Crying In The Dark

Harry stared at Voldemort's outstretched hand, the dead-branch fingers reaching for them to fight as one. The shivering sound of leaves scratching stone came out in a whisper. "Join me. Together we could rule the world."

He glanced into Voldemort's eyes for barely a moment before returning to the hand. His own hand was reaching towards Voldemort, gripping the wand that separated them, the killing curse moments away from spilling out of him. His friends were in the firm hold of two sheep-minded Death Eaters, eyes desperately pleading with Harry for some line of action, but he did not know what. The only thing he knew was that by joining Voldemort, his friends could be freed. By taking up sides with the Dark Lord, Ron and Hermione would live.

Quick calculations filled his head, brimming over into a sudden headache as he tried to figure out what he could do. By killing Voldemort, Harry would save his own life, as well as the rest of the wizarding world. The pain and shadow that had encased his life for so long would be lifted, the sense of normalcy that had been gone for an eternal stretch of time would finally be realized. He could rid the world of the darkest evil mankind had ever seen.

If he killed Voldemort, though, Hermione and Ron would surely be dead. There were two kinds of Death Eaters: those who followed out of fear and loathing, and those who followed out of sheer reverence. In the eyes of the two that held his friends captive all he could see was a dogmatic belief in Voldemort and his ways. If Harry killed him, he could be assured that Ron and Hermione would die, and that the two wands would turn on him shortly afterwards.

It was apparent that Voldemort wanted Harry on his side; he had avoided killing Harry and had kept the torment to the utmost high, destroying the things which Harry held most sacred. He haunted Harry's dreams and nightmares, stalking him through shadows and vague images of a smoldering future, driving him to the brink of madness only to catch him and fling him back five steps to suffer once more; but he refused to kill Harry, which was something.

All of these thoughts rolled through his brain in a fraction of a breath, the sudden rush of rage against the situation quivering in his outstretched wand. He could vaguely hear Hermione and Ron shouting at him, but they only came through as a stifled scream of despair over the dull roar of deliberation. It was almost as if the rest of the universe was fading away, leaving behind only himself and Voldemort to fight their final battle in peace, the surviving kings on the chess board, trying to destroy the other without losing their own lives.

"Why?"

Voldemort look shocked. It seemed as though a "no" would have been more expected than a "why." Even a "yes" would probably have been better accepted, and with open arms and wary wand. But a "why"?

"What do you mean 'why'?"

"Why do you want me on your side?" Harry asked, a resigned sort of anger edging its way into his tone. "Why on earth do you care so much whether I'm with you or not?"

"Because," he replied, "we share a bond. A common ground that nobody, neither of this world nor the next, can ever disturb. Your blood runs through me, and mine through you." He smiled at Harry, and it would have been a sincere smile if it hadn't been for the dark gleam in his eye. "Our lives are bound together."

Harry quickly forced himself back into real time. He could clearly hear Hermione and Ron now, clearly see the filtered moonlight that bathed them in a dark glow, fighting its way through the twisted, dead branches to reach them, clearly feel the chill that shrouded them and turned his breath white. Tear-filled shouts came through, pleading with Harry to say no, for Voldemort to take them instead, for God to come help them, but all fell on deaf ears.

"So that's why you let me live," he murmured softly to himself. His head snapped towards Voldemort, his eyes flashing with anger and realization. "Our lives are bound together. It makes so much sense now! That's the only reason you've let me live! Because to kill me means your own death!"

"And to kill me would result in your own."

He glared at Voldemort. "I'm not afraid to die."

"But if you die, you'll never know what became of your friends." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the two Death Eaters tighten their grips on Ron and Hermione, forcing a pained cry out of Hermione. "And I can't really promise anything good."

Harry took in a deep breath, wondering desperately what he could do. A soft chill of a wind picked up and iced his mind, making it yet more difficult to think. "If I join you, will you release them?

"Harry, don't!"

"I said," he repeated through gritted teeth, "will you release them?"

Voldemort laughed softly. "They're nothing to me. If it matters so much, they'll be released. But," he continued, "you must promise to me that you would never raise a hand against me."

Harry's hand shook. His wand fell from his fingers and landed in the dirt softly, amongst broken twigs and dead leaves. "I promise."

"No!"

"Release them," Harry ordered. "You got what you wanted, now let them go."

"Harry!" Ron shouted. "You can't do this!"

"Shut up, Ron. Take Hermione and get out of here."

"But Harry-"

He shot the two of them a look. "Do you want me to use the Banishing Curse on you? I said get out of here!" He tried to maintain a hard tone, but the tears began creeping into his voice ever so gently.

Hermione stepped forward slightly. "Harry?" she ventured.

"GO!"

Ron and Hermione clasped hands. Unlike Harry, they did nothing to hide their tears. "Goodbye," they whispered. With heads bowed, the two Disapparated, leaving Harry, Voldemort, and the two Death Eaters behind.

"Welcome, Potter. I'm so glad you could join us."

Harry bent over and picked up his wand, dusting it off. He stared at the tool as though it was some sort of mysterious new object with an unending amount of possibilities. His wand, which he had used until now to fight for what was good and righteous was suddenly transformed into an instrument of evil to save the lives of those he loved most. He knew at this moment that he would never smile again.

He raised his wand and leveled it with Voldemort's heart.

"Remember, Harry, you gave your word," he teased.

"I remember." He turned the wand so that it pointed to his own heart.

"Avada Kedavra."

 

It was a full two days before the world found out that Voldemort was dead. The streets spilled over with rejoicing, and all was forgotten in the sight of Muggles. Every bar was filled to overflowing, every house had lights and loud music, and there wasn't any wizard or witch without a smile on his or her face. Light, sound, and laughter filled the air around every corner and across the continent, joy spilling out of the hearts of everybody in existence.

Except for two.

Ron and Hermione sat in Ron's room, staring out at the street blankly. They had finished crying, mainly because they had been crying ever since Harry had sacrificed his life for theirs, only to have him turn around and sacrifice himself for the world. They had simply run out of tears. For Hermione and Ron, life itself hurt. They watched the party outside, the soft glow of lights reflecting on their tearstained faces.

Suddenly, Ron stood up and grabbed a vase sitting on the table beside them. Without a second's thought, he hurled it against the wall, showering the room with china. "I hate this! I can't believe what's going on! How on earth can they be happy about this? About anything?"

Hermione stood up, quietly going over to Ron. "It's okay, Ron; we'll be fine."

"Fine?" he screamed. "Fine?! How can anything be fine? Harry's dead! He's dead, Hermione! He died for them," he gestured angrily to the window, "and they don't even care!"

"Ron, please..."

"No, Hermione! Don't!" He buried his face in his hands. "I just... I don't know what to do. It hurts too much."

Hermione encircled him in her arms. "I know, Ron. I hate it too. I just want to go out there and scream at every last one of them." She stifled a sob. "I just want to break things, destroy things, and scream at the world."

"Like I did."

"But I can't. I'm too tired. I'm tired, and I'm dead, Ron."

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to himself. "I love you so much, Hermione."

"I love you too, Ron."

They looked out the window. The two of them were mourning the end of an era. The rest of the world was celebrating the start of a new one. In the darkness of their room, Ron and Hermione slept, placing their faith in the promise of tomorrow.

 

And thus ends the story of The Boy Who Lived. As his parents gave their lives for his, he sacrificed himself for the world, twice defeating the darkest wizard of all time. While he may be gone, his life's story will survive the ages, for generations of witches and wizards ahead to learn of and take heart in. For there was never a challenge too great for a boy who lived under the cupboard; a plain, ordinary boy, with an extraordinary future and a lightning-bolt shaped scar.