Journey to the End

She watched him walk away from her; shoulders slumped, feet dragging, as if he had the weight of the whole world balanced precariously on his back, pushing down hard on him, threatening to crush him with their gravity. How desperately she wanted to help him. Just to see a small part of that weight lessen; unburden some of the worries by carrying some on her own back; see the heavy, hopeless face lighten up, if even for a fraction of a second, see the tiniest of smiles illuminate a face so ridden with responsibility that it was becoming almost impossible to break through the hardened walls he had erected around his mind, break through to reach the person inside, the person she knew was there within, crouched small and defenceless, in desperate need of love.

“I can’t be involved with you anymore. We’ve got to stop seeing each other. We can’t be together�, he had said, the utmost sorrow and regret diffusing across his face, passing through the air, affecting her also.

She had accepted it then. Expected it even. Knew that it was his calling, his destiny, an intricately woven fate that had been interlocked with darkness ever since the beginning of time. A destiny that must be fulfilled, a harsh journey travelled and a deadly enemy destroyed, all before he could go chasing trivial things like love.

Such a paradox, she thought. How ironic that it was love that created this mess, love that dumped him cruelly into this unforgiving world…and he needs love to help him through! Love is the key to his heart, the last piece in this seemingly complicated jigsaw, the right way to the end. He needs love, she thought fiercely… Maybe he needs me.

But back then she had let him go, accepting his decision without judgement. She had understood then that this was for the best. He was doing it to protect her, to shield her from the deadly wrath of the Death Eaters and Voldemort; from danger and fear itself.

Maybe it was all for the best. He wouldn’t want her to get hurt, would he?

“But you’re hurting me now�, she whispered, softly wiping away a solitary tear that had trickled its way down her pale face.

“Its hurting me so much to look at you suffering, knowing that there is nothing I can do to help. It breaks my heart to see you cry, you don’t deserve to have such troubles, and yet you cannot leave them behind. Every step that you take is taking you further away from me. Every path you tread is one which I cannot follow. Who knows when -or if – you’ll come back? You’re leaving me behind; you’re leaving me, hurting me, and there’s nothing I can do�…

The tears slowly began to trickle faster, flowing gracefully and mournfully down her sorrow-infused face, permeating the edges of her hair, dying them almost instantly to a deep blood red, as if her tears, too knew of her anguish, as if they too could feel the knife twisting even further into her heart, completing her destruction.

~*~*~

Heat from the late summer waves cascaded down into the gardens, the soft beams of the early autumn sun penetrated the circle of tall trees outside, its rays casting a strange dancing image onto the sea of healthy overgrown grass.

The humid haze that hovered in the patches outside seemed to reflect off the transparent glare of the glass, none of its warmth penetrating the lingering of bitter cold which rested behind the windows, through which she was observing the late summer mood; an atmosphere so unlike the brutal reality she was living in; the ultimate heaven to her ever present personal hell.

She watched him go, a black robed figure moving further away into the distance, his silhouette casting long shadows onto the fields around him, a warm radiant glow illuminating his form. And though it did nothing to lighten his stance it seemed to emphasise his situation, singling out him alone amongst the shady relief of lush vegetation, selecting him for what she now knew he was. The prophesised boy. The Chosen One.

“It’s me, Gin. In the end it’s got to be me or him,� he had said, his bright vivid green eyes dampened with the impossibility of the task before him. “Either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives…One of us must kill the other in the end, and I don’t think I can…though I’m going to try. To try is the only way there’ll even be a chance of success. Otherwise, we’ll all die.�

Those brilliant eyes that she had known so well, had grown to love the face upon which they were set, now seemed even brighter than usual, focussed by a sudden rush of fierce pride and determination, a motivation to reach and fulfil the destiny he knew he could no longer avoid. The dying flame within the previously hopeless eyes suddenly sparked, full of life, as the warmth of powerful knowledge revealed to him the need to find the only lifeline that would save the wizarding world, and hold on; hold on tight, with both hands, and never let go.

She had offered to help then. To go with him, Ron and Hermione to find the Horcruxes, destroy them all, for only then could Voldemort be killed. But they had all refused, using small excuses, all wanting, needing to keep her safe, out of harm’s way. She had another year of school to complete, a life to lead ahead of her, her own problems to face…though to her all problems were tangled up together, all life issues on hold, as if she – and all of the wizarding world - were waiting, motionless, with bated breath, to see the outcome of a seemingly losing battle that had been ongoing since forever. It wasn’t just Harry and Voldemort. This was the ultimate showdown between good and evil. And whoever surfaced this time would reign for good.

~*~*~

Gazing regretfully out of the window again, she watched him retreat to the apparition point in the distance, wondering for the umpteenth time if she was doing the right things, if she had made the right decisions. This was his battle, a fight that he had to fight alone, what could she possibly do to help? What could she do but sit here, watching, waiting, hoping, dreaming…

He was a speck in the distance now. All she could make out was a familiar dark shape, the familiar figure of one she knew and loved. The sun was setting now, sinking slowly away beyond the horizon as if preparing itself for another nights peaceful slumber. Her eyes chased its movements, sweeping slowly across the fields where she could see him beginning his journey; steady, determined, never wavering in his path.

As night began to gather, so did her despair, changing all of her remaining hope to fear, a desperation that could only grow as darkness commenced its reign.

As if sensing her impending emotional storm, the previously ambient, floating clouds outside stilled, gathering quickly together as if sheltering themselves from the aerial assault they were doomed to create.

Turning away from the hell outside to the even worse hell within, Ginny allowed herself to sink slowly to the floor, her back leaning against the wall, slowly sliding to the floor, head slumped, legs bent out in front of her; the perfect image of her indecision, her despair.

A roll of thunder, ever menacing, seemed to shake the foundations of the house with its ferocity. Its powerful rage released the anguish of the heavens in a sudden downpour of rain, their fury lashing down on the windows as if beating them for vengeance. As the steady yet fierce drumming settled into a pattern, Ginny allowed herself to sink, once again, into the taunts and torment of the past…

~*~*~

It had been on a night similar to this; rain pounding on the very windows of the hospital wing, like the tips of a thousand spears trying to beat down the castle, attacking its age-old walls.

She had been in her fourth year, ever the brave Gryffindor, ever the reckless one, fearing neither nature no magic; only for the lives of her family, friends, the ones she loved.

She had woken from her dreamless slumber, the roar of battle still sounding in her ears, her head a rush of voices; hasty shouts and deadly spells, the images of deserted corridors and closed doors forever imprinted into her mind.

The Ministry of Magic, yes. That was where she had been. The Department of Mysteries, that vast underground maze that had almost proved the bane of them all. And there, they had found –no- not Sirius, but those glass balls…what were they, now?

She rubbed the back of her head gingerly, trying to remember and to untangle the string of events that had occurred too quickly for her to fully comprehend their passing.

A prophecy! That was what it was! The infinitely precious and yet mysterious tiny dusty glass orb that the Death Eaters had been willing to kill for … Where was it now? And what did it say? The last thing that she could remember before she had passed out with the pain from her ankle, was that Harry had it…Harry!!

It was as if a spark had ignited inside her mind, setting off a chain reaction of concerns, as if she had never before cared so much for the well-being of a single person before.

Where was Harry?? And where were the others, Hermione, Ron, Luna?

With both hands planted firmly on her bed, she attempted to hoist herself into an upright position, only to fail, miserably, finding herself still devoid of proper strength, still slightly groggy from the sleeping potion.

Turning her head slightly to the left, she glimpsed Hermione, sleeping peacefully, her unconscious form unaware of the injuries that had been inflicted upon her, her body ignorant of the pain that still rested within her, hastily covered by bandages.

Looking to the left, Ginny saw Luna, noticeably unscathed. She too was in deep sleep, her blonde hair spread out delicately over her pillows, as if trying to catch at her dreams.

And there, beyond Luna, she saw Ron, arms covered in layers of thick bandages, silently twisting and thrashing in his sleep as if trapped and unable to escape from some horrific nightmare.

A slight shuffling, an almost inaudible sigh, and echoes of distant footsteps jolted her out of her observations. Raising her head as far as she could without feeling pain, she was surprised and relieved to see Harry, standing at the window, elbows rested on the sill, fists in a clenched position as if he was angry at the world, angry at the castle and the rain; angry, especially at the mess that fate had made of his life.

Even from the short distance, his torn and bloodstained black robes seemed almost to blend in with the dirty grey, whitewashed walls of the hospital wing, as if they matched not only in colour, but in their equally sombre mood.

The footsteps coming towards the hospital wing echoed louder, coming nearer until the door creaked open and Ginny was surprised to see the tall but weary form of the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore sweep into the room, right hand thoughtfully stroking his beard, though his eyes seemed to give away a peculiar mixture of weariness, regret and sorrow as he glanced at the teenage wizard standing at the window.

Harry had not even glanced to see who had entered, but seemed to know all the same, and continued to stare morosely into the inky black night, shoulders slumped in defeat as if all hope was lost and none remained.

“Go away,� he spat childishly. “Hasn’t enough damage been done? Nothing you say can help�.

Remaining silent and still, Ginny watched as Dumbledore crossed the room, eyes sweeping quickly across all the beds, before stopping at Harry’s side. The old man’s eyes seemed to glisten with sadness as he said, “I know there isn’t much I can do to help, Harry. I wish there was; but your protectors can only guide you so far along the path that you alone must take�.

Finally turning to face the Headmaster, all the fight deflating out of him, head still rested desperately in his hands, Harry whispered, “How? It’s too big a task for me alone. How am I expected to do something that everyone else has attempted to do, and failed? I wasn’t given a choice…� His eyes glistened with unexpected tears. “I mean, why me? I’m not special at all…�

He stood and threw his hands up into the air in a shrug of despair. “I can’t do anything. I’m not clever like Hermione, funny like Fred and George, fiery like Ginny…I’m not even evil like…� He trailed off. “The only thing I’m good at is Quidditch, and I can’t exactly stab Voldemort with a broomstick can I?� He gave a wry smile and gazed at the stone floor bitterly.

Dumbledore chuckled. “No Harry, I daresay you can’t. Yet I’ll remind you again; never underestimate the power of love above all else. With love there can be happiness, and understanding, and a strength that is infallible; a strength that Voldemort has always scorned and underestimated, one that will ultimately become his downfall.�

“There is a Muggle passage, from the Bible, which you may be familiar with, Harry�.

“Heh�, Harry snorted, “The Dursleys never bothered taking me to church. Didn’t see the point.�

“Nevertheless, this passage, commonly heard at weddings, is popular among wizards too. It was read at your parent’s wedding you know.�

Harry looked up in astonishment, and Dumbledore’s expression softened as he recited.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres, Love never fails…�

The Headmaster breathed deeply as if savouring the taste of those sweet words.

“Wow,� said Harry.

Aww, thought Ginny.

Dumbledore smiled. “Indeed. And that is one lesson that you should never forget. Whichever route you choose to take, whichever means you select to conquer your goals, never forget the power of love as your most trusting weapon. Whereas your protectors can only lead you up to a certain point in your destined path, and may fail you in ties of need, always remember that love can cross this invisible boundary and travel with you all the way. Too often have we made the mistake of trying to protect those we love by leaving them at the start of the road, and too often has this mistake proved fatal. Remember that what one cannot do alone, two can manage easily.

Dumbledore adjusted his half moon spectacles, blinked and patted Harry on the shoulder.

“Whatever you do, wherever you go, never forget love.�

Though still slightly disconcerted, Harry gazed up at the wise old face and nodded. Once again, Dumbledore crossed the room to the double doors, gazing sadly at the sleeping faces. At the door, he turned for a final time, looking at Harry who had recommenced his observation of the rain, though with more determination than before. His eyes swept across the hospital beds and locked with Ginny’s.

“Never underestimate the power of love against despair,� he whispered. “Remember that�.

~*~*~

A boom of deadly thunder echoed in the distance, jolting her out of her reminiscent reverie. The soothing toll of the grandfather clock downstairs reminded her that it was getting late, another hour had passed.

She wiped her eyes once more, and though her face was now dry, the salty trails of tears remained drafted upon her visage. Gingerly, she stood, still slightly dizzy from having sat for so long.

It was dark now, and no light was on. The silent room seemed to emanate its own eeriness, the dim dark shapes of everyday objects each seemed to transfigure, on the command of Night, into something several times as fearful.

A thin sliver of moonlight edged its way into view, its small but welcome appearance just light enough to illuminate a heart-shaped picture frame on the desk.

Within the frame Ginny saw herself, gazing happily into the camera, her fiery red hair setting off a graceful smile. Next to her stood Harry, having eyes for no one but the redhead beside him, all worries forgotten for the moment.

As the moonlight continued its journey across the room, a brief halt amidst the endless pattering rain, the small scene within the picture frame seemed the only thing still keeping her sanity; a tiny happy moment captured within an eternity of struggling. What would she give now for things to be as they were?

But situations would never be thus again; they had each seen too much, the pain was too much to bear, and the hardships of these two years had ultimately taken its toll. Neither would be able to forget for a long while. And even still, as she moved across the room, she knew that it was uncertain whether they would survive this final ordeal.

A harsh, loud crack of lightning struck one of the trees across the field, the tree’s downcast, mournful branches electrified for an instant in sinister excitement, before it hovered for a moment, blackened into a charcoal shadow, and dissolved, collapsed into ashes, its time passed.

The appearance of lightning seemed a personification of events to come. A single illuminative moment, at the heart of battle, in which all is uncertain, and even Time himself pauses briefly to observe the goings-on with bated breath; before all is lost for either of both sides, charred ashes being all that remains of its combatants.

Another, even louder crack sounded in the distance, like a brutal whip striking the horses that pulled the chariots of Night…and suddenly, an eerie green glow filled the skies. Light snaked its way into the room imparting a sense of impending doom upon the world.

High up in the sky Ginny saw the chilling menace of a colossal skull, a familiar serpent protruding from its mouth.

The Dark Mark.

Whereas usually the Mark was set to hover over any given house, indicating the fate of the inhabitants, this Mark was larger, occupying the entire sky. Its message could not have been clearer.

The fate of them all was in jeopardy.

In that very moment, Ginny made her decision. Dumbledore’s parting words echoed in her head louder than ever, appealing to her conscience of the importance of love; and with increasing urgency, willing her to do what she inwardly knew to be right. The presence of the Dark Mark had finalised her choice, confirmed her thoughts of foreboding. This was the night. The deciding moment was approaching and she would not allow Harry to endure it alone.

With speed, now that her choice had been made, she picked up a black travelling cloak from her chair, and shrugged it over her shoulders. Then, running downstairs she rushed out of the door to brave the fierce confrontations of the stormy night.

~*~*~

Almost at once, the assault focussed on her; the storm surrounding her like a suffocating blanket, beating down on her head, yearning for her defeat. The unearthly green light illuminated her form as she dashed across the fields, hands thrown protectively over her head. The sunken, hollowed out sockets of the skull glinted far above her with pernicious malice. Small forks of lightning followed her quick journey, striking the grass here and there, initiating a fierce fire that seemed resistant to the rain. It prevented her from going back, urging her on, the barrier of blood-red heat thrusting her endlessly and mercilessly forward; the flames licking her heels as she ran.

Slipping and sliding through the mud caked fields; she finally reached the apparition point. Although, as a result of her disrupted education, she was not yet fully qualified, she was nevertheless an apt apparator having long obtained this skill, without choice, essential to her survival. The apparition point was recognisable as a large grass circle, defined by a creamy white line around its edge; much like a Muggle crop circle. The concentration of infused, controlled magic within allowed the occupier to focus on their destination, and turning, to enter the portals of apparition magic.

The inky black night enveloped her all around. On no side was a dim horizon visible, no other shapes distinguishable even at close light; all that could be seen was the fire, growing ever more menacing as if the rain was quenching its thirst, and allowing it to grow. Even as she watched, its ferocious body split, surrounding the circle completely, rising to form a thick walled prison, steadily closing in as it sped at quick pace, gnawing at the grassland, and hungering for fresh meat to consume into the hell-like pits of fire.

Knowing that there was no escape from this unnatural, frightful experience she prepared to focus upon her destination. The storm was becoming, if possible, even worse, the rain lashing down at such a sharp pace that it seemed to sharpen the dagger like forks of lightning as they stabbed repeatedly and forcefully into the earth. And all the while, the eerie yet sadistic skull glinted though the clouds, sparkling with a sick, malignant pleasure as it witnessed the rape of nature on the ground.

Ginny focussed. Though she could not guess where the final battle was taking place, she had a hunch on how to get there. Through her apparition studies she had gleaned that focussing on a destination was not wholly required as long as one possessed the determination to reach it. With a deep breath, she directed all of her love deep into her heart and mind. What she wanted most if all was to protect Harry, to fight alongside him, be with him until the bitter end if necessary. And with this, his face floated into her inner vision, every tiny detail vivid and intense, every tiny part of that face unmistakeably Harry. As her determination flowed through her veins and diffused into every particle of her body, Ginny spun on the spot, stepping forward, out into what appeared to be nothingness.

As if sensing her departure the storm concentrated upon the circle, bolts of lightning penetrating the boundary itself, finally opening the door for fire.

The split second before she disappeared, Ginny finally heard the inevitable rolls of thunder; the sound after the light, the grand entrance of the bringers of darkness, the steady beat of a coming war. As the aerial earthquake intensified, all the ground seemed to tremor with its fury. The blaze closed in, devouring the last blade of grass, lying down hungrily to fill the entire circle.

As Ginny stood, in the eerie darkness between places, unbearable pressures on all sides, she finally began to comprehend Nature’s perilous message. This was it. Tonight would be the final war, the war of all wars.

And none would come after.

~*~*~

Ginny felt her body slam into the ground, as the tube like pressures of apparition steadily diminished. Her eyes were still closed, though her senses confirmed that her journey had been a success. A clash of indistinguishable shouts met her ears; a furious hoarse roar of battle surrounded her, as if in foreboding welcome to the battle into which she was about to plunge.

Picking herself up from the ground, and straightening her robes, she opened her eyes, and blinked several times before her brain registered where she was. She knew this place, though she had never been. Harry had described it often, and his words were still vivid in her thoughts. She was standing on the gravel path outside a handsome Georgian brick house. Though her vision was limited in the darkness, the occasional flash of red or green light allowed her to make out a row of shrubbery that lined the path on either side to the main house, the leaves dishevelled and broken, as if they too had been blasted in the heat of battle. What flowers there had been on the front lawns and gardens had long since withered into nothingness, as if no one had been a resident here for a long time. However, a scattering of wild flowers had flourished, maintaining the seemingly carefree spirit of its original inhabitants, oblivious to the few thorns that had managed to creep their way into the fold.

Ginny shook her head in dismay as she looked beyond the beauty of a house and family long gone, and into the present, at the darkness that had once again managed to taint this place.

A sea of black cloaks and unmoving figures blanketed the lawns, their roles in the battle already played. Blood had been spilled by both Death Eaters and Order members, leaking its way onto the pearly-white gravel, staining them forever a deep, rich scarlet.

High above the house, the Dark Mark glittered maliciously, the serpent filled mouth of the tainted green skull seemed to cackle at her misfortune, taunting her for not coming sooner. Its eyes seemed to question her intentions, blossoming doubts and question…What if? Maybe…

Jets of light continued to fly out of the shattered windows, small explosions knocking down both furniture and people, the deadly power of Avada Kedavra blowing down the painted wooden front door with a loud crash, its hinges creaking and swinging pointlessly, like some ghostly, screechy song.

Despite her dismay at the sheer enormity of the battle and the extent of the casualties Ginny could not help but feel slightly relieved at the ferocity of the conflict. This meant that not all was yet lost. Harry was still in there, still alive, and still fighting. If either side emerged as victor, there would surely be a sign; either of the end or of the beginning. For the wheels of time had finally rotated full circle…

This was Godric’s Hollow, where it had all begun. And this was where it would end.

~*~*~

In a hurried dash, drawing out her wand as she ran, Ginny sprinted to the entrance, taking the deep breath required before she commenced fighting.

In her urgency, she almost tripped over a black shape lying in the doorway. It was the spread-eagled form of her former professor, Minerva McGonagall. All life had been sapped out of her; her eyes were closed peacefully in eternal sleep, face weary and worn of life. Ginny paused for a moment, commemorating all the good times she had shared with the strict but kind and fair old lady. Being a Gryffindor, she understood, just as her Professor had, of the importance of bravery in battle, to fight on both feet until the very end, and if the time came to move on, to take as many of the enemy with her as possible. And McGonagall had done exactly that; for around her own weary form lay several sallow faced Death Eaters, including the lumpy Amycus that Ginny remember duelling herself in the fifth year. Around his head, a pool of darkening blood surrounded him like a guilty crown; evidently he had put up a struggle, but he was gone now all the same.

Running now, Ginny entered the house, knowing that although she could still hear curses flying through the air, the combatants would be fewer now.

A toppled bookcase blocked the way into the living room, its crowded volumes scattering the floor, beyond it, all darkness.

“Sectumsempra!� came a yell, the owner of the voice high-pitched and deranged sounding, like a madman. On the landing, she heard a brief dull thud, before blood splattered the walls. Flinging herself upstairs, Ginny no longer cared if she was being heard. Jets of red light flying towards her indicated that she had been seen. Keeping her head low, she sprinted forwards, leaving behind the fearful yet indignant shrieks of the occupants of the portraits that lined the stairs, each of them dashing for cover as their glass smashed into a thousand pieces, showering Ginny with tiny shards like deadly diamonds, shredding the sides of her face, leaving behind a trailing necklace of dark red beads.

“Stupefy! Stupefy!� the voice above her continued to screech, though the jets of red light bounced harmlessly off the shield she had erected around her body. Sending out a few stunners of her own, as well as sending back jets from her shield, Ginny was satisfied to hear a final shriek of surprise from her attacker as he fell to the ground.

A crimson lake of blood floated on the upper landing, still dripping from the long gashes that had sliced open the body of the Order member lying there; her brother, Bill.

Having fought so hard and for so long, Bill’s eyes were finally closed. Blood continued to steadily drip from his wounds, flooding the crimson lake beside his mountain of a body, sinking deep into the soiled carpet, overflowing its dams as it trickled down the stairs. She was uncertain whether he was still alive, though she doubted it. And now was not the time to mourn.

A high cold laugh emanated from the closed door at the end of the landing, the glow of red light slicing through the doorframes, rippling the pools of blood with an eerie tremor.

The hairs on Ginny’s skin stood at once on end, as she froze, transfixed to the spot, unable to move. She felt a coursing fear strike through her, leaving a deep lingering desperation that she had never before felt and never wished to experience again.

From within the room, she heard the voice pulse commandingly, “Crucio.�

As if in response, a high, unending, inhumane scream reached her ears. It was a scream of terror, complete agony, filled to the brim with a twisting pain that she could not even begin to imagine. The sound pierced her heart, like the sharpened blades of a thousand daggers slicing through her.

She had to help Harry,

Now.

~*~*~

Throwing all of her weight against the black door, which she had presumed to be locked, she was surprised when it crashed open easily, sending her catapulting across the floor, to the astonishment of both combatants in the room; just in time to block a jet of red light intended for the dark haired teenage boy huddled in the corner.

As the effects of the light flooded her body, she experienced an agony beyond all definition of pain; white-hot flames ate her flesh, knives repeatedly stabbing into her bones, taking away from her all capacity for conscious or sensible thought. She screamed. The only thing she wanted was for it to end, to die, to black out, forever…

And then the pain stopped.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t little Ginny Weasley…� The voice that spoke did so with a scraping, rasping whisper. “I believe we have met before; in one sense or another. It is not a surprise that you have come to ‘rescue’ your little boyfriend.�

The tall figure of Lord Voldemort turned his head slightly, twirling his wand in his fingers with elegant domination.

“After all, it is only honourable to repay a life debt…�

He fixed his gaze on her, the red slits of eyes glinted maliciously in unspoken challenge, forcing her to freeze on the spot to glare in return, shaking, at the inhuman mask-like face.

This thing that called itself a man in no way resembled the handsome teenage prefect that she had once confided her life into. The sinister face seemed to radiate a demoniac aura, all forms of forced friendliness having long leaked away. As for love, she knew by instinct that it had never even grazed the surface of his skin; only darkness could do that.

“Nobody here to protect you this time, children,� Voldemort mocked. “Nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. Its time to embrace the arms of Death…it was always your destiny…�

Behind her, Ginny felt Harry begin to stand, evidently the effects of the Cruciatus curse had begun to wear off, his strength slowly was returning, preparing him to rise against this final challenge.

“Ginny, go!� he hissed. “You shouldn’t have come!� He tried to push her out of the way, back towards the door but still she stood firm, determined to fight, determined to help him win this one-man losing battle.

Voldemort laughed. It was the same high, cold laugh that Ginny had heard all those years ago; only this time the laugh did suit him, it was a laugh of pure evil, chilling to the core, as cold as its bearer had now become.

He gave his wand a casual flick. At once Ginny felt her body flood with the pain of the Cruciatus curse, the horrible numbness snaking into her veins once again, her own screams stabbing her ears with a piercing ferocity. And once more, the pain stopped abruptly; though this time a lingering unpleasantness remained as she slumped to the floor, arms hanging limp by her sides.

However, the screaming continued, and Ginny realised that Harry had thrown himself over her, taking the remainder of the curses’ ferocity for a countless time.

Even through his agony, Harry managed to scream out to her.

“RUN! SAVE YOURSELF! GO! LEAVE ME!!�

Picking herself up from the floor where she had fallen, Ginny felt herself stand still, firm, her wand pointing at Voldemort.

“No.�

Voldemort’s red bloodless eyes glinted with astonishment, as if he could never even possibly imagine why anyone would give their life for such a cause. He simply could not understand why she hadn’t run, why she wasn’t saving herself.

From far away, barely audible above the battle cries that still could be heard from distant rooms in the house, a low mournful hum penetrated the air; a steady lamenting yet cathartic crescendo crept in to fill the room, its tones soothing the two teenagers, giving them much needed strength. It entered their ears, into their hearts and minds, mending the pain, knitting together old wounds. It pierced what remained of the soul of their attacker, suffocating his heart with pain and sorrow.

Phoenix song.

And so healed, Harry and Ginny remembered.

“Never forget the power of love as your most trusting weapon.�

Harry stood up, taking his place next to Ginny, the power of the song giving him the strength and courage to forget his pain, for a moment.

“Never underestimate the power of love against despair.�

They turned their heads simultaneously to look at one another, understanding rising from the expressions in each other’s eyes, knowing in that flicker of a moment, exactly what they had to do; the power of what they had to accomplish.

“Remember that what one cannot do alone, two can manage easily.�

Voldemort stared at the two teenagers with growing disbelief, incredulous that two such wizards, whose magical calibre were clearly below his own, could even attempt to destroy a wizard as mighty as himself.

“With love there can be happiness, and understanding, a strength that is infallible.�

The song intensified to an almost tangible thickness, bringing with it a chorus laced with hope; the purity of the voice echoing the importance of loyalty, of bravery, of truth, of trust, of friendship. Of love.

“Whereas your protectors can only lead you up to a certain point in your destined path, and may fail you in times of need, always remember that love can cross this invisible boundary and travel with you all the way.�

No taunts or spiteful words were exchanged. No bold challenges, no mocking boasts. Each side understood in their own ways, that such exchanges were now useless.

Harry and Ginny levelled their wands, pointing at the eyes and heart of their attacker, ready to fight for their lives, their families, for the wizarding world, and for each other.

Voldemort raised his own wand, drawing up all his power, raw determination pulsing through his hot blood with a ravenous thirst for life.

Each side opened their mouths to utter the deciding curse,

This was the moment in the final scene of the final act in the ultimate play. Eerie light still flooded through the windows; mournful song saturated the air like a Greek chorus urging on an imminent tragedy. The air was thickly charged with bittersweet emotions; love, hatred, anger and hope clashed and clawed at one another, waiting for the tiniest spark with which to ignite and explode.

And in an identical split second, the two sides fired their weapons.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!�

“STUPEFY!�

Three jets of light simultaneously flew out of three different wands. Jets of red and jets of green charged to meet each other at the centre of the room. The marriage of colours exploded in sparks, each tiny sliver meeting with one of its opposition. Red and green, gold and silver, Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Each spark grew, each beam of colour rearranging itself, changing rapidly, dancing in its position; each hue shimmering under the moonlight like a pair of star bright wings. And from this dazzling rainbow, a magnificent bird rose, its red-gold wings powerful and strong, yet with a hint of silver-green in its feathers, the light from which it was formed giving elegance to its brilliant plumage.

The phoenix remained, gliding across the room, its flight weaving an intricately powerful web over Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord himself widened his eyes with surprise and fury, unable to relinquish his wand, unable to move at all. For the first time in a long while, a tiny but steadily growing glint could be discerned in his eyes. Fear. For the first time, he was afraid of love.

“A force more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature... “

Neither side could truly say that they understood the extraordinary events that were occurring. Their parts in this drama had been spoken, their roles almost done. At this critical point, Fate herself had taken up the burden and twisted the scene to suit her pleasures.

The silky glistening web binding Voldemort in position seemed to glow, radiating an intense heat as the phoenix of sparks continued to weave its pattern, its own mournful song coupling with the steady chorus already impregnating the room. With every note and chord, the phoenix seemed to gather power, singing louder and weaving even more complicated paths as if taking encouragement from an unknown strength.

“A strength that Voldemort has neither experienced nor possessed…�

The threads of the web intensified, burning with an unexpressed ferocity, branding themselves into Voldemort’s skin, blistering it raw-red and shiny. The mask-like face contorted with pain as it struggled and failed to fight the strength that it had so long undermined, detested and ignored.

“A strength that he has always scorned and underestimated…�

The scorched red skin began quickly to blacken, the web digging deeper, turning itself into a dazzling, purest of white. The phoenix never stopped in its weaving, continuing on its path to wrap ribbons of dancing blue flames around the dark wizard.

“…and one that will ultimately become his downfall.�

The blackened form electrified for an instant within the flames, like the mournful branches of a tree struck by sudden lightning, before incinerating further, the body darkening into a charcoal shadow, collapsing forever into ashes, nothing remaining of the mighty yet corrupt wizard that it had once been.

~*~*~

From outside the room, the battle ceased.

From outside the house, the storm halted in its fury and vanished.

From far above, the ever menacing vivid green form of the Dark Mark dissolved in the sky, each tiny bead of light falling from its distopia onto the earth below, a thousand tiny glittering emeralds.

Inside the room the two teenagers remained, unmoving, hands clasped tightly together as if afraid to let go, afraid to lower their hands lest this all have been a dream, an illusion, a trap designed to lure them into a false sense of security.

The phoenix glided across every gap and space of the room, as if knitting together the seams of the building, repairing all damage, renewing all joy. The furniture repaired itself; chairs set back into their proper positions, the desk stood calm at one side, complete with neatly patterned writing parchment and an elegant eagle feather quill. Shattered shards of sharp glass that had previously showered the carpet flew back into their positions at the windows and cabinets. The scorched, peeling wallpaper regrew, its pattern of delicate flowers fully restored, just like the beauty of the gardens and lawns outside.

Finally its work done, the phoenix stopped in front of Harry and Ginny, giving them a final note of its mournful song, before vanishing with a flash of light, spreading warmth throughout the house, and through their bodies.

The pile of charcoal-like ashes still scattered one side of the room. Each speck now began to glow a dark orange-red, emanating a delicate warmth.

Together, Harry and Ginny cautiously approached the pile, which was increasing in colour and heat by the second as if it were a furnace being fed great lumps of coal.

A tiny movement caught their eyes amid the bed of ashes. Somehow they knew, thought uncertain why, that this new arrival was good, having nothing to do with that malign spirit that had so recently departed.

A tiny golden beak protruded out of the ashes, followed swiftly by a small head. The head burrowed itself out, shaking off the ashen grey dust of its birthplace, stretching miniscule wings, as if mimicking its elder that had just dissolved into the air. Already its tiny wings bore miniature elegant feathers; red-gold with a speckled of silver-green here and there.

A phoenix.

And among the ghostly mournful song that still filled the room, a new voice joined in, a new participant in this choir. This voice grew stronger, weaving through and overtaking the tragic chorus, its mellow tones singing deep and rich like a golden, liquid honey. Its tone spun a new tale of new beginnings laced with determination and friendship. Strengthened by hope. Fortified by love.

The melody penetrated the ears of both Harry and Ginny until finally, they felt their minds begin to heal. Slowly.

Without saying a word to one another, mutual understanding originating from deep inside the heart, the two exited the room. The richly flowing song followed them in their path, renewing their strength; strength needed to rebuild the wizarding world, a world starting at their doorstep.

With every new step, each left their old selves behind, stepping into new roles in a new world. Each step brought them further into their new lives, as they began a fresher and brighter journey.

They had travelled to the very end, the very limit of suffering, to hell on earth and back. They had passed the greatest test ever set by Fate; the test of love, so difficult and so pure that few could succeed in this quest. But they had been successful to the very end, and now together, they would journey into the Beginning.