Cruel

Because death was what this man and his friends were about; it was their bread and wine. It was the sherbet they took to clear their palates when the meal was done.

--Dark Tower V: Wolves of Calla. Stephan King.

Quietly in the cold night they walked. Harry felt that if he didn't leave soon he would never leave at all. He had the strong suspicion that they were being followed, but he didn't care. He wouldn't put up a fight. Not yet. He knew things would change once they got there. It would be another world entirely. Nothing like he had known yet. It was awaiting him like a sniper, just ready to strike.

As they went on they would camp out in the shadows. Snape would go and kill something then bring it back to be cooked. Some nights Harry would just eat quietly, not caring what was going on. Other nights he would break down, sure that he would never see Draco again, snapping at Snape for betraying him in the first place. Those latter nights Snape would only glare at him indifferently and go to sleep. Those nights Harry would fall asleep crying and have nightmares about the tears that streaked down his Potions teacher's cheeks.

Sometimes they would talk, because there was nothing else to do. However, if Harry asked why Snape was doing this, he only got one response: "Because I have to." It sickened him. It made him ache. It tortured him inside and out. So sometimes, when Snape was quiet, Harry would talk about his memories of Hogwarts, simply for the sake of talking. Perhaps it was to keep himself sane, or perhaps to try and get sympathy from the older man. But it worked for neither one.

Snape found his training in Occlumency more and more useful as they continued their journey. He never showed it, but part of him enjoyed listening to Harry's memories, though they brought back many of his own from his years as a student. Not pleasant ones, like Harry had, but they were memories, and they were his. That was all that mattered. However, he found that because of this, he couldn't get a restful night's sleep. Each night the dreams wore him down and woke him, threatening to break him. He was supposed to protect Harry on this trip, so why did it feel like the boy was the strong one?

It wasn't long before they saw their destination in sight. Both were weary, wishing to be back home in their beds, but instead a whole other world awaited them, beckoned them, taunted them. Who were they to resist? They spent one last night in the woods, Snape taking a dreamless sleep potion and letting Harry have some as well, hoping it would help for the next morning. Once they woke they stepped forward, taken in to the other world.

-///-

It was called the Grove. Whether or not it had a name was moot, so it was simply the Grove. It was a small clear area in the middle of the woods. The trees blew madly in the wind, whistling and talking, sharing secrets that no one else would know.

This secret was about a dark prince and an even darker king. Which was which no one could tell, but the trees knew better. They knew that the prince had had his time, and the king was now returning. But the king was darker than anyone had ever guessed. But this darkness did not seek power, and that was the difference. No, darkness did not power make. But the prince would seek to knock the king from on high, and rule over everything once more. The trees were afraid. If light always won over darkness, then the prince would have his throne.

"Here I am," the prince shouted, his voice no longer the silky velvet that once had been when he was in power. "I believe you have something for me."

The black knight stepped aside to reveal the king. "Here he is. Just as you asked, my lord."

The prince's grin was unbearable. It shook the very insides of all those watching from the shadowed woods of the Grove. "Wonderful. Come, and let me see you better."

The king moved forward. "I come of my own accord."

"And why is that?"

"Because. There is no better plan than to do or to die." With that Harry Potter brought out his wand and cast the first spell.

Death Eaters, Aurors, and members of the Order poured out of the woods in an instant, firing spells at one another; both trying to prevent damage to their main fighters: Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizards to have ever existed. In the entire fray the two lost sight of one another. It wasn't too hard to find a glimpse of each, since they'd both been in the center, but getting to one another was something else entirely. Voldemort fought off Aurors. Harry fought off Death Eaters. But neither of them cared. They had to get to one another. Each wanted the other taken down by their own hands.

With each kill they got in deeper, ready to face one another. Harry had known for a long while that his hands would forever be stained with the blood of others, and now he didn't care. This was for Ron, and Hermoine, and Dumbledore, and Draco... He just barely saw a Death Eater coming for him when it was struck down with a green bolt. He glanced just long enough to see who had done it then continued his fight. And for Snape. He was doing this for him too.

As numbers dwindled, Voldemort and Harry made their way toward each other. It was then that Harry's worst fears were realized: Draco was fighting amongst them. He saw his lover over the shoulder of his worst enemy, and then he was gone. Harry knew he had to take down Voldemort soon, or Draco could be killed. He couldn't let that happen. His fighting became more vicious with every step toward the Dark Lord, more determined and more indifferent to the pain and suffering that surrounded him. Voldemort had to die.

Finally the distance between them was cleared. Movement caught at the corner of his eyes, the image of his lover came to his vision, just safe from the path of harm. The boy and the man who would destroy him turned toward each other, wands raised...ready. It was then that Draco was flung between them, and Harry's eyes widened as the Death Bolt from his past came straight at his lover and bearer of his child...his Shining.

"Anima vivificus!" Harry shouted, unsure of what he just did or why. But the spell hit his Draco first, of that he was sure. Yet it seemed the spell was in vain. No effect was seen, but as the killing curse hit the fair-skinned man the green light surrounded him, encompassing him.

The battle around them stopped as they watched the light encircle the wide-eyed young man, lifting him off the ground a few inches before dropping him and returning to its sender. Voldemort, not expecting to once again be hit by his own curse, took the full blast and fell back a few steps. The rumors were true. The killing curse didn't seem to affect him.

But Harry didn't care. All Harry knew was that the killing curse had just been aimed at his lover, and that was a very big mistake. He marched toward Voldemort, his hand instinctively going to his side for something he was sure would be there. As he approached he could see the Dark Lord raising his wand. Again, he didn't care.

It only took a second. In a second, the prince's hand was on the ground, lifeless, next to the small stick that once held great power. The prince tried to hold his other hand to the king, but the king merely took the prince's hand, which began to flame and burn under his. And from his side he drew the sword of Godric Gryffindor. And through the belly of the prince that sword was driven, burning the prince from the inside out, like a piece of undead flesh.

The prince fled back, screaming in agony, trying to free the sword from his middle, to no avail. His followers, knights and priests alike, began to flee as their beloved prince turned to ash. The king was victorious once again, and darker than ever before. But he didn't care.

Dozens of eyes ignored those fleeing, who left only wasted time in their wake. Ignored the death and destruction surrounding them. Ignored the clear sky which held no sign of the Dark Mark. Because they didn't care.

No one left in the Grove cared that the Dark Lord had just been defeated. No one cared that their Savior had completed the Prophecy, holding out to destiny a filled cup and telling it to go screw itself. No one cared that the wizarding and muggle worlds were once again safe.

No one cared, because Draco lay on the ground, unmoving. And no matter how Harry begged and pleaded, his Shining would not awaken.

"Into Jake's hand Eddie dropped a couple of balls about three inches in diameter. The surfaces looked like steel, but when Jake squeezed, he felt some give -- it was like squeezing a child's toy made out of hard, hard rubber. A small plate on the side read

To the left of the plate was a button. A distant part of Jake's mind wondered who Harry Potter was. The sneetch's inventor, more than likely."

--The Dark Tower V: Wolves of the Calla. Stephan King.