allarius probably was as well - but he was insane....

The sky was littered with the rose petals, some faintly glowing, and there were millions of them - untold millions. The air was thick with them as they slowly floated to the earth. The wind swept them around in spirals, sent them out in every direction for miles. Harry had expected snow later on this evening... but this... never in his wildest dreams.

And his dreams got fairly wild.

And so finally, under twilight broken sky, beneath a blizzard of falling rose petals, Light and Dark met to fight a battle that would decide the fate of Existence, of each and every life to have ever lived and ever would live.

The Boy Who Lived was just another soldier in this fight now, just one more man on the field fighting for what was right. If his task was somewhat harder than that of his fellow soldiers... well so be it.

If you have the power to destroy the universe, or save it, then you have to take the responsibility for that.

Harry would, and was.

The far force to Harry's right intercepted the demon horde first, when they were still a quarter of a mile out, and spread apart across the plain as Harry had instructed them to do. From this distance he could see them raise their bows towards the sky, faint crackles of power rising above them from the enchanted arrows.

Moving with a speed that belied their size, the demons met the army fast. Loose, Harry thought, a moment before the arrows were fired high into the sky. Another volley followed milliseconds after, and another after that from those behind the next row of archers. And so it went that before the horde reached them, five thousand arrows darkened the twilight sky.

Five thousand!

The very earth splintered as the arrows began to hit home. Each one charged with Harry's raw power, each one carrying enough force to rip through the almost impenetrable hide of the demons. Thousands of demons simply disintegrated as wave after endless wave fell upon their position.

Close enough now the few hundred archers with Harry stopped running and took aim, didn't need to take careful aim as the horde was miles wide and thick. Destruction rained down upon the force, white fire exploding and searing demons in a wide radius from each arrow that hit its target.

Beneath Harry's feet the ground cracked and spider-webbed as if it were a pane of glass struck with a hammer. He ran on unabated, firing lances of power from both arms into the horde.

Despite the heavy losses to the demons, they kept coming with renewed ferocity - a visible mass of decaying flesh, splattered eyes and mismatched limbs. They were hideous, they were nightmares, they were real.

Don't turn away.

Battle cries rang out from the swordsmen behind Harry, and he heard swords being unsheathed, felt the magic they possessed emanating in waves. If each of the swordsmen behind him could take at least five demons before dying, then victory would be possible... maybe.

The ground was inches thick with petals and more were falling on the wind as Harry, his arms still glowing, reached behind him and pulled the blade of Gryffindor from the leather straps on his back. Magic blasted along the silver blade from his arms and strength enough to wipe away all life began to build in the blade.

Harry screamed and screamed and screamed defiance. So far, so far he had come and it all led to this moment. He could never have imagined this seven years ago, as he let fall silent tears in the cupboard under the stairs, but thinking back he wouldn't have it any other way.

It had all happened for a reason, it was all connected. He would kill Allarius and win a great victory for the ailing Light.

The war with Voldemort was nothing compared to this, and yet, he would come back to it in time and it would be his greatest challenge.

Suddenly there was no longer any distance between Harry's army and one hundred thousand raging demons. Thanking Dermas Trask silently for his instruction with the blade, Harry tore into the lines with enough power to slice the bests in two, and knock others a hundred feet away off their mutated legs.

Some power inside of him only directed the magic in the sword at the demons. Blue shockwaves rippled out whenever he made contact with a creature, and these shockwaves were what knocked other charging demons to the ground. The humans behind him also felt the shockwaves pass through them, but it gave them strength and courage - feeling something in Harry's mind. His determination....

Ten thousand men and women followed Harry into the storm of demons amidst a rainfall of white rose petals, and ten thousand men and women showed these creatures that the human race would not simply lie down and die.

"ALLARIUS!" Harry screamed, feeling dizzy now from how long and how much power he had used. "SHOW YOURSELF!" He couldn't let it go though.... if he did the barrier between his heart and the poison would fail.

Working through his sword swings and stances, seeing the demons but just barely, Harry cut a swath of destruction and the rose petals at his feet slowly turned crimson as blood from both the demons and the fallen humans flowed over them. Slowly the sheer mass of creatures were overwhelming the ten thousand soldiers.

It was going to be a slaughter, oh yes; he had led these people to their deaths.

He couldn't care about that though, not now, not now he was in thick of it with them. They would die, he would live on - after all, he was always the survivor.

Gryffindor's ancient blade sang with power as Harry swung it without care but with ultimate skill through the seething mass of hollow flesh and stinking breath. He himself was covered in the blood of the demons, his clothes burning. Claws and talons tore at him from every angle, some drawing blood others snapping against his armour.

He laughed and destroyed. He was Harry Potter - he could not, did not, lose.

It's worse than you think... I'm sorry.

Thousands upon tens of thousands of demons smashed into the humans on Harry's far right, just as those led by King Deschan on the far left entered the battle. It had only been ten minutes since the rose petals had begun to fall, but already the ground was littered with corpses - those of the demons burst into flames as they died, and the fire tore through the layers of rose petals that were now knee deep.

In all of that, in the mass of life and death, petals and flame, Harry continued to slash his way through to the heart of the monsters, a trail of dead and dying in his wake. A thousand men still followed behind him, six thousand lay dead across their part of the field, whilst the remaining three battled for their lives.

Magically enhanced swords gave them at least a fighting chance.

It's my job to battle fantasy.

Harry faced down against a mounted monster, similar to the ones he had faced at the fuel station in Scotland so many lost days ago. His blade crackled with lightning and as the beast fell, a plume of rose petals flurried up and swirled on the wind around the fallen foe.

The Boy Who Lived moved through the shower of petals, sword raised in his hands... behind him the gap between himself and the other soldiers was filled with demons, ahead of him more charged... to either side they moved in.

He was on his own now.

*~*~*~*

Tarishma swung her blade and it struck like lightning as demons fell before her. Thanks to Harry's magic she had lived this long, with several hundred of her fellow archers. They had long since run out of Power arrows but there were still the swords. Still a chance to take down one more before they themselves fell.

"FOR THE WHITE ROSE!" she cried, slashing and narrowly avoiding death from atop of a hideous misshapen creature fashioned after a horse. She dived beneath its spear and thrust upwards with her scimitar - a curved blade with the edge sharp on the convex side.

The thing's 'chest' burst and Tarishma cried out as the blood burnt her exposed skin upon her arms. She fell backwards and into the soft rose petals that she was having to trudge through a moment ago. Disappearing for a moment into a world of white, she bit back on the pain and rose again, blade shining in the twilight.

The mounds of the dead were almost as deep as the rose petals - almost - and Tarishma found herself stumbling through the sea of white and crimson red. Her blade cut through the beasts, cloak and hair swirling around her amongst the petals.

And still the monsters came, wave after wave. She watched her countrymen fall by her side, some protecting her even, others dying as they slew their last demon. The smell was intense, as were the cries.

Battle heat had washed over her the moment she had let fly her first arrow though, and now it was until the death. There was no retreat, no lull in the fight. Tarishma would swing her blade until she could no longer stand.

Across the plains and through the curtain of still falling rose petals, she could see bursts of blue power exploding into the air, moving right through the heart of the demons. Harry, she thought and smiled. If he was still alive then there was still a chance.

A chance, she thought, for him to defeat the demon commander.

Still gazing at the bursts of power above the screaming demon mass and the fighting human warriors, Tarishma did not notice the creature behind her, or see the other humans shy away in fear at its presence.

The sharp black blade entered her lower back, piercing her light steel armour, and exited the other side just below her breast, a fountain of blood gushing from the dark point of the evil sword.

She gasped, her eyes sparkled with tears, and her scimitar dropped to the floor as a frown of regret creased her young face. Behind her now she could feel the intense evil, coursing now through her veins and draining her of life. Against her will, she felt hot breath on her neck, and glanced over her shoulder into a face that belonged to fantasy... to nightmares.

"A chance...." Allarius hissed and twisted his blade. The sound of bone and cartilage tearing made the demon smile. "Potter never had a chance, fool girl. That which he fights for was doomed at the moment of creation."

Tarishma died, and Allarius thrust her forward off his blade and into the rising pile of rose petals. He scowled and spat on her back, glaring hate at the rose petals.

Ahead of the demon now he could see Potter cutting a swath through his army, destroying hundreds of his servants without a care. The deep heated glare hardened, and his corpse-like face, burnt and twisted beyond any recognition other than it was man-shape, once perhaps, twisted in rage.

Would nothing stop the boy? he wondered, the blade raging with power similar to Potter's.

Petals bust into flame and ash as they fell near Allarius, and even his own demons cowered in fear where he walked. Still scowling, his fiery eyes blazing like a furnace, the thin yet unbelievably strong monster strode towards the blazing beacon that was Harry Potter.

"Luck will not see you through this one, boy," he snarled.

*~*~*~*

Deschan was protected by fifteen mages, three hundred men with enchanted swords, and twenty thousand other soldiers who surged forward around him, meeting the demons with a ferocity that matched the beast's own.

The ground he stood upon was slightly elevated, just a dozen feet or so, but it was enough to see the course of the battle for at least two miles around. The far force that Harry had directed to attack the demons on the right flank was lost to him, and what he could see wasn't heartening.

The sea of demons seemed titanic - huge and moving with, how had Harry put it, the hate of an eternity imprisoned. Nevertheless, the King held fast to the plan and moved his brave soldiers forward.

The Power flared across the entire field, for miles around in a hundred different uses. He saw the High Mage leading her mages in breaking the earth beneath the demons feet, saw swords flashing with it, saw a burst of blue power emanating time and time again from the heart of the demon lines.

It was everywhere. It was the greatest battle of the age, one that would be remembered for as long as men lived in these lands.

A group of two thousand broke away from the main pack and Deschan watched as his men spread out and formed the lines they had been trained to do. Arrows were fired and demons exploded. More Power, Power everywhere.

Steeling himself, the King drew his crystal sword, pointed it towards the demons and uttered a silent oath to fight until death. He whispered commands to his generals and they began to move forward to join the front lines. He couldn't ask his soldiers to do something he would not do himself.

Only one stayed behind, and that was Farr Evenson. The man had a disability that would see him dead within this mess in seconds. It seemed the High Mage had been right again when she said that the commander would live through this conflict.

Deschan kicked his horse into a gallop. It was a fine horse, his friend for years. Sometimes a man could get more understanding out of an animal that never spoke than out of a human that never stopped. He loved the beast, loved it like a brother, he supposed. They would ride and die together.

The air stank, men and women died, and Deschan didn't know he was screaming, sword raised before him as he crashed into the lines of those who threatened the people of his kingdom. The crystal sword swung down and, thanks to Harry Potter, cut through the demons as if they were butter.

Deschan smiled and charged on, leading a path that the men behind him could follow. He may die here, his horse may die, but his lands would be free.

*~*~*~*

Beneath the mauve sun, twilight hour, when darkness breaks through the sky and petals of the Truth fall like snow, the Darkslayer and Evil will fight a battle of titans.

~~ Lost verse of the Darkslayer Prophecy

Harry stood within a clearing strewn with white rose petals that swirled on the wind and crowned his head. The demons no longer attacked him, but at least ten thousand of the monsters had created a perimeter around him, sealing him in within the very centre of their strength.

He had cut through hundreds of the beasts to reach this point, and he was tired, sick, dizzy... his magic had grown so hot that it was a raging torrent inside of him that he struggled to keep a hold of. Should he lose it, even for an instant, his heart would explode - literally.

The blade of Gryffindor scraped across the ground as he strode around the centre of the circle the demons had sealed him in to. Harry knew that this was at Allarius' command, that the demon was on his way. He hoped he was quick because it was getting harder and harder to keep his power alive.

Vaguely, on the edge of his mind, Harry wondered how the battle was going, and whether or not they were winning. The surge of the demons seemed endless, and yet Harry could see the sparkles of his swords working back towards the south, and knew that at least a few thousand men remained alive.

It hadn't gone to plan, after all. If it had gone to plan only a few thousand would have died... only a few... tens of thousand had died, it was a massacre. But, sadly, it was one that served a purpose.

And that purpose was striding onto the field just as Harry turned towards a gap in the demons that were holding him here.

Allarius had arrived.

Good evening, Mr. Potter, its voice hissed inside his head. I must say, son, you've looked better.

So have you, Harry replied, glaring at the walking corpse... the hideous blight on existence. A creature that had existed in many different forms on many different worlds... but always as evil.

"Shall we dance?" the demon asked, coming to a stop forty feet away. Despite the sounds of battle, the cries of the demons, and the clash of weaponry, Harry heard the demon as if they were standing next to one another.

"You know," Harry replied, raising his blade after swinging it through the petals one last time. "You never made me laugh."

Allarius laughed himself and hundreds of honest lives were extinguished. "You should have heard her scream as I drove my blade through her spine, Potter," it said, and raised a familiar looking black blade. It was identical to the one that had poisoned Harry. It was also dripping with crimson blood. "She begged for her life, begged to serve me at the end. Tarishma, I believe her name was."

Harry didn't blink, but he wished once again that he was dead. So many lives, real lives damn it, that were crushed between his hands. "You'll pay for her life with your own," he replied, voice harder than steel.

As one, the two of them took opposite steps sideways, circling one another and wading through almost waist deep petals. For one moment it seemed like everything was holding its breath, that the two forces would run and strike at each other. But instead, Evil spoke.

"Yes..." Allarius hissed. "She died just like that redhead from your own world - begging to serve me. Ah, the screams, Harry. The screams as I descended upon your precious Hogwarts castle."

Harry faltered, just for a moment, but he did. "Y-You're lying," he managed, but... dear God no... deep down in his mind he knew Allarius had never lied. "YOU'RE LYING."

Allarius' smile told him all he needed to know. "You did not think those you love... loved... could escape my interest, did you, boy? Oh, no, no, no. Ginny Weasley... a lovely young woman, if you don't mind my saying so."

Harry was shaking... with rage, anger, misery, pain, power - he no longer knew and was so far beyond caring it didn't matter. "If you touched her..." he began, and behind him a tendril of his power exploded invisibly and wiped a hundred demons from existence. His anger was absolute.

Allarius' smile deepened, deepened until it reached his ears. He looked monstrous. "She told me all about you... about the..." And here he paused for just a moment, before hitting Harry with a blow that reduced him to tears. "About the diary you bought her... ah, I see you finally believe me."

Harry wept, his hands shook and tears streamed down his face through blood and sweat, grime and dirt. The air around him grew icily cold and any life that had remained in his eyes after all the trials of the years flickered and died.

Allarius moved closer, swinging his blade through the air. "Truly, you did not believe that the cost of your defiance would be cheap, Harry.... It will never be over, not for you. The faces of those lost will follow you even into death. There is no hope anymore, there is no deus ex machina for you. You are on your own, and have no one left to fight for."

With a supreme effort, with every ounce of his strength, Harry leashed his anger and pointed it like the muzzle of a gun at Allarius, his sword rising symbolically the same way. Marred with blood, sweat and tears, he raised two mismatched eyes towards his enemy.

"Here is the End Game," he said, and it seemed everything else fell silent. "This one is not for anyone else, but for me. I'll save them all at the Ways of Twilight - do you hear me, demon? I'll save them all... and you, you, Allarius, will be remembered as nothing more but another madmen who tried to destroy me, and failed like the rest."

Allarius ceased moving, and his joy-filled eyes narrowed into angry coals. Would absolutely nothing break the boy? He would just have to beat him into oblivion.

"Defiance until the last breath...." Allarius whispered, reading Harry's mind.

"And until the last drop of blood," Harry finished, falling into his most comfortable sword stance.

Universes were about to tremble, worlds were about to fall apart. For some moments, like this one, there are no words that can adequately describe the feelings of the hero, or the hate of the villain.

Needless to say, everything hung on the edge of Harry's sword - on the very tip. The golden beam of his scar link stretched on and out to the north, always towards the Ways of Twilight.

Beyond that... peace.

And now, despite every emotion washing through him, despite all the pain and personal anguish that wracked his very soul, Harry smiled and closed his eyes. This one was not just for him, but for every soul in existence. He could almost feel them all gripping his sword hilt just as tightly as he was.

At that moment, he felt closer to home than he had ever done over the last year.

His power bloomed; he opened his eyes to still falling white rose petals, to Evil incarnate and to the beginning of his fate.

Allarius met his blazing green eyes, and the final game was on.

*~*~*~*