Chapter 6
The clarity came to him while he watched Neville burn, and rally, and claim victory; while he watched Molly and Bellatrix duel, frozen under his Cloak, unable to help.
The Elder Wand. It was his. Dumbledore had almost told him as much, in the dreamscape or wherever he had gone in the in-between.
And really… what did it matter who he was, and who had died to save him in Godric's Hollow? That was a problem for him to unravel alone. Without Voldemort’s shadow on him. The point was that he had been loved, and loved strongly enough that it had protected him for seventeen years; that was all the information he needed to distract Tom Riddle long enough to tell him about the Elder Wand.
Maybe the stress of the war and a year on the run had caused a minor existential crisis; maybe he had imagined the whole thing. But it was a problem for after Tom Riddle - for Harry knew, now, that there would be an after. Voldemort would die, just like any other man.
It was time.