Retribution Time

Getting out of the Dursleys' house was something that Harry never expected to do. Once he achieved this, once he experienced the true nature and dark underbelly that was in the Magical world and at Hogwarts, he never dreamed of surviving his tenure at the most preeminent school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the UK. Once he heard the prophecy, he never expected to live long enough to see it come to an end.

And damn, for him and everyone else, the war was hard.

He had gone through so much and faced such adversity only to end up here. The big ugly bastard himself stood a few dozen paces across from him.

Tom fired a bolt of lightning as thick as Harry's wrist from the tip of his wand that flew towards him so quickly he hardly had time to summon a pole of metal that diverted the electric current into the stone ground.

Before the lightning even stopped, Voldemort sent an overpowered cutting curse large enough that Harry was unable to dodge. He had to transfigure the ground into a wall, causing a half-meter thick slab that was five meters long to rise up and take the entirety of the slash.

They both lowered their wands and the terrain returned to normal as they each canceled their magic.

"To think that the great and powerful Voldemort, the most feared Warlock of Europe in the past three Centuries would be reduced to the blinded megalomaniac before me today... You don’t learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you? You have never beaten me when I was at a disadvantage. The only times you have truly been able to overpower me was when I was a baby and that backfired and in the forest earlier and even then, I still survived your killing curse. The prophecy foretold our strength would be equal when it came to this battle. And here we are. Magic against Magic, you may know more than me, but I stand every bit as powerful as you now, Tom.”

“You dare-”

“Yes, I dare,” said Harry. “I have learned a couple of things that you don’t know, Tommy boy. Important things that you don’t. Want to
hear some? Before you make an even bigger mistake than attacking Hogwarts?”

Voldemort did not speak but prowled in a circle, and Harry
knew that he kept him temporarily mesmerized and at bay, held
back by the faintest possibility that Harry might indeed know a
final secret...

“Is it love again?” joked Voldemort, his snake’s face jeering “I have never been able to feel useless emotions such as that. Dumbledore’s favorite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death. Though love did not stop him from 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?”

"You are actually wrong, Riddle."

The crowd seemed enraptured, and Voldemort seemed a tad taken aback at his declaration of his being incorrect.

"Poor pitiful Tom and Harry all alone growing up abused and not knowing what the fuck love was. Piss off and grow up. You and I, we don't know how to feel emotions. But that is no excuse to go and murder everyone. You convinced your slaves that you fought and murdered based on blood. Such bullshit... But that has nothing to do with the power you know not. No, the power is not my capacity or the effects of love, it is not even something to do with me. It is merely speaking of your own ignorance."

"Get on with it then, tell me what I know not. What mystery fate hid from my sight."

"It is funny, really, just one tiny thing,” said Harry, and still they circled each other, wrapped in each other's gaze, held apart by nothing but the last secret.

“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?”

“There is no greater weapon that I know of stronger than that which is in your hand. And I still have years before I become magically mature. Right now, I am your equal. You were capable of facing off evenly with Dumbledore -who was the world's most powerful magical- in terms of power so if I were as magically as potent or powerful as you, right now at the age of nearly eighteen, then I can't imagine what I would be like when I grow old. I bet I will be capable of things you never even considered. However, I do not think love will save me today, and I have no spell that is an ace up my sleeve.” said Harry, "But I can beat you. I know something that you do not."

Harry saw shock flit across the snakelike face, though it was instantly dispelled; Voldemort began to laugh, and the sound was more frightening than his screams; humorless and insane, it echoed around the silent Great Hall.

“You think you know more magic than I do?” he said. “Than I, the Dark Lord Voldemort? I who has mastered every notion of every sub-category of every form of magic which I ever learned the name of? I who has lived many times your own life span? I who have read of and performed magics which Dumbledore never even dreamed of??”

“Oh, he dreamed of it,” said Harry, “but he understood more than you, knew enough not to do what you’ve done. His comprehension belittles yours. His will was not so frail as to bend to the temptation that the Dark Arts and other sickeningly sweet Magicka offers.”

“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,” said Harry, “was a better wizard, had a better mind. He was more skillful than you. He was your better.”

“I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!”

“You thought you did,” said Harry with a smirk, “but you were wrong.”

Voldemort's magic attack was like a battering ram, but the shield Harry threw up the instant it came towards him held up and even pushed the magic back towards the Wizard, who subsequently had to dispel it.

For the first time, the watching crowd made a noise as the hundreds of people around them drew breath as one.

“Dumbledore is dead!” Voldemort hurled the words at Harry as
though they would cause him unendurable pain. “His body decays
in the marble tomb in the grounds of this castle. I have seen it,
Potter, and he will not return!”

“Yes, Dumbledore’s dead,” said Harry calmly, “I have seen his burial grounds as well... But you didn’t have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant.”

“What childish fantasy is this?” said Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and his red eyes did not waver from Harry’s.

“Severus Snape wasn’t yours,” Harry revealed “Snape was Dumbledore’s. Dumbledore’s from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because of the thing you can’t understand. You don't understand compassion, empathy, love, admiration, or seeing others as better than you. Your ego and narcissism ruined your mind. Your pride skewed your life to the point where you went of the deep end into madness. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?”

Voldemort did not answer. They continued to circle each other,
like wolves about to tear each other apart.

“Snape’s Patronus was a doe,” said Harry, “the same as my mother’s, because he loved her for nearly all of his life, from the time when they were children. You should have realized,” he said as he saw Voldemort’s nostrils flare, “he asked you to spare her life, didn’t he?”

“He desired her, that was all,” sneered Voldemort, “but when
she had gone, he agreed that there were other women, and of purer
blood, worthier of him— ”

“Of course he told you that,” said Harry, “and you are not wrong. He had a perverse, disgusting obsession with Lily Evans. He even idolized her to the point of stalkerish tendencies even after she ended their friendship. But the man was not evil. Despite his horrendous actions, he had some redeeming qualities. The man, in the end, was Dumbledore’s spy from the moment you threatened her, and he’s been working against you ever since. Dumbledore was already dying when Snape finished him! He had been dying for nearly a year before falling to his death. It was just kept a secret from everyone. To cement your trust in Severus Snape.”

“It matters not!” shrieked Voldemort, who had followed every word with rapt attention, but now let out a cackle of mad laughter "Severus is dead now as well. I saw to that personally.

“It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore’s, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path! I crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape’s supposed, great love! Oh, but it all makes sense, Potter, and in ways that you do not understand! Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me! He intended that Snape should be the true master of the wand! But I got there ahead of you, or him, little boy, I reached the wand before you could get your hands on it, I understood the truth before you caught up, I killed Severus Snape mere hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore’s last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!”

“Yeah, it did,” said Harry “but in the end, I still have hope, because Dumbledore’s last plan hasn’t backfired on me at all. It’s backfired on you, Riddle.”

Voldemort’s hand was trembling on the Elder Wand, and Harry
gripped Draco’s very tightly. The moment, he knew, was seconds
away.

“That wand still isn’t working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore.”

“He killed— ”

“Aren’t you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore’s death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die undefeated, the wand’s last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand’s power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!”

“But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!” Voldemort’s voice shook with malicious pleasure. “I stole the wand from its last master’s tomb! I removed it against its last master’s wishes! Its power is mine!”

“You still don’t get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn’t enough! Holding it, using it, doesn’t make it really yours. The Wand of Destiny is not so easily claimed. It is alive. It reacts fully only to those who deserve to control it. Didn’t you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard... The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world’s most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance..."

Voldemort’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and Harry could feel the
curse coming, feel it building inside the wand pointed at his face.

"Enough of this, Avada Kedavera!" The Dark Lord fired the spell so fiercely and quickly that if Harry had not already predicted the move, the boy's body would have joined the rest of the deceased.

Voldemort tried to fire a spell at him, but Harry's redirecting curse hit it fast enough that the killing curse was displaced by the stone shield which sprang in the way of the straight-shooting green spell.

Harry twitched the hawthorn wand, and he felt the eyes of everyone in the hall upon him. Their expectations, hope, hatred, wrath. It all annoyed him. They all wanted something from him. Whether it being his corpse or his victory or his death, neither mattered. His fury burned, but if nothing else, it would push him to survive to get back at all the bastards for forcing him to become a soldier of this war.

He had never known peace or had a childhood. First, it was the Dursleys and then attacks a minimum of a few times a year. He had become a child soldier, groomed by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore to defeat a disillusioned man child with anger issues, a fear of death, and hopes of taking over the world.

“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” whispered Harry.

"I will win, boy. I am the superior wizard." Taunted the 6'3 Voldemort.

"You are right, I'm just your average bloke. but I do not plan on dying here today." The raven-haired teen glared at him.

"You will!" Shouted the angered Dark Lord.

"You've been saying that for ages. Didn't you literally just try?" Sighed the unmoved young man.

"I still hold the Wand of Destiny! The most powerful wand ever created! I am immortal! I will defeat you!"

Voldemort waved his hand and clouds seem to suck out any of the light around them. The rays of spring light seemed to disappear as large dark clouds came over the Scotland mountains, bathing their battleground in darkness before the torches of the castle above the gathered witches and wizards came flaring to life.

The eerie firelight seemed to make people unsettled as the masses began to notice that there was a brimming of energy that was nearly palpable that began to pour from each fighter's body. The Dark Lord was seething all the while the young man stood stone-faced, prepared for a fight that would either mean his permanent death or the coming of a peaceful era without the ever-looming threat of the vicious Dark Lord.

The light shined down from the magical school and encompassed the two ex-students of Hogwarts, bathing them in a golden glow. The pale whitish-grey skin of the torturer and the caramel skin of the martyr seemed to be complete opposites as the tall fighters tensed in the middle of the scrutinous and silent crowd.

The growing glow hit both of their faces at the same time.

For a brief moment, the world was nearly still, as if a lull had caused a short moment of peace. Nothing was happening at all. Then, the two were suddenly a flaming blur of spellfire, magical damage, and the crashing of magic against magic.

Their duel could have been seconds or hours, but hundreds of spells were launched, each faster and harder than the last. The spellcasters' bodies moved in an unknown rhythm that was a dance of mortality and pain.

The blasting force of collision from the magic hitting one other was pushing away the onlookers so much that their backs were flat against the walls and their breath pulled from their lungs at the thickness of the magic filling the air.

It came to a freezing climax as the two breathlessly raised their wands, locking eyes and both knowing what was coming. They would test their magic, mettle against mettle, trying to enforce their wills upon an indomitable. And the last one standing would carry on living another day while the loser would lose more than just his life but those of his allies.

Harry heard the high voices of shrieks from the crowd as he too joined the cacophony and yelled a scream of anguish and release to the heavens, pointing Draco’s wand. The Dark lord's words were spoken as they each cast their most familiar spell.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Expelliarmus!”

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort’s green jet meet his burning red spell, their energies colliding lasted an eternity as they poured everything they had just to stay alive. The air around them was oxidizing and the energy was turning into dripping plasma which melted the thick millennia-old stone as it hit.

With a final push, he let out a roar of guttural pain as his heart overpowered that of the loveless Dark Lord and Harry saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air. The wand floated toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of a Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white skeletal hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. His leathery pale skin was ashen white and looked to be slack against the thinly muscled bones. Snake-like nose and pale lips had no final breath leaving them. He, Voldemort, was dead, really and truly dead. Harry was not dead. Harry lived. Once more, he was the boy who lived against all of the odds and everything against him. Having faced and been hit with death, he was now -perhaps for the first time- well and truly alive.

He stood with two wands in his hands, staring down at his enemy’s shell. A husk of what was once the most feared being in the whole of Britain.

It was on May 2nd, 1998, that the prophecy was completed. Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord, had been slain by the hand of one Harry James Potter as neither could live while the other survived.

The body of Voldemort had hit the stone ground with a finality that could not have been matched by any other end but one orchestrated by the hand of death himself.

Voldemort had a numb finish, an encompassing completion to his life, that had been a constant marathon that had the man running from death. Eventually, the fool who thought he could escape its clutches ended up meeting his fate by the one most plagued by his attempts. He fought, oh yes, to the very last second when the light left his red reptilian eyes, and the very last shard of his corrupted shattered soul was taken away from him to go on into the next life, leaving behind everything he knew, and all he ever fought for. Voldemort was no more. Harry had succeeded. It had taken him years and practically his whole time in the Wizarding World to do so, but he had one.

One shivering second of silence overtook the crowds as they reveled in what had happened, a boy had killed that monster of a man. The most powerful and dangerous Dark Wizard of all time. Second most powerful wizard in the world after Albus Dumbledore. Responsible directly and indirectly for the murder, torment, and torture of thousands of wizards and nearly half a million muggles.

This man, the leader of the dark forces, had just been killed by a 17-year-old boy who had not even graduated Hogwarts.

The shock of the moment suspended in the air as both groups united to stare at the young man and gawk at his tense figure. There had been cameras recording the entire battle, but the camera flashes now were cementing the victory of the glowing viridian-eyed youth.

There was a silence of awe at what he had just accomplished and the succinctness of the duel between the two magical powerhouses. The forces of good and evil.

During their duel, it was evident through the pulsating waves of magic pouring off of the two fighters in droves that they were beyond the level of anyone else on the battlefield. But to see such energies clash was something that happened once every hundred years or so.

The reverential disquiet seemed to stretch for hours until the tumult broke around the leader of the rebellion as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. Many cheered for him exuberantly, others called out his name in praise though he heard none of it. His eyes had yet to leave the body, but when it did, it saw the destruction this battle had ensued. The castle was in shambles, pieces were strewn about and entire parts missing or burnt. Bodies of various creatures and people lay everywhere around him where people or large chunks of rubble were not standing still and silent as stone.

Harry fell back and sat down roughly onto the dirtied stone ground, he felt a mixture of a hundred different emotions, but most prominently, perhaps was the relief he could not help but experience. His hands shook and he felt a cold sweat begin building upon his skin. The images his vision picked up were going in and out of blurry and clear, and his breathing was absolutely ragged. With a free hand, he clenched his heart. There was a spark of joy at having saved who all was left, but there was also guilt. Then the pride, hatred, happiness, sadness. His head swam violently as his thoughts waged on as the sea of people made senseless noise around him.

He tried to drag his mind back into focus by telling himself that 'It's over. The bastard is dead. My parents' killer is right in front of me, nothing but a corpse. I won. We won!'

But another much less excited and far more empty part of him whispered and wondered.

'But at what cost?;

Was the prize really worth the price of pain...

Many had died here today. And many more died for him when he was on the run looking for Horcruxes.

'I could have done everything better. I could have at least tried harder. I could have had the others from the DA help, or the Order, or someone... They should not have had to have died...' He thought, eyes dull as he stared at the corpse of Voldemort, Deathstick in his hand 'I should have done more. I ran so much. So many people are lost because of me.'

The battle was over, but the weight of the bodies littered around the castle fell onto his shoulders. Every student, professor, or family member lying dead was his fault. Every muggle who no longer walked the earth was because he had not won soon enough.

His only wish was he could help them more.

His thoughts about what he could have done differently lingered while guilt welled inside of him as he stood shakily, ignoring the cheering and shouting of those who were amazed by his victory.

With a breath, he held his wand aloft and the entirety of the battlefield froze.

He pointed his wand at the body of Voldemort and spoke in a soft voice which somehow managed to carry throughout the entirety of the grounds as his eyes lit up green "Fiendfyre"

A small, controlled stream of bright brilliant flame erupted from the end of his wand so powerful and hot that even those near the castle had to step back and shied their eyes from the heat.

With a flick, Harry contorted the magic to be contained in a small circle around the body as a roaring, billowing noise blasted the ears of the crowd and the boy himself.

A white flaming owl, very much identical to the likeness of Hedwig, twelve feet in height was summoned by the flames and began swirling around the small circle before diving down and hitting the body of Tom Riddle.

Harry cut off the magic and the fire summoned from the depths of hell ceased to exist, every person in his presence felt as if the pressure had been lifted and could once more breathe as the air was no longer being absorbed and consumed by that monstrous creation of magic.

As the collective populace looked at where Voldemort once was, there were wide eyes of awe at the result of Harry's spell.

Voldemort had not been burnt to a crisp, not reduced to charcoal, not turned into ashes... No, the Dark Lord's body had been vaporized. Harry's flames were hot enough to incinerate any track of what had once been the inhuman container of the last vestiges of a cruel soul.

Tom had been cremated past the point of any of him ever existing again. And that fact was terrifying to those who recognized the gravity of the wizard's capability and intricate skill with his wand and magic.

The darkness had turned to a dying light during his duel with Voldemort and the fear he had instilled upon them began to evaporate as a fierce new sun dazzled the few unbroken windows of the castle of Hogwarts.

He turned as the entirety of the student body collected alongside his friends and peers as they chose that moment to thunder toward him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. They shouted for Madam Pomfrey as there was a layer of heat that surrounded him. Magical exhaustion was obvious from his face and body, but the after-effects of the intense battle had warmed him up to the point that he was giving off an immense amount of heat. So much so that it caused his sweat to evaporate as it hit his skin having the effect that it appeared as if his golden-toned flesh steamed and glowed in the morning sun.

Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last. They wished to be able to say they touched the Chosen One just after he had finished off the Dark Lord alone in single combat.

The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed
with life and light. Harry was an indispensable part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration.

They wanted him there with them, their leader and symbol, their savior and their idol, and that he had not slept, that he craved the company of only a few select people, seemed to occur to on one. He must speak to the bereaved, clasp their hands, witness their tears, receive their thanks, hear the news and information now creeping in from every quarter as the morning drew on; that the Imperiused up and down the country had come back to themselves, that Death Eaters were fleeing or else being captured, that the innocent of Azkaban were being released at that very moment, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named temporary impromptu Minister of Magic...

They moved Voldemort's followers' corpses into a chamber off the Hall, away from the bodies of Fred, Percy, Tonks, Lupin, Colin Creevey, several members of the Order, and fifty other Hogwarts kids who had died fighting. McGonagall had replaced the House tables, but nobody was sitting according to House anymore: All were jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents, centaurs and house-elves, and Firenze lay recovering in a corner, and Grawp peered in through a smashed window, and people were through food into his laughing mouth. After a while, exhausted and drained, Harry found himself sitting on a bench beside Luna.

"You seem drained," She said, her eyes on the ceiling of the room, watching the stars and candles float above them. Those eyes were so different than those of anyone he had ever met. So lost but also profoundly knowledgable and intelligent.

"I am drained." He laughed hollowly once "You try facing that fucker one on one and find yourself not drained."

"Oh please, Harry, I find fighting off Dark Lords is much more your area of expertise than mine. I will stick to what I know."

"You mean Magical Creatures?"

"Well, Magical Creatures and Plants are of course my hobbies, yes, but my true skill shines in enchantments and runes, go figure. It was why I knew of Ravenclaw's Diadem. Some of the most complex runework in the world, did you know?"

"Ah, no... No, I didn't know. Sorry for, ya know, destroying it."

"That's fine, Harry, nothing to apologize for. After all, you did it to save us. You are a rather selfless man, Harry Potter."

"Don't go complimenting me too, Luna, I need some sensible friends to keep me in check. Real friends who won't treat me any different because I'm the bleeding chosen one. Friends such as yourself."

She smiled at him, her silvery blue eyes reminding him shockingly of the color of a Patronus.

"I appreciate so many things about you. You are a good friend. A very real, genuine, and kind person." He smiled at the girl who had also been kidnapped and tortured in Malfoy Manor.

They sat in silence for a few moments as the world continued around them.

"Everyone keeps looking over here, is this is what it is like to be famous? I think everyone in this room has snuck a look at you at least three times." She stage-whispered and those closest took the hint and quit staring.

“I’d want some peace and quiet if it were me,” she said, patting him gently on the thigh, her eyes a weird kind of knowing.

“I’d love some,” he replied, voice uneven as he returned the gesture, placing his hand on her leg softly, wondering how another person could be so warm even through so many layers of clothing.

“I’ll distract them all,” She said kindly, her voice different than the usual dreaminess “Use your Cloak.” She commanded him.

And before he could say a word she cried, “Oooh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger!” and pointed out of the window. Everyone who heard looked around and Harry slid the Cloak up over himself and got to his feet.

Now he could move through the hall without interference. He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother’s shoulder: There would be time to talk later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk, but not now. He did not want to talk to her. He didn't need her sad or angry at him. He didn't want her to let out her anger, he just wished her to forgive her for ending things and hope she agreed to get back together. He saw Neville, the sword of Gryffindor lying beside his plate as he ate, surrounded by a knot of fervent admirers. Along the aisle between the tables he walked, and he spotted the two Malfoys, huddled together as though unsure whether or not they were supposed to be there, but nobody was paying them any attention.

Everywhere he looked he saw families reunited, and finally, he saw the two whose company he craved most.

“It’s me,” he muttered, crouching down between them. “Will you come with me?”

They stood up at once, and together he, Ron, and Hermione left the Great Hall. Great chunks were missing from the marble staircase, part of the balustrade was gone, and rubble and bloodstains occurred every few steps as they climbed.

Somewhere in the distance, they could hear Peeves zooming through the corridors singing a victory song of his own composition: We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter’s the one, And Voldy’s gone moldy, so now let’s have fun!

As they walked through the door, they had too push a dismembered leg away to be able to open it for the opening to be wide enough for Ron's shoulders.

“Really gives a feeling for the scope and tragedy of the thing, doesn’t it?” said Ron, pushing open a door to let Harry and Hermione through.

Happiness would come, Harry thought, but at the moment it was muffled by exhaustion, and the pain of losing Fred, Moody, Hedwig, Collin, Padma, Marietta, Lavender, Anthony, Remus, Tonks, and plenty of others pierced him like a physical wound every few steps.

Guiltily, what he felt most of all was the most stupendous relief, and a longing to sleep. But first, he owed an explanation to Ron and Hermione, who had stuck with him for so long, and who deserved the truth. Painstakingly he recounted what he had seen in the Pensieve and what had happened in the forest, and they had not even begun to express all their shock and amazement when at last they arrived at the place to which they had been walking, though none of them had mentioned their destination.

Since he had last seen it, the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster’s study had been knocked aside; it stood lopsided, looking a little punch-drunk, and Harry wondered whether it would be able to distinguish passwords anymore. “Can we go up?” he asked the gargoyle.

“Aye,” groaned the statue.

They clambered over him and onto the spiral stone staircase that moved slowly upward like an escalator. Harry pushed open the door at the top.

He had a brief glimpse of the stone Pensieve on the desk where he had left it, and then an earsplitting noise made him cry out, thinking of curses and returning Death Eaters and the rebirth of Voldemort-

But it was applause. All around the walls, the headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts were giving him a standing ovation; they waved their hats and in some cases their wigs, they reached through their frames to grip each other’s hands; they danced up and down on the chairs in which they had been painted; Dilys Derwent sobbed unashamedly; Dexter Fortescue was waving his ear-trumpet; and Phineas Nigellus called, in his high, reedy voice, “And let it be noted that Slytherin House played its part! Let our contribution not be forgotten!”

But Harry had eyes only for the man who stood in the largest portrait directly behind the headmaster’s chair. Tears were sliding down from behind the half-moon spectacles into the long silver beard, and the pride and the gratitude emanating from him filled Harry with the same balm as phoenix song.

At last, Harry held up his hands, and the portraits fell respectfully silent, beaming and mopping their eyes and waiting eagerly for him to speak. He directed his words at Dumbledore, however, and chose them with enormous care. Exhausted and bleary-eyed though he was, he must make one last effort, seeking one last piece of advice.

“I don't know why you are crying, you are the one who set all of this up. But that is against the point. The thing that was hidden in the Snitch,” he began, “I dropped it in the forest. I don’t know exactly where, but I’m not going to go looking for it again. Do you agree?”

“My dear boy, I do,” said Dumbledore, while his fellow pictures looked confused and curious.

“A wise and courageous decision, but no less than I would have expected of you. Does anyone else know where it fell?”

“No one,” said Harry, and Dumbledore nodded his satisfaction.

“I’m going to keep Ignotus’s present, though,” said Harry, and Dumbledore beamed.

“But of course, Harry, it is yours forever, until you pass it on!”

“And then there’s this.”

Harry held up the Elder Wand, twirled it between his fingers. Ron and Hermione looked at it with a reverence that, even in his befuddled and sleep-deprived state, Harry did not like to see. Ron's eyes held greed, lust for power, and awe at the object. Hermione seemed to glow with intrigue like she wanted to study it or use it for spells as if the item were merely for bettering one's usage of magic.

“I don’t want it,” said Harry looking at the fifteen-inch wand boredom and resentment in his eyes.

Hermione let out a sharp screech of indignation and Ron guffawed, jaw-dropping.

“What?” said Ron loudly, a dumbstruck look on his face “Are you mental?”

"Is that wise, Mr. Potter? It was Headmaster Dumbledore's for many years and it is something very special." Minerva intoned.

"Yes Harry, how could you not want it? It is the most powerful Magical Foci in the world, crafted by death for one of your ancestors," Hermione exclaimed.

“I know it’s powerful,” Said Harry tiredly “But I was happier with mine. So...”

"I'll take it if you don't want-" The glare that Harry sent towards the young man seemed to set him straight as he shut up and closed his mouth.

Harry rummaged in the pouch hung around his neck, and pulled out the two halves of holly still just connected by the finest thread of phoenix feather. Hermione had said that they could not be repaired, that the damage was too severe. All he knew was that if this did not work, nothing would.

The broken wand was laid upon the headmaster’s desk, he touch it with the very tip of the Elder Wand, and said “Reparo.”

As his wand resealed, red sparks flew out of its end. Harry knew that he had succeeded. He picked up the holly and phoenix wand and felt a sudden warmth in his fingers, as though wand and hand were rejoicing at their reunion.

“After I destroy it, I will put the Elder Wand,” he told Dumbledore, who was watching him with enormous affection and admiration, “back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won’t it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That’ll be the end of it.”

Dumbledore nodded. They smiled at each other.

“Are you sure?” said Ron. There was the faintest trace of longing in his voice as he looked at the Elder Wand.

“I think Harry’s right,” said Hermione quietly "You shouldn't-"

“It is not yours to decide. I am the Master of the Hallows. I have discarded the Ressurection Stone, I will ensure that the Death Stick is discarded as well. This wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Harry.

Minerva seemed to ponder it before saying "I suppose you are right."

“And quite honestly,” he continued, turning away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime. I never wanted this war. I wish that I could take back every one of the lives that were lost on our side. I would trade my life for everyone else's in a heartbeat. Honestly, I just wanted to be able to have a normal year at Hogwarts.” He ended with a chuckle.

"Wait, Mr. Potter." A voice jumped in.

"What is it, Professor?" He looked up to the old cat.

"Well... Not to be too selfish, Potter, but that is the most powerful wand in the world. And I would very much like my school back in one piece. Do you think that it would be possible that you might do a few repairs to the architecture and hallways before getting rid of it?" She asked, Scottish brogue sounding slightly guilty.

"Of course, mam." He smiled lightly "But do you mind if I kip off for a few hours of sleep? I feel completely magically drained, I actually died earlier, and I have not slept in a proper bed in ages."

"Take one of the Seventh Year beds in Gryffindor. I already had one of the house-elves put your old bed up in the room." She said kindly, placing a hand on his shoulder "And Harry... Thank you for everything you have done for me and us. I-I really am proud of you."

He gave her a tired half grin and walked out of the room, slipping the wand up his jacket sleeve.

"And Potter." She called, forcing him to look over his shoulder at him, only to see an incoming projectile flying at him.

As only a seeker would do, his hand went from stationary at his side to beside his ear in a matter of milliseconds. Catching the object, but holding it at arm's length and ginger enough to drop/throw it in case it was an explosive or a portkey, he looked down in confusion at the small crystal vile.

"What's this?" He questioned.

"Trust me, Potter. I've been through too many magical wars at this point. I know when somebody will be needing a dreamless sleep potion. And I figure you deserve a solid night's rest."

With a grateful smirk, he bade her and his friends a good night.

As he walked through the halls, he used the wands in either hand to begin casting spells, reforming broken statues or paintings, charming the walls back to their previous selves, recasting dozens of broken wards and locks. Repairing pipes and doors and classrooms and glass, putting out fires, calming students, and even more.

When he got to the dorm, he stripped off of his clothes. As he took off his trainers, he heard something weird roll out of the right one and bent down to see what it had been. When he picked it up, he felt the wand of destiny that he had for some reason deigned not to snap yet began to vibrate and heat up before gliding from its place into the hand that held onto the small dice-like thing. His pouch shook violently and the Cloak of Invisibility fluttered out and completed the set.

"The ruddy rock fell into my shoe???" He asked himself, staring at it in horror "Fucking Potter luck, magical bullshit." He cursed as he watched the beginning of the light show.

The three objects began to swirl around each other and shrink into one singular charm. A pitch-black triangle made of some ice-cold metal with a circle and line in the middle.

"Oh, bullocks." He swore "Oh no... Oh no... What have I done?"

In an attempt to shake himself of the worry of what just took place, Harry hid the trinket under his pillow before he took a nice long hot shower to get all of the sweat and dirt and grime off of him. He cast cleaning spells at his jeans, socks, shoes, underwear, shirt, and jacket once he got out and with a sigh, slipped into the boxers and shirt.

As he glanced into the mirror and jumped as he saw something in between his pectorals. A small black tattoo, just like the trinket that had formed when the Hallows intertwined. Racing over to look at the bed, he checked under the pillow where he had left it only to discover it missing.

"Fuck me." He whispered into the darkness before wondering how he would be able to get to the items. What if he needed his cloak?

A cool silken feeling along with a lightweight cover came over him as his vision shimmered. The cloak had changed a little bit, becoming just the right size to completely cover the grown man and now be flowy or excessively large or even show off his ankles and trainers like it used to.

'Uh... Return?' He tried, figuring it may be mentally linked. And like magic, the cloak disappeared off of him. Staring in the mirror, he watched as the black triangle that had been absent when his form came into view slowly returned to the ink in the middle of his chest.

'Wand' He thought and the Death Stick appeared in his right hand. Figuring it was something that was not too important and could wait until the next day, Harry chopped it up to bad luck and decided to just head to bed. He laid the Elder Wand on the right side of his pillow and his Holly one on the left. The Hawthorn was kept in the pouch.

He snapped and used a wandless charm to close the curtains. He then cast a locking, silencing, darkness, and impermeability charm that would last 8 hours.

As he leaned back into his pillow, allowing his head to relax back, his mind began to shut down as sleep began to pull him into a pleasant emptiness. Harry could feel himself fall into the darkness of sleep

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