The Flaw in the Plan
Sunday, March 23rd, 1997
Never before in his life had Draco appreciated just how peaceful, how serene, and how beautiful it was atop the Astronomy Tower. At the highest point in Hogwarts Castle, one could lean over the ramparts and feel like they could touch the sky. Not only that, but compared to downstairs, where all was hot and bloody, he finally could breathe in free air sitting among the clouds.
Remarkably, he even found it not all that difficult to push down memories of Dumbledore while standing under the midnight blue sky.
He did, however, find himself warring with his own thoughts as he removed the Elder Wand from his - or rather Harry’s - jeans pocket and turned it between his fingers, once more finding himself wondering how such a simple stick of wood could cause such pain. Why had Dumbledore given it to him? How had he even known he would die? How would he know Draco would earn ownership over it?
It was those thoughts that stopped his arm from helping to push him up on top of the ramparts, instead letting his arm drop from the wall. If he died before all these questions were answered… What if the answers revealed he didn’t need to be doing this? What if he was wrong, and he wasn’t even the owner of the wand?
If that was true, then Crouch would’ve had to be, and if Voldemort had killed him… Well then they had all already lost, hadn’t they? Harry would have to beat him with sheer skill.
Regardless, Draco wouldn’t be needed, and in the near 100% probability the wand did belong to him, it would be best to let it die with him then. Let this cruel curse the Peverell’s had started end, once and for all.
So his arm gave way and he pushed himself up on top of the ramparts, wobbling for only a second before regaining his balance. He’d stood atop a moving train this year, after all, and ridden a dragon. He’d had quite the eventful life, when he thought back to all he’d done; he had parents who’d given him a childhood full of joyful memories and love, his first friends taking him down the road to Hogwarts where he met Ron, Hermione, and Harry Potter.
The boy who lived to most, but the boy whom he loved to only him, and soon to be the boy he left behind. He closed his eyes, picturing his face behind his eyelids; dark skinned, brilliantly green eyes peeking out beneath wild bangs, and a joyful smile on his lips he hadn’t seen it much too long, but he had fallen so head over heels for. He tried to remember the last kiss they shared, tried desperately to recreate the sensation on his lips, but it was futile. He’d always just be grasping at air, like trying to hold a steady grip on water.
And he knew that, so what was he still doing, stalling? He had to be. But he had to stop, because if he kept on thinking then he’d get scared and already this height was turning from beautiful to dizzying, and his knees were buckling and he could fall forward any second but wasn’t that the goal Draco you fu -
“Draco!”
A sound he hadn’t realized was his racing breaths suddenly came to a halt at the sound of the love of his life’s voice, and all at once he froze solid.
“Wh - What are you doing?”
Only to tumble forwards through the air, feet slipping on the stone before fully losing contact.
There was nothing peaceful about this. Nothing to find the slightest bit of solace in because there was nothing to hold, physical or metaphorical. All there was was him, and the air he was spiraling down, down, down through, and the sound all around him, of his own screams along with poor Harry’s.
For a moment, Draco recalled a distant, blurry memory of falling on the Quidditch Pitch. Two years ago. A fall he almost - shouldn’t have survived from, and just like he had been saved then, he was now.
Harry ran forward, face stricken with horror, but was just as soon stumbling backwards because in a shocking deja vu visage to the memories he had just viewed, great, wide orange wings spread out over the ramparts, raising up a teen boy’s body between its talons. The great Phoenix dropped Draco on solid ground and with a caw soared to the top of the tower’s roof, allowing Harry to sprint forwards again, embracing Draco close to him, the blonde falling into his arms.
“What the hell were you thinking, Draco? What the hell is wrong with you?” He let go to hold him at arm’s length, grabbing his chin to make him look him in the eye. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I - I thought - the - wand -” Draco stuttered, for he was shaking profusely, his life having literally just flashed before his mind. Was this how everyone felt, moments before death? “I thought I could make it die with me.”
“You idiot,” Harry hugged him again, letting him go only to hold his face with both hands and yell, “Draco you idiot! You don’t need to do any of that I - I think I figured it out.”
“Then by all means tell me,” Draco breathed, shakily stepping back to lean against the ramparts, the wand still tight in his grip. “Because I really don’t want to die.”
“Well… I watched the memory. It was Dumbledore’s life, his whole life, everything that had to do with Grindelwald. And… Draco they weren’t just friends… he loved him. They were tied together by their love and, you know what else? The wand. I think Dumbledore was trying to tell me something with that. He brought us together on purpose in Fourth Year, not just to try and keep us alive for the Task he - he knew, somehow, knew -” Harry didn’t know for sure how to convey his next words, so instead stretched out his arm to take Draco’s hand, entwining his fingers through his.
“He gave you that wand because he knew you’d give it to me -”
“Harry I can’t fight you -”
“No, you aren’t listening,” Harry let go of his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he began to pace back and forth before his boyfriend. “It’s… The wand chooses the wizard. Ollivander always talked about wands as if they had feelings and could think. I think it works like… Wands are an extension of the wizard, right? Draco, I chose you.” He stepped forward again, taking both of the boys hands and falling in love with those pools of gray and blue all over again as they stared at him wide, and scared. “The moment I fell in love with you. And, I can only hope that you love me because if you do, then that wand is as much mine as it is yours.”
He didn’t need to ask if the boy understood as he saw the realization dawn in his eyes. He watched him lower his gaze to the wand entwined in both of their hands now, binding them together, as it had Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
The wand chooses the wizard.
The wizard does too.
With a kiss confirming this, Harry felt the warmth Dumbledore had when he’d first picked up the wand. What Draco had felt when Fudge handed it to him. He felt a warmth flush through his veins to his very soul and when he opened his eyes and separated from his partner, it felt like they were still entwined, their hearts forever one now.
“I love you,” Draco choked and he beamed.
“I love you too.”
“But I’m still confused,” the blond admitted, stepping back and, to Harry’s relief, letting go of the wand, truly showing he’d given it to him now. “What was up with that phoenix?” He raised a hand to his eyebrows and squinted up at the orange bird atop of the point of the tower.
“Well… That’s a long story…” said Harry, turning and looking up at it with a smile. “In the memories Dumbledore said something about a phoenix coming to any Dumbledore in need. Ariana had a stuffed toy she called Fawkes, so I bet that’s where the name came from. He arrived to help him in his fight with Grindelwald. What confused me is Grindelwald said something about this poem from earlier in the memories…”
Harry pressed two fingers to his temple and Draco watched him think carefully, fully expecting the moment when he looked up and snapped his fingers with delight before it came.
“Of course!” He declared, snapping his fingers with delight. “‘A son cruelly banished,’ that’s Dumbledore banished to his home after his mother died. ‘Despair of the daughter,’ Ariana was guilty of killing her and keeping her brother where he felt he was useless. ‘Return great avenger with wings from the water.’ What if Fawkes was Ariana?”
Draco blinked. “I’m sorry, none of that made sense.”
“It barely does to me,” Harry confessed, shrugging his shoulders, “But Dumbledore said his grandfather had one - a Phoenix, I mean - and it disappeared before he died. Fawkes disappeared after Dumbledore died. I think every Phoenix that comes to a Dumbledore is a deceased relative. By that logic, this one must be…”
He raised his arm and the phoenix up above them released a birdsong akin to Fawkes’, only slightly different, spreading his wings and flying down to perch on Harry’s arm.
“Dumbledore,” the pair of boys breathed, the bird softly crying in response.
“What do we do now?” Draco said as Harry lifted a hand to stroke the birds head. “You have the Elder Wand… Do we kill him?”
“We’ll need to kill the snake first…” Harry frowned, staring out at the forest for a moment. “And I don’t want to kill him,” he recalled Dumbledore’s refusal to kill Grindelwald in 1945. “That’s not what Dumbledore would’ve wanted… But I have an idea of how we can trick him.”
He turned to Draco, starting to smile as his idea developed in his eyes. “He thinks he’s the master of the wand, right? What if we gave it to him? Handed you over like he wants, so when I come out I can disarm him. His curse will backfire.”
“How do we know he won’t kill me?” There was a fear Harry absolutely hated to see in his boyfriends eyes, and his voice shook on the word ‘kill.’
“You’ll have to trust me.”
“Of course I do, Harry,” said Draco, voice completely genuine with not just trust but true love.
“Brilliant, then we’d better get moving,” they turned and started to run for the stairs. “Voldemort doesn’t know your parents defected. We can get them to turn you over and he’ll be none the wiser.” He turned to the phoenix still on his arm. “Get me the Sorting Hat.” He told it and the bird nodded then soared off out the nearby window back towards the Headmaster’s office, leaving Harry and Draco to bolt down the steps of Astronomy Tower as fast as they could.
Their hour was running out quickly, afterall.
-*-*-*-
“Are you sure this is safe, Draco?”
“Of course it isn’t,” the boy said truthfully to his mother, turning to smile at her reassuringly. “But it’s our only option.” Silently, he added besides tossing myself off the Astronomy Tower.
“Draco?” He turned to his father, staring at him with the sort of admiration that he would’ve done anything for just a couple years ago, and now could only find reassurance in. A sign that if this day ever ended, if he ever saw the sun rise on a new world, he’d be able to go back to the way his life had been before his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, except now with the most amazing wizard anyone could ask for at his side, and a much more healthy crowd of friends.
“I… I don’t know how to say this but…” With a deep inhale his father looked him in the eyes and said, “I’m very proud of you.”
Draco’s eyes widened, and he felt he could’ve taken a double take if he wasn’t already staring at his father who yes, most certainly had just said that to him, his failure of a son who’d been burned off the family tree for being such a disgrace. He’d just confirmed he wasn’t any of that. Had just told him something even deeper than that he loved him, which he’d already proven in risking his life thus far.
“I - Thanks, Dad,” Draco choked, eyes stinging, and hugged him tight. Neither said it with words, but both were fearing this might be the last time they got a chance. This, no matter how much confidence Draco could lay into it, was a dangerous bid; if Harry failed, Merlin forbid, Voldemort wouldn’t waste a second killing all three Malfoys once and for all.
But it was their only shot at beating him.
“We’ll be with you,” his mother reassured him as he stepped back and bent down on his knees, raising his arms for them to grab. “To the end.”
“I love you both more than anything,” his father added, raising a hand to the great front doors before them.
“One,” Draco whispered as his parents locked eyes above him, finding reassurance and love in each other’s gazes.
“Two…”
Behind them the Great Hall doors creaked open and his trio of Gryffindor friends peered out, Hermione and Ron horrified, having previously shouted at Harry the whole length of Draco’s journey to and back from the dungeons over how idiotic they found this idea, while Harry focused on his boyfriend as he bent his head forward and shook it, causing hair to fall in front of his face. It wasn’t hard to make him look beaten; they’d all been through hell in the last couple of hours.
“Three.”
Lucius pushed the doors open with one thrust, and together, he and Narcissa began to drag Draco across the rubble scattered around the courtyard towards a procession of Death Eaters crossing the main bridge, led by Voldemort.
“Cissy?” Bellatrix cried in the high voice of hers, pushing through the crowd of Death Eaters to the front, at Voldemort’s side, and shouting out, “Cissy! Where’ve you been?”
“Silence,” Voldemort hissed at her, outstretching his hand to the blondes as they continued forwards, dragging Draco, playing limp in their arms. “They’ve been doing a great service to Lord Voldemort, Bellatrix, can’t you see? They have done what none yet could; brought Draco Malfoy to his knees before me. The question is, do they have his wand?”
Narcissa hesitated, but not enough to make Voldemort suspicious before she removed the Elder Wand from her sleeve and tossed it through the air where Voldemort easily caught it, sighing with pleasure as he turned the wooden stick between his long white fingers.
“Well done, Lucius, Narcissa. Now, leave him to me.”
With one last look at their son, still hanging limp, the couple carefully let him go and joined the rest of the crowd, Narcissa reluctantly leading Lucius over beside Bellatrix.
Draco was left to shakily push himself off the gravel, trying to have Pansy’s voice in his ears when she’d sarcastically give him acting advice for his dramatic retellings of Harry’s embarrassing encounters. It seemed to work as when Voldemort gloated, “And this is to whom Dumbledore entrusted the most powerful wand in existence with?” his army barked out into mocking laughter.
“Your - forces -” He broke off to cough harshly before raising his eyes to meet the red of a monster. “- were stronger than I expected.”
“Imperio.”
Without any resistance Draco allowed himself to be brought fully on his knees, upright, gaze forcibly focused on only Voldemort. It was now, though, he was able to notice the snake coiled above his head, floating in the air, suspended in a no doubt nearly impenetrable shield bubble.
“I wonder if I made you scream loud enough it would make your cowardice Harry reveal himself,” the snakelike face taunted and Draco did his best to glare back against the Imperius curse, feeling a rush of deja vu fill him at the position he was now in. Horrible memories of standing in the doorway to his drawing room, his parents unconscious and helpless on the floor, surrounded by Death Eaters, flooded him.
But at the sound of pounding feet he pushed them back and smirked.
“I think they’d call just about everyone else.” he said, as the doors creaked open again behind him and he knew all the surviving fighters in the battle stepped out, murmurings spreading like wildfire about his predicament.
“Draco?”
“Is that Draco Malfoy?”
“He didn’t turn himself in… did he?”
“DRACO!”
The latest was female, and it tore at not just his ears but his heart to hear Pansy crying like that, but at least it confirmed she was safe. All the voices he recognized were people still with him that would make it out - had to, because this plan had to work.
It just had to.
“Fools!” Voldemort shouted at them all. “You run out here as if to be freely offering your lives up. Harry Potter has not come to save you! He’s chosen to flee and hide rather than face me and spare all your lives! Look here,” He pointed the Elder Wand down at Draco, “His love at my mercy and does he care to reveal himself? No! Crucio!”
It was clear Voldemort was simply throwing all his anger out now for Harry having not come. He’d expected him too, and now was rightly confused and furious. This of course only meant bad news for Draco, who now felt himself in a world of pain he’d experienced far too often at this point, howling and screaming for his life but remaining rigidly, stubbornly upright due to the Imperius Curse.
Beyond his own screams he could make out Voldemort’s gloating voice and laughter from the Death Eater’s, paired with the occasional shout from the crowd behind him, but it was following the sound of scuffling and shouting and a loud bang that he was free of the unbearable pain wrenching him and he could pant for air even though he was still frozen upright.
Though he could see, barely out of his peripheral vision, that the shout had been Longbottom’s and he was now lying on the ground, Voldemort tossing his wand aside and laughing.
“And who is this?” he said, his voice remarkably snakelike. “Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?”
Bellatrix cackled, the Malfoys wincing beside her.
“It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?” It was clear she was trying to make him recall the devotion she (and the Lestranges and Crouch Jr) had put in him in torturing the boy’s parents.
“Ah, yes, I remember,” said Voldemort as the Gryffindor boy struggled to his feet, alone in no-man’s land between the good and bad, save Draco, watching him with pity out of his peripherals. “But you are a pure-blood, aren’t you, my brave boy?” Voldemort asked Neville.
“So what if I am?” Neville shouted, hands balled to fists at his sides as he stared the monster down.
“You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom.”
“I’ll join you when hell freezes over. Dumbledore’s Army!”
Voldemort scowled, hands curled around the Elder Wand tightly. “Very well,” he said, “If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. Death Eaters!” He turned and called to his forces, “Call the dragons!”
Before they could raise their fingers to their lips to whistle, however, a great caw rang through the air and Draco beamed with delight at the sound of it, knowing that it meant his plan was going well. And sure enough, he could see at the edge of his vision the phoenix drop a brown object into Neville’s hands, and with a gleam of silver and a rubied handle Neville had drawn the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat. At that same moment the united voices of Ron and Hermione screamed, “Avada Kedavra!” at the shield surrounding Nagini and it burst into a million blue specks against the dark sky, the snake smacking to the floor with a slap.
Voldemort didn’t even have a chance to cry in rage before Neville had bounded forwards towards it and swung the sword through the air. With a single stroke he sliced off the great snake’s head, causing it to spin through the air while Voldemort howled with fear and fury, before falling, along with the rest of the snake’s body, as his feet.
What happened next was a blur which Draco couldn’t distinguish properly. He could tell, in his rage, Voldemort had relinquished the Imperius Curse on him for he collapsed to the ground, but then he was being stampeded as the Death Eaters charged forward at the Order and Dumbledore’s Army, so he had to scramble away, running for the walls of the courtyard and sinking against the stone, spotting blurs of blonde hair bobbing in the sea of black cloaks and bellowing out, “MOM! DAD!”
It was no use. In the chaos Lucius and Narcissa were being swept up back into the castle with the rest of the crowd. So, clenching his teeth, Draco bounded forwards back in, stopping only to pick Neville’s wand up from the rubble and careful not to so much as glance at Nagini’s corpse as he leapt over it.
Behind him, the Giants had been held back by Thestrals and - was that Buckbeak? - and the dragons were still waiting in the woods to be called. Inside the castle, there were only duels. Wizards on wizard, witch on witch.
Draco glimpsed Ron and Hermione, hand in hand, bolting past him into the Great Hall, and he was tripping over more bodies but he ignored them as he followed, knowing his parents had to be inside.
But the Great Hall was too stuffed with duels over bodies, injured and dead, to discern where they might be hiding anymore. He saw Horace Slughorn leading a mob of Slytherins, among which were the brave Pansy and Theo and even a limping Gregory, tears for his fallen friend pooling over his cheeks. They charged straight for Death Eaters who could’ve been their parents, but no one cared anymore. Harry hadn’t surrendered, so it was clear now this was the last offense.
He could see homeowners of Hogsmeade, alongside students he was certain had been evacuated but must’ve snuck back into the school. The House-elves were swarming down the steps to the entrance hall, armed with kitchen knives and cleavers, Kreacher leading them with Regulus Black’s locket proudly displayed on his chest. “Fight! Fight!” he called, “Fight for my Master, defender of the House-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!”
Further into the fold Draco pushed, throwing up shields with Neville’s wand whenever a spell got too close, though he hated using one which was not his and it felt cold in his grip. But it didn’t matter, just as he was pushing past Arthur and Percy Weasley slamming Thicknesse to the floor, he saw them.
“DRACO!” Tied together by their persistently entwined hands, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stopped a few feet from him, pushing past duels with a madness in their gazes.
“MOM! DAD!” He screamed, bolting forwards and running into their arms, but almost instantly stepping back to throw up a shield around the three of them.
“C’mon,” he whispered, guiding them over to the side of the Hall, where his father immediately understood his meaning and crouched below one of the House tables but his mother stepped forward.
“We’re fighting,” she said, but he shook his head.
“No. Both sides think you’re their enemy. It’s too -” he didn’t need to finish as, to prove his point, Bellatrix had turned from whomever she was fighting and howled at the trio, “Trying to hide, Cissy? Why don’t you come out to play, Draco!”
She was distracted by a jet of red light, however, and with yelp it sparked her forehead, lighting a curl of her hair on fire. She doused the flames immediately and turned to see Ginny and Luna glaring at her. Sneering, she wheeled her wand arm back and fired a Killing Curse far too close to the redheaded girl, cackling madly.
“NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!” Turning wildly, Draco spotted Molly Weasley bolting forwards, throwing her cloak off of her to free her arms as Bellatrix turned and faced her, roaring with laughter. “OUT OF MY WAY!” With a shove she had pushed her daughter and Luna aside and whipped out her wand, and she and Voldemort’s most loyal Death Eater began to duel.
Draco watched almost with horror. He’d never seen, nor imagined, the Weasley matriarch to look this terrifying, wand slashing through the air, jets of light passing between them. Wherever they stepped, the floor cracked. They were each dueling with murder in their eyes.
“No!” Molly cried when a few students tried to step forward. “Get back! Get back! She is mine!”
Draco dimly realized the rest of the fighters had all shrunk back to watch the fight, and Voldemort’s current duel against four opponents; McGonagall, Slughorn, Kingsley, and Tonks.
“What will happen to your children when I’ve killed you?” Bellatrix was taunting, looking like she’d reached her maddest point; there wasn’t a shred of humanity left in her hooded eyes. “When Mummy’s gone the same way as Freddie?”
“You - will - never - touch - our - children - again!” Molly screamed to which Bellatrix laughed that same laugh the Black family was known for. And just like that, Molly’s curse slipped through her defenses and hit her square on the chest over her heart. Bellatrix froze, and for a moment Draco knew she’d understood she’d been defeated, then his Aunt had blown into a million pieces, hanging in the air like black ashfell and the crowd roared. Molly smirked but clearly panting for breath, exhausted from the fight.
Draco’s gaze briefly flinched to his mother’s, but there wasn’t a shred of remorse in her blue eyes.
“NO!” Voldemort screamed, and with a sweep of his wand he’d blown McGonagall, Kingsley, Slughorn, and Tonks all backwards through the air. The Elder Wand turned to Molly, but then -
“Protego!”
The Shield Charm expanded, surrounding Voldemort and one other figure, tossing his Invisibility Cloak aside and standing alone against Voldemort. Jeers came from the Death Eaters and roars of delight from the various light side fighters, but they quickly fell silent as the Chosen One and the Dark Lord began to circle each other in the center of the Hall. Everyone held their breath for the fallout of this final confrontation.
“I don’t want anyone else to try to help.” Harry shouted, trying to steady his shaking grip on his wand. “It’s got to be like this. It’s got to be me.”
Voldemort hissed like a snake, saying, “Potter doesn’t mean that. That isn’t how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?”
“Nobody,” Harry shook his head. “There are no more Horcruxes. It’s just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good…”
“One of us?” Voldemort sneered, the red eyes wide shining in his white mask-like face. “You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?”
“Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?” asked Harry, maintaining a perfect circle with him as they paced around each other. “Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, my wand has saved me whenever you attack?”
“Accidents!” Voldemort screamed, voice bouncing off of the silent walls. There were hundreds of viewers but all were frozen, either from fear or something else. Not even a breath could be heard. “Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and sniveled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!”
“You won’t be killing anyone else tonight,” said Harry, seeing only those gleaming red eyes, whilst Voldemort only saw his green. “In case it has slipped your mind, Tom Riddle, you aren’t infallible. I know lots of important things that you don’t. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?”
Voldemort stayed silent, prowling like a snake, ready to strike, but not moving to. Instead he seemed to be listening, as if believing Harry might hide a final secret he hadn’t yet discovered…
“Is it love again?” he at last taunted, “Dumbledore’s favorite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the tower and breaking like an old waxwork? Love, which did not prevent me stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter - and nobody seems to love you enough to run forward this time and take my curse. So what will stop you from dying now when I strike?”
“Just one thing,” Harry said, and began to grin, knowing it was indeed love once again. It always has been.
“If it is not love that will save you this time,” said Voldemort, “you must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?”
“I believe both,” he proclaimed, for a moment relishing in Voldemort’s pure unhidden shock, before he’d forced it down and began to laugh the high laugh he was known for. But this time it was at its most frightening. This was humorless, insane, and echoed as his voice had against the walls of the Hall.
“You think you know more magic than I do? Than I, than Lord Voldemort, who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?”
“Oh, he dreamed of it,” Harry nodded, thinking of two teenage boys lying on the grass dreaming of Hallows and world domination, “but he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you’ve done.”
“You mean he was weak!” screamed Voldemort. “Too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!”
“No, he was cleverer than you. A better wizard, a better man.”
“I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!”
“And he has guided my every step to bringing about the death of you,” said Harry. “Look around you Tom! I’ve destroyed all your Horcruxes because the one man you never charmed was Albus Dumbledore. I learned how many you made, I learned each object you chose, because Dumbledore always saw straight through you. Understood you completely. You think simply knowing better spells, better magic can make you defeat me, but you still don’t understand how I tick, do you? I don’t let people die for me every day, and I don’t need a powerful, material weapon to defeat you. But I know you’ve never known love, so before I defeat you, I’d advise you to think about what you’ve done… Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle…”
“What is this?” Voldemort’s pupils contracted to thin slits in shock, his skin getting its palest, and he didn’t blame him. His own words nearly shocked him, but he’d seen how Dumbledore had spared Grindelwald. Had seen how years in Nurmengard had made the devil remorseful for his actions - he’d even tried to withhold the information about the Elder Wand from Voldemort when he came knocking. He knew mercy could do some good.
“It’s your one last chance,” he continued, “it’s all you’ve got left… Be a man… try… Try for some remorse…”
“You dare -?” said Voldemort again.
“Yes, I dare,” said Harry, “because while you might have brought about Dumbledore’s fall, he knew it would happen far longer. Gellert Grindelwald loved Albus Dumbledore, and he loved him, and in years in prison that love lasted and made him remorseful. When Draco Malfoy tried to poison him, Dumbledore became suspicious. He went to the man he loved, a Seer, and had him show him the future. He saw how he’d die, but he also saw where the Elder Wand would end up, and made sure those events conspired.”
Voldemort’s hand trembled around the wand in it, which he’d triumphantly thought to be his only minutes prior.
“Dumbledore’s last plan hasn’t backfired on me at all. It’s backfired on you, Riddle. That wand still isn’t working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Bartemius Crouch Jr was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore.”
“He killed -”
“Aren’t you listening? Crouch never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore knew he was going to die; he let himself be killed atop that tower! If all had gone as planned, the wand’s power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him! Possessing the wand isn’t enough! Holding it, using it, doesn’t make it really yours. Didn’t you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard… The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who he gifted it to in his will. Someone he saw wield it in the future Grindelwald showed to him. A new master who didn’t realize he’d possessed the world’s most dangerous wand for a year until days ago. Ollivander revealed it to him, to us.
“The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.”
Again shock flushed Voldemort’s face and was gone in the next second. “But what does it matter?” he spoke softly. “Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. This wand is powerful, I am more powerful all the same… and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…”
“But you’re too late,” Harry taunted. “Love has beaten you once more, just like with my mother, and Grindelwald, and Dumbledore. I love Draco, and he loves me. The wand chooses the wizard, and he chose me. That wand is as much mine as it is his.
But Voldemort only looked confused, and Harry knew he still didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend. But he’d lost all his patience. Sneering, he raised the Elder Wand high, grip on it tight. Harry mirrored him, raising his holly wand.
“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” whispered Harry, to himself, to Voldemort, to Dumbledore, he did not know. “Does the wand in your hand know who its master’s heart belongs to? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”
A brilliant red glow spread across the enchanted ceiling. The sun was setting, a brilliant ombre of orange, yellow, and pink painting Voldemort’s pale face. For a moment Harry recalled the bursting of phoenix fire, and with those thoughts in mind he raised his wand to meet Voldemort’s, shouting his last hope along with him.
“Avada Kedavra!”
“Expelliarmus!”
With a bang like a cannon blast their spells met, Harry’s wand bursting out golden flames of its own accord once more. And as soon as the jet of green light rammed into the fire, the Elder Wand spiraled into the air, dark against the warm sunset, and Harry caught it with the skill of a Seeker, flooded with the same warmth he’d been greeted with on the tower.
Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, scarlet eyes rolling backwards in the pale head.
Tom Riddle hit the floor of his beloved school, Hogwarts, with a mundane finality, his body as feeble and shrunken as the wizards and witches he killed this day, his hands empty of any wand, any power, his snakelike like face forever vacant and unknowing. Dead and killed by his own rebounding curse, Harry Potter once again triumphant above him, two wands in hand.
Silently, he brought down his shield charm, and for a moment the hall was only filled with the sound of breathing. Then a great birdsong cried out through the air and, looking up, he saw the phoenix from before soaring over him. With that the tension broke and the crowd of his supporters roared and cheered, bounding across the Hall to get to him.
Ron and Hermione were the first, hugging him tightly, their tears wetting his back, their shouts in his ears deafening him, and then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there. The Weasleys, Hagrid, Kingsley, Tonks, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Fudge, and after that he couldn’t tell anymore, nor could he hear a word around all the chaos. He could feel hands moving, people shifting but could not tell whose hands were whose in the desperation to touch the Boy Who Lived, their savior.
The sun set and the Hall fell into darkness but various wands waved to light the candles floating below the enchanted ceiling, and the celebration was enough to fill the castle with light.
Eventually people dispersed to drag the unconscious bodies of the fallen Death Eaters into the room off of the Great Hall where the Triwizard Tournament Champions had gathered over two years ago, and search parties were sent out for all fleeing Death Eaters. But the celebration inside the Hall continued and Harry, despite his desperation to reach Draco and collapse tiredly into his arms, was dragged to every drinking group of friends and already drunk grieving party, desperate for the touch of the Chosen One to their dead loved ones.
No one cared that he had loved ones to greet, they wanted to each be greeted themselves. Hands shaken, gratitudes given. And, as the hours passed, by this point nearly every Death Eater had been taken inside the side room, and Voldemort’s body lay with his fellow Death Eaters, far away from the sixty-five dead - for they had counted - and even though the House tables had been moved back to their original spots, so had the Houses resumed their habit of sitting intermingled with each other. Teachers, pupils, ghosts, parents, and House-elves. Grawp could be seen peering in through a smashed window, wounded terribly but grinning as he held up Hagrid in his hand, freed from the Forest, beaming and waving at the crowd.
As people ate and drank at the long tables, they fully settled down and could discuss news coming through Patronuses and fire; that the Imperiused were becoming free of Death Eater control as Percy was, that all the innocents of Azkaban were being freed, and Harry sat beside Fudge as people asked him kindly to become their Minister of Magic once more.
“I’ll leave you to it,” said Harry, patting his older friend on the shoulder and standing and striding off, finding himself wandering over to sit beside Luna, having given up on spotting Draco in the crowd.
“I’d want some peace and quiet, if it were me,” she said softly, to which he released a long sigh.
“I’d love some,” he said.
“I’ll distract them all,” she leaned closer, playfully smirking, “Use your Cloak.”
Beaming, he picked it up from where he’d set it down beside him and threw it over his shoulders as she stood and pointed out the window, crying, “Oooh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger!”
Now he slipped through the crowd easily now, passing the Weasley’s sat in a circle, the absence of George glaringly obvious and a distant, horrible look in Percy’s eyes, but still they couldn’t help looking joyful. He saw Neville, bent over eating, the sword of Gryffindor lying beside him, a knot of admirers begging him to retell his tale of slaying the snake one more time. He passed Draco’s parents, cuddled together, eyes darting around them at the celebration and looking as if they didn’t know if they belonged there.
But just a few feet away from him he found them, sitting on the teacher’s dais, heads on each other’s shoulders. Crouching down he slipped his hand into Draco’s and whispered, “It’s me. Will you come with me?”
Together, he, Draco, Ron, and Hermione journeyed from the Hall, through the crumbling entrance hall, still covered in rubble, blood, and the emerald gems of the Slytherin hourglass. Somewhere off in the distance, maybe upstairs, maybe down, they could hear Peeves voice zooming through the corridors, singing a jubilant song:
We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter’s the one,
And Voldy’s gone moldy, so now let’s have fun!
“Really gives a feeling for the scope and tragedy of the thing, doesn’t it?” said Ron sarcastically as the four of them ascended the marble stairs, careful to avoid a huge chunk missing from the steps.
He didn’t blame Ron for his feelings; despite all of the victory, he only wanted to sleep, so in sleep he could mourn Fred, Lupin, Sirius, and Tess. But first he needed to explain everything he'd seen, and why he'd managed to kill Voldemort.
Slowly, beginning with Dumbledore and Aberforth playing in the grass as children, he recounted the former Headmaster’s life, bus friends listening in stunned silence to his every word as he explained how Dumbledore and Grindelwald had loved each other, the poem recounting how Fawkes the phoenix would come to him in need, and how that most certainly meant the phoenix was Ariana. He had just finished explaining how they’d made Harry The master of the Elder Wand via Draco’s love for him when they finally reached their destination; the stone gargoyle to the Headmaster’s office.
The gargoyle had been tipped over in this latest assault, and Harry asked it cautiously, “Can we go up?” Not knowing if it would accept passwords anymore.
“Feel free,” it said and together the Quartet climbed over him and let themselves move on the spiral staircase slowly upwards, like on a Muggle escalator.
As soon as they stepped inside the room exploded with sound and Harry flinched, thinking he was back, the Death Eaters had awoken to finish him off, the war wasn’t over, it would never be over -
But then Draco laid a hand on his shoulder gently, and he looked around and saw that every Headmaster and Headmistress had returned to their portraits to applaud him, whooping and cheering with delight, dancing around, waving their hats and wigs, saluting him…
Dilys Derwent sobbed, Dexter Fortescue waved his ear-trumpet, and Phineas Nigellus Black called out, lifting his chin proudly, “And let it be noted that Slytherin House played its part! Let our contribution not be forgotten! Let what Master Malfoy here has done for the Wizarding World today not be forgotten.”
Harry was startled again by a strange sound, and it took him turning and seeing it coming from the boy beside him for him to realize it was Draco, and he was laughing.
But all this celebration wasn’t what Harry came for. He only looked for Dumbledore’s portrait, high above the headmaster's chair, beaming down at him and crying. Silvery tears slipping through his half-moon spectacles and down his beard, and the look on his face, of sheer unabashed pride, filled him with the same vigoration as a phoenix song.
In fact, Harry became aware, once more, of a strange sound, and his and his friends turned to find the phoenix which had saved them all this evening pecking at the window. Hermione hurried over to open it and immediately the creature soared in over their heads, filling them with a delightful song, before swooping down to perch on Harry’s shoulder and nibble on his ear.
He barked out a laugh, stroking the bird’s head, and sighed, feeling at last at peace. So he raised his hands and all at once the portraits silenced, moving only to dab their eyes and making no noise but sniffing.
“I’m going to keep the Invisibility Cloak,” he said to Dumbledore, who beamed before he could ask if that was okay.
“But of course, Harry, it is yours forever, until you pass it on!”
He nodded. “And then there’s this.”
He slipped the Elder Wand from his sleeve and held it up, Draco following it carefully, looking a little green. But Ron and Hermione looked at with reverence, unaware of how it actually felt to hold the thing that had caused so much terrible pain.
“I don’t want it.”
“What?” Ron blurted. “Are you mental?”
“I don’t either,” said Draco. “I’ve used it since August but it never felt right. It’s too powerful for me, too… big. Much bigger than I am.”
“Don’t undermine yourself, Draco,” said Dumbledore softly. “I gave you that wand for a reason.”
“And that reason is fulfilled,” he said. “It should be hidden away. Somewhere no one will ever find it. Harry and I will only have to use it if necessary.”
“If we die a natural death,” Harry’s hold on Draco’s hand tightened, and Draco squeezed back affectionately. “Its power will be broken, won’t it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That’ll be the end of it.”
Dumbledore swelled once more with pride, but also affection, and admiration. He smiled down at the Gryffindor and Slytherin, and they smiled back.
“Are you sure?” asked Ron, a sense of longing in his voice and gaze as it still followed the Elder Wand.
“I think Harry’s right,” Hermione reassured him, taking his own hand in hers.
“The wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Harry, slipping it back into his pocket. “And quite honestly,” He turned away, his friends following him out of the office, all imagining a nice night’s rest in Gryffindor Tower, and a healthy feast provided by Kreacher. “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”
As soon as he stepped foot out of the office he froze, and his friends paused, turning back to watch him standing still as a statue, pale with horror.
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked him, but in a second he looked alive again, shaking his shoulders and waving a hand.
“Nothing,” he said, waving a hand, and almost believing it. “Absolutely nothing. C’mon, I wanna see if the House-elves have rolled out the treacle tart yet.”
But it most certainly wasn’t nothing, for in that moment a spark of familiar pain had just shot up through his scar, and though in that moment he could shake it off as a headache, the truth was that it was anything but. The truth was that the Resurrection Stone still lay in the Snitch in his pocket. Severus Snape still ran free in the world, never having passed on his memories to Harry as planned. And the seventh Horcrux had not yet been vanquished, instead lying in wait inside Harry’s scar.