Chapter Twenty-Two: "I realized I can't…crack up."
"I realized I can't shut myself away or - or crack up... It could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is, I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can and Voldemort too, if I can manage it." Half Blood Prince, page 77, United States Hardcover Edition.
* * * * * *
It was a scene Harry had seen far too often of late, from a multitude of different perspectives, but at least he was in his own body this time. There was, on the other hand, the minor little factor of his inability to control his body while under the Imperious Curse from that traitorous whore…
A traitorous whore who happened to be standing, trembling with rage, over the unconscious body of Hermione Granger, crumpled to the floor where Harry had left her not moments before, after bringing her down. Harry knew what was happening now, he was fighting it, trying to overpower the curse, though it was undoubtedly too late. He could not remember everyone going down, taking out everyone, and he knew that somehow, someone had taken Dumbledore, and that worried the small portion of his brain that could worry about such things, a small portion that was growing larger with each passing moment as he realized what had happened.
He did not know how, but he had to stop them, he had to stop the Death Eaters, Voldemort, from carrying out their plan to turn the very death they feared into a way to preserve their own miserable excuses for lives… to feed their magic off of the souls of the dead.
And now Harry was the only one who could stop them, if he could force himself free of the Curse, and… what? What could he do, as one person against nearly a hundred Death Eaters?
Not that he was particularly worried. Ginny would tell him what to do, as soon as she finished whatever it was she was standing over Hermione for…
Draco's voice came now. "Ginny, stop."
She whirled to face Draco, turning away from Hermione, and snarled at him. "Why should I? It's her fault, you know?"
That merely prompted laughter from Draco. "Your revenge will be so much sweeter if you make him do it."
Ginny turned back to Harry, her eyes gleaming. "Kill the Mudblood, Harry. Use the Killing Curse on Hermione, so she won't wake up this time."
Harry lifted his wand halfway, and then concentrated hard on forcing it back down. It paused, pointed at the floor as his instructions and his own willpower battled it out within him. The tip of the wand lowered another inch, and then another. Harry felt his face screw up into a grimace as he fought the compulsion to raise his wand, to blow Hermione away, that he so desperately wanted to do, to follow instructions, it was so much easier to follow instructions. The wand tip came up, and he forced it back down.
"DRACO, HELP! He's fighting it!"
The blonde haired young man spun and snarled, "IMPERIO!", and Harry felt his resistance go slack, his wand arm coming up to point steadily at Hermione. Harry that was closed his eyes, even as Harry that was then could not, as he said the spell.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The spear of green light seemed to move in slow motion as the full horror of what he had done hit Harry James Potter like a solid mass, slamming into him. It was far too late to take it back, and the sheer power he had infused the spell with did not merely kill Hermione Jane Granger, one of only two people Harry could ever truly remember loving.
It shattered her body, breaking her corporeality in a way it had for only one other, a Dark Lord some sixteen years before. Hermione Granger had no bond with her killer though, to keep her alive, no scar that would haunt her and preserve her. Instead, her body vaporized, shriveling away into so much dust as the front of the green bolt hit her…
Harry Potter had the powers of the elements of Nature at his command, bubbling beneath the surface, raging magical elemental fire and electricity and water and earth. Fire from passion, electricity from the spark of his love's touch, water from her pain, his pain, and earth, from their strength as a team.
A team… broken…
Perhaps the Muggles had said it best: Some day, after we have mastered the winds and the waves, the tides and gravity, we will harness the energies of love. And, for the second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire.
Harry Potter found fire now.
Pure energy flowed off of him, shattering the bindings the traitor and her lover had placed on him. Pure magical energy that was force, was power. The room around them exploded with Harry's agony, fire tearing into the deepest corners, shattering the walls and floors and killing all those who stood in its way.
The one locked door cracked open, never to be resealed, and its power coursed through the Boy-Who-Lived, bringing him abilities beyond all imagining. Flames swept across the room, a raging storm of plasma that consumed all it touched, elemental fury at the greatest loss, the longest love, of Harry Potter's life.
It was more than he could take. The loss of everyone who had meant the world to him, now dying in his agony, dead through his failure, sealed his heart…
The heart that can no longer love passionately, must with fury hate.
He did not know what hate felt like, not the hate that came after love. It is huge and desperate, and longs to be proved wrong, and every day it is proved right, it grows a little more monstrous. If the love was passion, the hate will be obsession.
Their spells unable to touch him, unable to stop his rage, their numbers decreasing quickly the longer they stayed, the Death Eaters ran from him, vanishing into the night, unwilling to be lambs to the slaughter…
The tail end of the green bolt finished striking Hermione, and Harry's loss was completed.
But one task remained… the Dark Lord, the one being who had caused all this. The being, no longer a man, that Harry Potter would kill.
Before he killed everyone else involved.
By the time Voldemort finished Apparating into the Department of Mysteries, he already was diving aside, unable to even consider blocking the first of the green flashes that Harry unleashed towards him.
But Voldemort was not the greatest wizard the world had ever seen until this point for naught, and his own spells flashed out at Harry too numerous to count or even to see individually. But Harry was playing for keeps now.
The spells merely bent around him, shattering the wall behind him, and Voldemort paused for a moment in shock.
Long enough for brilliant green to light the underground room yet again, screaming through flames scorching the buildings all around them, seven stories above. Once more, Voldemort barely avoided the spell, and was now on the defensive. Green, blue, red, gold, white, purple, spell after spell shattered the night, each gleaming hotter, brighter than before, but Voldemort stood before their onslaught, reflecting those he could, avoiding those he could not.
The raging inferno was swirling all about them now as cast aside spells heated it, engorging it on yet more and more energy, filling the night with their power. So hot was the flame, so elemental, that Voldemort began have to use a portion of his strength to hold the flames back.
Harry did not. He merely walked through the heart of the fires, his light exploding from his hands to slam into the Dark Lord once more.
What was perhaps most disturbing to the scene, as Harry relived it yet again, was the near total silence, except for the explosions and crackling of the fires, the hissing of the air as it melted and the resounding crashes of those spells Voldemort managed to turn aside, it was utterly silent.
Neither combatant uttered a word as the seconds grew into first one minute, then two, then ten. And still the power, the rage, the flames, shook the very earth itself as light exploded back and forth between the two of them. There was no time for words now, only actions, as Voldemort attempted to regain the offensive, or at least, slow Harry down some, or tire him out, or something.
But just as the wind never tires, neither did Harry, as fire burns until all that fuels it had been consumed.
And the rage remained…
The swirl of violence finally shattered as Voldemort was hit by some minor spell of Harry's, who paused his attack to grin. "Tonight we end it, Tom. Fate exists, but it can only take us so far. Because now we're here, and it's up to us to make it happen." More lightning flashed out from the boy's hands as he lifted them skyward. "If either of us leaves here tonight, it will only be one."
The explosion that followed these words was the most intense yet as two immensely bright flashes of green light collided midway between the two combatants, tearing the very air itself apart, throwing them backwards.
Stairs of stone rushed by in a whirl as Harry tumbled, and maniacal laughter filled the air, cold and soulless laughter that tore at the strings of the heart, clawing with frozen dread at the spirit of love.
Two bodies hit the floor before the raised dais, simple but for an arch. One rose to his feet, one did not. One raised up his wand, the other made no move. "Acta est fabula." A dark smile, colder than the frozen hell it was about to banish its opponent to, creased the face of the being who stood. "Plaudite." It was a simple command, an order to cheer for one's own death. Then it came. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The roar was unmistakable, the flash of light, brighter than summer's noon, greener than the trees of Christmas, unlike any before it, or after.
Voldemort died. Harry Potter lived.
Darkness shrouded him as the rain began to pelt down, lightning crashing through the exposed sky. The flames began to die under the downpour of heaven's tears, merging on Harry's face with his own.
The Second War was over.
Harry waved his arm, and the flames were gone, but even he, now, could not bring the dead back to life, his arrogance and uncontrolled power taking them…
No.
It had been them. Them and Voldemort. And they would all now suffer as he had… Forever.
The Second War was over. Harry's war had just begun.
* * * * * *
Upon the return to the reality of the spirit world, Harry could sense utter and complete silence, and felt, rightly, he realized, looking about him, that everyone was staring at him. Everyone, including Voldemort and Bellatrix, with complete and utter shock.
Bellatrix's mouth moved, and much to her surprise, sound came out. "That isn't what happened."
Hermione, catching on that they could speak again, interrupted her. "Obviously. But what was that? A false memory, a nightmare of a dream, what? It seemed awfully close to what did happen."
The terrible voice broke in, enforcing silence once more. "That memory was just as real as the first, the only difference being that it happened twenty-seven years ago for young Harry Potter." He could see Hermione mouth the number, then her eyes widened, the few slips in the last ten days rushing back to her instantly, connecting the dots behind her chocolate gaze.
Harry slowly nodded, confirming the words of the voice, wishing every second that he had not let them be true, or, at least, that he had told Hermione the truth earlier. He could see the disappointment in her ghostly eyes, and he turned away, unable to face her now, in what could quite likely be the last moment he saw her for a very long time.
It was not, fortunately, and Hermione spoke again, addressing the voice. "Harry Potter participated in the Death Exchange to save my life, and for that, he was willing. Now he has participated, my life is saved, so he is no longer willing to undergo the ritual."
Bellatrix breathed in deeply, obviously wanting to protest, and for a moment, Harry thought they had won. But the voice rolled over him once more, shattering that hope. "Incorrect. Harry Potter has not yet participated in the completed Death Exchange ritual. Your life, Hermione Jane Granger, would be forfeit if he were to back out now."
The spectral form of the young witch he loved turned to him and whispered, "I'm willing, Harry. End this now." He shook his head, unable to speak. She kept talking. "Alright, I'll try the idea you had." Harry smiled encouragingly, and squeezed her hand once more. She smiled back, before returning her gaze to the empty air before them. "When Harry defeated Voldemort, he defeated him with pure love, refined into an essence of power, pushing him through the Black Veil to kill him. Voldemort kills with the Killing Curse. Harry would never have died in the same manner as Voldemort, even if it was at approximately the same time."
The voice was silent for a moment, and when it became clear that no one was going to speak, it prompted "Advocati?" before Bellatrix opened her mouth.
"Perhaps the Mudblood is correct. Perhaps the Dark Lord would have killed Potter with the Killing Curse. But as we've just seen, at least once, Potter killed the Dark Lord with the Killing Curse. I am quite sure the Dark Lord would have used whatever means presented itself for killing Potter, and if shoving him through the Veil had been available, he would have taken that option."
"You are correct, Advocati. This much is clear from Voldemort's own memory of the events, so the argument is flawed." At the voice's words, Hermione mouthed a curse Harry had not realized she had known, which inspired him to grin slightly, despite the seriousness of the situation.
Hermione turned with desperation welling in her eyes. "What now?" they seemed to say, and Harry wished he knew, wish he knew what to tell her, to comfort her, even if he could talk.
"The future," he mouthed back to her, still unable to talk, and he smiled as he saw her eyes light up, making a connection, coming up with an idea.
She spoke. "You stated that the second memory Harry provided of killing Voldemort happened twenty-seven years in the past for him. Yet the event only happened ten days ago. This means that Harry's future exists. Twenty-seven years of it. How could he have died?"
There was silence, and Hermione smiled slightly at Harry, who smiled even wider back at her as the silence lengthened. Finally the voice spoke. "Normally it is the job of the Advocati to argue for the Death Exchange, young Miss Granger. Nevertheless, you are at least partially correct. Harry Potter could not have died the first time he killed Voldemort because he had twenty-seven years of future. Perhaps you were even meant to live. Even such as I do not know. I do know that nothing I know of in those twenty seven years, which are in the past, relative to Harry Potter's killing of Lord Voldemort in this timeline, would imply he has a future." Hermione gasped at that. "But the memories argue for further examination. I am not all knowing."
And without warning, the flash of light and darkness descended once more…