Harry Potter and the Final Chapter

Harry shook violently as he woke. He breathed heavily for a moment in slow, terrified gasps as he strained to hear through the silence around him. He expected shouting, screaming, curses muttered from both sides of a battlefield, and the dull thud of bodies dropping. It had been what he'd fallen asleep to.

But there was nothing and it made Harry more anxious than when he had heard the sounds of war. Am I dead, he thought madly, feeling his body for signs of death before he realized he didn't know what to look for.

He lay still for a moment, trying to calm himself down and ignore the unnerving silence. Maybe I'm the only one alive, he though, but decided the alternative made him feel more relaxed. He opened his eyes and strained against the darkness, slowly pulling back his robes as he searched quickly for his wand. He found his fingers were sore and the scabs that had formed over his cuts scratched on the threads of his robes. They trembled fiercely as he fumbled through the familiar pockets. A slow, unfolding panic began to rise in his throat as he let the folds of his robe down.

He paused, listening once more for sound, and then dropped hard to his knees, feeling around on the concrete floor. His hands scratched the cold, rough surface as he moved, still breathing heavily.

"Come on," he whispered, straining even harder against the darkness. "Where is it?"

He moved quickly on his knees, ignoring the tearing sound of his ripping pants and the uncomfortable tightness of dried blood on his hands. He was searching blindly for any object that felt like a wand, sure that if he was the only one alive, he would find one soon.

"Ha!" he said when his fingers landed on a thin piece of what he was sure was the end of a wand. The cold stick felt slightly malformed and he expelled an irritated breath, slightly shaken at the thought that his only protection may be broken. Leaning down, resting on his feet, he tried to pick it up but found that it was attached to something much bigger. It took him many seconds, with one hand on his chest and the other on the shape, seemingly unable to let go, to realize it was a dead human hand. He fell forward on his own hands and retched violently for a moment, his body shaking with effort.

"Oh, Jesus," he said to himself, "where the hell am I?" After another moment of panic, he retraced his steps to the body, searching through its stiff, mangled robes. He sighed after checking everywhere he could and rocked back onto his heels, wrapping his arms around his knees. He didn't know what else to do but stare at the floor until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He began rocking slowly, trying to remember what he had seen last and where he might be now.

He remembered the Dark Mark in the sky, there was no doubt about that. It was past sunset when he last recalled the shape of the skull, which cast a depressing, green hue over the battlefield. He was ducked behind a burning tree, trying to repair his broken glasses while watching the bright lights of spells fly from the right and left of him and the sounds of strangled voices crying desperately. He was scared and sweating badly, his hands shaking as he tried to steady his wand. "O-Occulus Rep-paro," he stuttered, shuddering at the cold winds that made the thundering rain even more unbearable.

"Potter," a voice had said, and in his blurred vision, he had seen the basic outline of someone with dark robes and silvery-blonde hair.

"Malfoy -"

He had barely gotten the word out of his mouth before he heard a soft drawl and a white light, "Petrificus totalus."

Harry's lips thinned as he strained to remember what happened after that. He couldn't recall anything else and began rubbing his eyes that had now vaguely adjusted to the darkness. He blinked once and looked around the room. It seemed like he was in a cell of some sort, with rough, red brick walls and a concrete floor. There was a small pile of straw in one corner that Harry assumed was a sort of make-shift bed. His eyes traveled to the wall in front of him, which was separated by the barred door of his cell and the brick wall of the hallway. There was a small, overhead light from the hallway that drew Harry's eye to the small pile of crumpled bodies, lying in a haphazard heap in the middle of the room. He paused for a moment before tentatively crawling to the pile, hoping he wouldn't recognize anyone he knew and even more that he would find a wand.

He turned over the first body and looked into the gaunt face of a man with long, black, strangled hair. For a brief moment, Harry gasped, "Sirius?"

A weight pressed in his chest and he shook his head, turning over the next body, unable to search the robes of the first. He peered down in the dim light and saw a young girl with hair that was dried so thoroughly with blood, if he hadn't already known her he would not have been able to tell it was blonde. He noticed the bright blue, stain robes and sighed shakily. "Fleur," he said swallowing a small lump in his throat. Inexplicably, he got to his feet and picked up her body, moving it to the straw bedding in the corner. He placed her down softly, pushing her hair behind her head. Even in death, Harry thought Fleur still looked beautiful. Her body was still warm and he took comfort in sitting next to her, his back pressed against the wall while he decided what to do.

He hit his head softly on the brick wall and rewrapped his arms around his knees. He was so tired and thought of taking a nap; clearly whoever had thrown him in here thought he was dead. Heaving a deep sigh, he lay on the ground, his head resting next to Fleur.

His eyes had been closed for only a moment before he heard soft murmurs coming from outside of his cell. He scrambled to his feet, excited at the idea there may be other people still alive. Walking quietly up to the edge of the doorway, he leaned out and looked down the hallway, careful to only let a little of himself show. The idea of seeing Mr. Malfoy again wasn't an idea that flattered his bravery. Even without a wand, he thought bitterly.

He hung on tightly to the bars, leaning out a little further. Two people were coming towards him, talking sternly between themselves, one looking at the floor and the other at the first man. Harry stumbled backwards suddenly debilitated by a harsh, searing pain that laced through forehead. He shut his eyes tightly and could feel his breath coming out in harsh gasps. Blindly, he fell to his knees, clutching his face in his hands. In slow, jerking motions, he lay on his back, flat on the floor and let his body go limp, hoping to fool whoever was coming into thinking that he, too, was dead.

He heard the swishing of cloaks as the men stepped into the room. There was a moment of silence before they approached him. A strong copper smell flooded into the room with them and Harry swallowed involuntarily, willing his body to remain still. He took shallow breaths as slowly as he could, hoping the two men wouldn't notice he was still alive.

A cold, drawling voice spoke first, softly. "I'm sure he's dead, sir. I killed him myself."

A pain as strong as he'd ever felt it pierced his scar and he strained his neck against the burning, trying not to bring his hand to his face. He could feel the hard fluttering of his pulse in the base of his neck and dull, throbbing pain begin forming behind his eyes.

"And this is the body." Another voice, deep, scratchy and almost inhuman, spoke sharply and Harry knew, instinctively, that it was Voldemort's.

"I assure you, master, he's dead."

Voldemort bent down towards Harry and he could smell the foul, rancid breath and imagine the cold, lifeless eyes that had driven his nightmares since he was old enough to remember them. Voldemort made a small, groaning sound and ran his fingers over Harry's forehead. He drew back for a moment and then unexpectedly placed his palm over Harry's entire face, wrapping his fingers around the top of his head.

It took everything Harry had not scream as the pain that began in his head spread slowly into the rest of his body. He first felt the muscles in his neck tighten and his shoulders became rigid. He could feel his eyes watering behind his eyelids.

"He's not yet cold," said Voldemort, standing up.

The other voice was calm. "It was very recent, Master. I killed him maybe a half an hour ago and dragged his body into this cell only moments before I called for you. I've been waiting for you to get here." The voice wavered slightly. "You did request anyone who found him first to dispose of him, yes?"

Voldemort made a low, grunting sound. "I did."

A relieved breath expelled from the man. "Well, then you should be pleased - "

"However," Voldemort continued, "where are the dementors?"

"The - the dementors, sir?"

"Yes, Malfoy, the dementors. The ones you were supposed to summon to make sure that no one would move the boy." Voldemort stopped and then, in a rush of anger, said, "Do you know where we are?"

"Azkaban, sir, I know," said the man, a definite shake in his voice and Harry gritted his teeth, wishing he could face Lucius himself. "But yes, well, sir, I had . . . forgotten about your request."

"And what else may have you forgotten?"

"Sorry, sir?" The voice was obviously scared, his breathed coming in small gasps. "I'm sure that - "

"Crucio," Voldemort said softly and screaming filled the cell as the man fell down next to him, writhing in his attempts to ward off the pain. Harry tried not to shake himself, but he flinched as the body hit his. Harry froze, in a panicked manner, waiting for Voldemort to notice he'd moved. It took many seconds for the body to stop moving and a few more for Harry to feel safe, but he had been certain it had felt like an eternity to Lucius. He recalled, slowly, the night he had seen Cedric writhing in the same manner.

However, when the body fell next to him, he was surprised to feel a small, light figure instead of the overbearing size of Lucius Malfoy he had expected.

The boy stopped writhing and rolled to his back, breathing hard.

"Get up." Voldemort sounded angry.

"Y-Yes, master." Harry heard shuffling sounds as the body got slowly to his feet.

"You are nothing like you're father," Voldemort said sharply after a moment of harsh breathing that came from the boy. "He would never have made such a foolish mistake."

Harry, with a sudden jolt of realization, recognized who the body was. Draco Malfoy, still breathing in ragged, painful gasps, said nothing.

"Since you seem incapable of following directions," Voldemort said, "I will have to summon the dementors myself." There was a pause and for a moment Harry was sure Voldemort was sneering. "You may want to sit down, Mr. Malfoy. There is still a long day ahead of us."

Voldemort shuffled out of the room and back into the hallway. The pain in Harry's forehead subsided for a moment and he breathed for the first time since the men had come in. Harry still attempted to breathe slowly, barely letting his chest rise and fall, as he waited for the footsteps to die down the hallway.

"Harry," Draco whispered and Harry jumped at the unexpected sound of his voice. "Can you hear me?"

Draco slide down next to him, leaning closely to Harry's ear.

"Harry," Draco sounded more urgent, prodding his shoulder. "Harry, listen, I need to talk to you."

Clearly, Harry thought uneasily, Draco knew he wasn't dead. Harry lay still, unsure of what to do.

"He's getting dementors." Draco said irritably. "This may be our only chance of escaping."

Harry slowly opened his eyes which had once again unadjusted to the dim light. He rose tentatively and placed his weight on the corners of his elbows, the soreness in his muscles more pronounced than they had been before he'd lain down.

"Oh, God, Harry, you're all right." Draco sounded relieved, placing his hand and his chest and resting his head against the wall. "I thought I might have killed you."

"Draco, what's going on?" Harry asked quickly and speaking as softly as he could.

"I'm trying to save you," Draco said. "I'm working as a double agent." This was so unbelievable to Harry that nothing but a small, bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"No, you're a Death Eater. You've been one for years. If you're going to kill me, at least give me the decency of being honest."

Draco shook his head. "That's the point."

"I don't believe you," Harry said slowly, moving until he was sitting cross legged on the cold floor. For a moment, he thought about getting up, but didn't want to give Draco a reason to think he was fleeing.

"Then I'll leave you here to rot, Potter." Draco's voice was sharp and angry. "I'm trying to save your life."

"How do I know you won't kill me?"

"I told him I already had," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, clearly exhausted. Black ovals had grown beneath his eyes and Harry could see how thin Draco had gotten. He wondered, vaguely, when Draco had slept last. "If I'd wanted to kill you I wouldn't hold my breath hoping you were smart enough to stay still while he was over you. I'm assuming you know your wands gone." He paused. "And anyway, if I had I would have done it already."

Harry shook his head in disbelief, a small headache building behind his eyes. "Fine, I don't really have another option." He looked into the hallway and listened for noise before turning back to Draco. "How the hell do we get out of here?"

"Don't worry about that, I sort of have a plan," Draco said as he stood up and walked lightly to the edge of the cell. He peered out of the door down the hallway. Harry looked at him for a moment and noticed how loosely his school robes hung on him, how almost transparent his skin looked even in the dim lights of his cell. He's lost weight, Harry thought and looked at his own hands in comparison. Have I?

"You sort of have a plan?" Harry said in a prickly voice, shaking himself out of his reverie.

"It's half-developed. I really didn't expect you to be here. It was a stroke of genius that I was the first Death Eater to find you." Draco's head was still peering into the hallway, checking the Dark Mark on his arm, which Harry could see was glowing softly in a pulsated rhythm. He grimaced. "He's coming back." Draco ran up to Harry and leaned down next to him. "You, stay still, or Voldemort will kill you. And there isn't anything I can do if that happens."

Harry nodded quickly as he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. He waited for the sound of Voldemort's voice, followed by the strong pain of his scar. Instead, he felt cold, harsh wind that made every muscle in his body shiver. He felt the tears that had formed turn to ice. The dementors, he thought wildly, as his heart began to pound in his chest. The footsteps stopped for a moment, and small mumbling was heard outside of the cell.

"Malfoy," Voldemort quipped, "come here."

Draco moved quickly. "Yes, master?"

"The dementors are uncomfortable with all the death in this cell."

"Uncomfortable . . . ?"

"Yes, Malfoy, uncomfortable," Voldemort said. "They feed on happiness, boy, and there is none of it here. You have to move the boy to a different cell."

Harry could hear Draco hesitate. "Well, master, if the boy is already dead, then why move him?"

"Because," Voldemort's voice was a low hissing sound, "I am not yet done with him."

"Master?"

Voldemort shuffled quickly and Harry could hear a gasp escaping Draco. He heard a soft crack and a moan come from the boy; Voldemort had pushed him against the wall. "If it weren't for the loyalty your father gave me, I would assume that you had other motives. Would I be right?"

"No, sir," Draco said firmly. "I am just as loyal as my father was."

"Good. Then move the boy and stop asking questions."

"Yes, Master." Draco walked over to Harry and bent down next to him. "Where would you like the boy?"

"Take him to the right wing, third floor. I will be there in a minute." Voldemort's voice lowered as he finished. Harry strained to hear him. "And you better be there when I arrive."

"Yes, sir."

Voldemort left quickly, his footsteps dying out almost immediately. There was a moment of silence before Draco spoke. "Don't make a sound, I'm going to move you."

Harry nodded and he heard Draco say, "Mobilicorpus."

Harry felt a calm, floating sensation beginning in his stomach and running softly to his extremities. Under different circumstances, he was certain this could have lulled him to sleep.

After traveling for a few moments, Harry carefully opened an eye. They had passed many cells and Harry could hear people moaning and crying, calling for their mothers and their friends. There were even a few called for the Dark Lord himself. Harry gave an involuntary shudder at the cold, empty voices and his heart gave a lurch as he remembered the dead, hollow look in Sirius's eyes the first time he saw him. Tears welled up behind his closed eyes again.

Draco's steady hold on Harry began to waver as they went further into the prison. Harry bumped his head on the well. "Ow," he said, "Draco, watch yourself."

"Shut up," he said through gritted teeth, "we're almost there."

They came a few minutes later into the right wing and Draco put Harry softly on the ground. Harry sat up quickly, rubbing his temples. "Why didn't we just leave? He's not looking after us."

"Because there's only one entrance to the prison and it's surrounded permanently by half a dozen dementors." Draco stood up and dusted off his robes. "Even if you managed to make a Patronus, Voldemort would come running in less than a minute. You wouldn't make it very far."

Harry's lips thinned. "Then what's your half-concocted plan?"

"This." Draco reached into his robes and pulled out a small, round piece of jewelry.

Harry looked at the ring. "I'm flattered, Draco, but -"

Draco cut him off. "It's a Portkey, you git."

"A Portkey?" Harry asked incredulously.

"It's a magical device that, when touched, takes you - "

"I know what a Portkey is, Draco," Harry said, irritably. "But why aren't you escaping with it?"

"Because I need to keep up appearances until Voldemort is dead." He tapped the ring with his wand and muttered a spell under his breath. "This will make sure that when you, and only you, touch it, it will take you out of here."

Harry reached out for the ring, but hesitated. "Wait, but if I just suddenly disappear, won't he assume you had something to do with it? If you're really working for both sides, I don't want to give you a death sentence."

Draco shook his head but then dropped the ring, clutching his arm in his hand, grimacing. It rolled into a dark corner of the cell, where Harry jumped up to retrieve it. "He's coming," Draco said softly.

Harry fumbled on the ground for a moment before Draco hissed at him. "Stop it! Whenever you touch it, it will take you back. Hold on." Draco straightened up and walked to the corner. "Lumos," he said, pointing his wand on the ground. Harry could see the glowing of the Dark Mark on his arm. Draco's gray eyes searched the ground; he looked both angry and scared.

"Get down," he said quickly. Harry lay on the ground, his body parallel with the back wall. He moved his head to the wall and tried to make his body as limp as he could.

Draco was breathing heavily, still searching for the ring and cursing softly under his breath. Harry heard him pause and strained to hear what he was doing. Instead, he heard quick footsteps coming down the hallway, and again his scar burned. He tried not to flinch.

"Got it," Draco whispered. He came over to Harry and put the ring in his pant pocket. He patted it to let Harry know where it was and was still leaning over Harry when Voldemort walked in.

"What are you doing, boy?" Voldemort asked in a slow, calculating tone that made Harry suddenly anxious.

"I just wanted to make sure that his wand had been taken off of him." Draco stood up quickly.

"Why would a dead boy need a wand?"

Draco, without missing a beat, said, "Just in case someone else found it. We don't need any surprises."

Voldemort paused and Harry wildly thought that he was going to put the Cruciatus Curse on him again. "Fine. You are free to go."

"Actually," Draco said, the soft, cold drawl was back in his voice. "I wanted to be here to see how you finished the disgusting Mudblood-lover."

Harry assumed Voldemort smiled. His voice sounded pleased when he spoke. "Very well."

"How are you going to do it?" Draco asked sincerely.

"A Jigsaw hex."

Draco repeated his words, unsure.

"Yes. It will essentially blow the boy to pieces."

Draco inhaled sharply. "That sounds most effective. And delightfully evil."

Again, Voldemort sounded pleased, unaware of the mocking tone in Draco's voice. "Yes, I quite agree."

Harry was unsure, but Voldemort must have raised his wand, for he heard Draco say quickly, "where are the dementors?"

Voldemort made an impatient sound. "I dismissed them. I want to finish it myself. Now stop talking and let me finish what was started almost 18 years ago."

Suddenly, Harry felt another cold wind sweep over him.

Draco shuffled. "What's going on? Are the dementors back?" He sounded worried but relieved at the interruption.

Harry heard movements go into the hallway and Voldemort's angry voice. "I dismissed you all. You were not to come back. If you do not leave, I will make sure you never come back."

A soft sound, like wind whistling through a tree came from the hallway.

Voldemort screamed. "What?" He came back into the room and spoke quickly to Draco. "Do you know what they say?"

Draco sounded nervous. "N-No, sir."

"They said the boy is not dead."

"That-That's impossible. I-I did it myself."

"Did you do it right?" Voldemort was absolutely furious. "Do you know what the function of a dementor is? They find living being and take their souls, Malfoy. If Potter is not dead, then he will still one. The dementors followed this feeling all the way from the front door."

Draco said nothing and Harry swallowed, hard, breaking out into an uneven sweat.

"I will only ask you one more time." Voldemort's voice was low and threatening. "Did you or did you not kill him?"

"Yes!" Draco almost shouted. "I killed the boy."

"Well, I will have to do it again, just to make sure he's not only passed out. Avada -"

"Harry, grab the Portkey!" Draco shouted. Harry opened his eyes and moved quickly away from the green bolt of light that shot from Voldemort's wand. It hit the wall and shattered, sending green sparks across the room.

"Dementors!" Voldemort shouted as Harry ran into the hallway. "Get him!"

Harry once again felt a cold seize on his body, bringing him quickly to his knees. He could vaguely see Voldemort raising his wand again. "Ava-"

Suddenly, Draco took out his wand and pointed it at Voldemort. "Expelliarmus!"

Nothing happened. Voldemort gave a high, cold laugh and walked up to Draco. "You stupid, stupid boy. You're power is nothing compared to mine. Surely you didn't think that a simple spell like that would work."

Draco said nothing but stood defiantly against Voldemort. "You defied me," he said slowly, as Harry felt himself shrink to the ground, enveloped by the coldness as the dementors came closer. "You shall die for this, you coward." Voldemort raised his wand and Harry shouted but his voice seemed small and far away.

"Harry," Draco yelled and tossed his wand to Harry, who fumbled for it. "They broke you're wand, this is - "

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort screamed as a blinding green light shot out of his wand, aimed directly at Draco. The boy fell to the ground, crumpled in a small heap, his eyes open and staring almost right at Harry. Harry's stomach gave a small lurch and he leaned over the ground, retching again.

The sound seemed to get Voldemort's attention. He turned to Harry, who hid Draco's wand in his sleeve, unable to stand. The dementors were too close.

"You know what I'm going to do with you, boy?" Voldemort moved closer, standing between Harry and the dementors. For a brief moment, a small bubble of warmth began to expand in Harry's stomach. "I'm going to kill you."

Harry stiffened, but he was too tired to move.

"But first, I'm going to let the dementors give you a little kiss. There is nothing worse than living without your soul. And once you're soulless and helpless, I'm going to kill you. Just like I killed your dad. And just like I killed you mom. Only this time, neither will be there to protect you."

These statements infuriated Harry and he slowly rose to his feet, stumbling softly over the edges of his robes. He raised his chin at the Dark Lord and said, in a low voice, "You won't win. You may have killed Draco and you may kill me, but you were taken down once. And you will be taken down again."

Voldemort laughed, a cold, soulless laugh that made the hairs on Harry's neck stand on end. "You silly, stupid boy." He ran his wand carelessly between his fingers. "You know, you and I are not that different."

Harry stood still, his pulse beating furiously in his neck, the hand that was holding the end of the wand suddenly became sweating and shivered.

"We're both orphans, though for different reasons. We are both famous, again for our own . . . talents, if I dare call the fact that you're alive a talent. The difference is that you're foolishly brave while I'm," he paused, looking decidedly pleased with himself, "a god."

Harry gritted his teeth, keeping a firm grip on Draco's wand. Without warning and without another word, Voldemort moved to the side, keeping his eyes on Harry. The dementors came quickly, clearly eager to perform their kiss now that they had their master's permission.

Harry quickly pulled out Draco's wand from the sleeve of his cloak. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" He shouted, pointing his wand at the dementors, a serious, firm look on his face. Voldemort screamed furiously, having not seen Draco throw his wand at Harry, and tried to wave away the stag that was chasing the hooded figures away.

When the Patronus had finally disappeared, a red hue had come over Voldemort's face. "That's it! I'm done with you, Potter. I'm not drawing this out anymore!"

He pointed his wand at Harry and as he opened his mouth, Harry stuck his hand into his pocket, ready to grab the Portkey. It was missing. Harry panicked, patting down his pants, trying to find it. Voldemort shouted a curse that Harry ducked by dropping to his knees, and began searching the ground wildly with his eyes. His scar still burned badly, but this new panic brought tears to his eyes.

Suddenly he saw the ring, glittering faintly only a few feet away, as Voldemort brought up his wand again. Harry made a wild leap for the ring as Voldemort once more shouted the killing curse. He skid across the ground grabbed it, closing his eyes tightly and praying that he left before the curse made contact with him.

A retching pull formed at his navel, and lifted him, spinning in the air. He landed hard on his back and tried only for a moment to keep his eyes open before he gave up and fell into a restless sleep.

"He's dead. Voldemort killed him."

"But Professor, I thought you had wards around him."

"No, Hermione, there were no wards. Just an . . . alarm of sorts that told us when he was in trouble. We set them up to allow instant Apparation to where ever he was."

"So . . . so what happened?"

"We got there too late."

"Oh, God." Harry could feed Hermione drop down on the edge of his bed and slowly opened his eyes, finding Hermione blurred but clearly with her hands over her face. "He tried to save him, though."

Harry saw Professor McGonagall sit down next to her and pulled Hermione to her chest. "I'm sorry, Ms. Granger. We did everything we could."

Hermione gave a few dry sobs before Harry opened his mouth. "Hey," he said, hoarsely.

Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice and rushed over, throwing her arms around him. "Oh, God, Harry, I was sure you were going to die."

Harry chuckled softly. "Thanks for the confidence."

She leaned over to the nightstand and picked up his glasses. He took them from her. "Much better." He looked at her face, tears quickly welling in her eyes.

"You're all right," she said.

Harry, suddenly remembering what had happened, looking over at Professor McGonagall, who also looked close to tears. He sat up. "Professor, Voldemort, he's at Azkaban. He killed Draco and he's still there! He's alive - "

Professor McGonagall raised her hand and waved it. "It's all right, Potter," she said in a calm, soothing voice. "Voldemort is dead."

"What?" Harry said. "How?"

"As I was just telling Ms. Granger, since Mr. Malfoy was working as a double agent, when he was in mortal danger, we had alarms that told us to get to him. A few other professors and I Apparated to him."

Harry nodded. "But he died - "

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall, nodded sadly, "but when we arrived, we saw Voldemort looking around furiously while speaking into the Dark Mark on his arm. He noticed us too late. Combined, we performed the killing curse." She sighed. "He's finally dead."

Harry wasn't sure how to feel about this. He lay back down on his pillow as a nurse came up to him with a plate of chocolate. "Eat this," she said softly, placing the tray on his stomach. Harry wasn't hungry. He picked up the tray and placed it on the nightstand.

"He tried to save me."

"We know, Potter." Professor McGonagall nodded her head, her eyes downcast. "We know what happened."

Though Harry wasn't sure how, he nodded, wondering if he had failed somehow.

Tears began to run quickly down his face. "I was supposed to do it. He was mine to kill. I wish I had stayed, but I got so scared." He looked down at his bed. "I'm a coward."

Hermione pushed his head back up and looked into his eyes with blatant fervor. "You are not a failure, Harry Potter. You are a hero. Draco's death was not your fault. And you didn't have the tools on you to beat You-Know-Who at that time."

"I had a wand - "

Hermione cut him off. "You had Draco's wand. A wizard can only successfully use a wand that is his own."

"But I used the Patronus - "

"Yes," said Hermione, cutting him off again. "That was incredibly rare and would have most likely not happened again."

"She's right, Potter." He looked at Professor McGonagall, who was nodding slowly. "It was a miracle."

Hermione dropped Harry's chin and began nervously picking at his blanket. "You've been asleep for almost three days." She paused again and took a deep breath. "Draco's funeral, it's tomorrow. I understand if you don't want to go, but - "

"Yes," Harry said firmly, "I want to go. Definitely. He died trying to save me."

Hermione nodded, allowing him a soft smile. "Good, I was hoping you would." Harry began to close his eyes again, and, for the first time, felt perfectly at rest.

He felt Hermione and Professor McGonagall standing up from his bed. "He needs sleep, Ms. Granger. We'll wake him tomorrow."

Harry closed his eyes, resting on hand on his stomach, and fingered his forehead with another. For the first time, in a long time, Harry pressed his fingers against his head, knowing that the pain of his final encounter with Voldemort would be the last of his pain. It was the strongest reminder of this moment, and the ones that came before it, and it would never leave because of a small, frail boy from Number 4 Privet Drive and his unique, lightning-shaped scar.