Voldemort’s laughter filled the chamber as Harry writhed on the floor, the pain growing unbearable. His eyes shut in agony, and he began to twitch during breaks in the torture. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move. All that he was able to do was scream as the Cruciatus Curse drove further into his being.

“That a boy, Harry,” Voldemort jibed, “Take it like a man. How proud your parents would be. If only they could be here to watch you die.”

He stopped momentarily, and Harry heard him walk around to where he was lying. Kneeling down, he brought his evil, death white face up to Harry. His vision blurry, Harry could only focus on the bright, red eyes that were staring at him intently, like a cobra studying it’s victim. The Dark Lord didn’t speak. Instead, he just looked deep into Harry’s emerald eyes, reading the suffering in his mind. There was nothing that the boy could hide anymore. His brain was numb, his thoughts jumbled. He couldn’t concentrate on staying awake, let alone closing his mind off to the Legilimency.

“Give it up, Potter,” cackled the tormentor, “Release yourself from this situation. Just beg me to kill you, beg me to take it away, and I will oblige you. There is no escaping now, Harry. Give in.”

Harry willed himself to shut his eyes. His mind was agreeing with Voldemort, begging him to allow the man to kill him. He welcomed the idea of dying, inviting the coldness of it to sweep him away. Yet, in some way, he knew he would never give in. If this torture killed him, it killed him. He would fight until the very end, and if he weren’t given the opportunity to fight, then he would swallow everything that Voldemort threw at him. His mouth was dry, but in the back he found the last bit of saliva, and spit it into the face of the murderer. Rising up, Harry heard him cackle.

“Still not ready to die, boy?” Voldemort bellowed, “Still foolish and stubborn? Obedience, as I have already told you, is something that you must learn before you die. It’s a shame that the Imperius Curse does not work on you. Perhaps a larger dose of pain will persuade you to give in.”

He went to raise his wand again, and the Torture curse was out of his lips once more. However, it did not hit Harry this time. The boy limply raised his hand, forming it into a boundary. The spell seemed to bounce away from the outstretched hand, and then slung back. It hit Voldemort square in the chest, and he fell to the floor, screaming and howling in pain. Bellatrix, who throughout the scene had been laughing against the wall, dropped to her knees.

“Master!” she called out, and she moved her wand to cancel the curse. Coughing and sputtering, Voldemort hoisted himself up and looked over at Harry, murder in his eyes. With great difficulty, Harry lifted himself up and used his legs to slide up against the wall. He was unable to stand up, unable to bring himself to his feet and stare at Voldemort directly in the eye. He was not unsure that something amazing had just happened. Without using his wand, which was still tucked away and unseen by either Voldemort or Bellatrix, he had been able to stop the curse aimed at him. Inside, he felt that he knew why. Focusing his mind on the one person he truly cared about, Harry braced his back against the wall.

“How’s it feel?” he said hoarsely.

“I’m not about to go into how it feels,” Voldemort said, “I’m not spending any more time talking with you about how I feel or how I am going to kill you.”

Standing up, and shoving Bellatrix’s assisting arms away, Voldemort snarled. Whipping his wand out from under his robes, he made his way over to where Harry sat. The boy looked up at him defiantly, and Voldemort hissed at him.

“ Sectumsempra!” he uttered, and again it backfired. A gash appeared on Harry’s cheek, but the conjurer again absorbed the rest of the spell. Stumbling backward, Voldemort grew paler as the blood began to drain out of the various slashes that had opened across his body. Bellatrix screamed as he hit the wall, and the floor began to grow red. Harry smirked as the Death Eater began to stitch up her master, who was weakened, but still not unconscious.

“Give it up, Riddle,” Harry jeered, but Voldemort refused. Angry now, and with hunger in his eyes, Voldemort lunged at Harry. He grabbed him around the throat, refusing to use magic. Harry began to choke and sputter, the air slowly being squeezed from his body. Voldemort, however, began to feel the pain of his own hands too, and soon was forced to remove his hands in order to gain his own breath back. Coughing, the two of them glared at one another.

“What is this?” Voldemort asked Harry hoarsely.

“Something that you would never understand,” he replied. Then, his mind completely focused on Ginny, he forced himself to stand up. Coughing again, and rubbing his sore neck, Harry leaned against the wall. Then, he pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Voldemort.

“You cannot kill me,” Voldemort replied, “You will not succeed. I’ll beat you to it.’

Moving at a pace that Harry almost did not see, Voldemort had his wand out. He uttered the Killing Curse faster than the previous time that Harry had encountered it. However this time, the Dark Lord was injured. His aim was off and the spell bounced off of the wall and hit the floor, causing stone fragments to bounce everywhere. He tried again, and Harry felt something sharp graze his arm, but was left unhurt.

“It touched your body,” Voldemort shouted, “How did it not kill you?!?”

“You know nothing,” Harry replied, “Obviously, you haven’t learned from your previous attempts on my life.”

“I WILL KILL YOU!” Voldemort bellowed.

“You can’t,” Harry said, “I understand now, and so you won’t be able to. I was protected by one person’s love before, and it was enough. Now that I understand how to use the power that was given to me by my mother, you cannot defeat me. If you try, you will bring about your end.”

“Then kill me, Potter,” Voldemort urged, a sense of insanity in his tone, “The prophecy says that neither of us can live while the other survives.”

“There are things worse than death.”

“You’re a fool.’

Voldemort cast the spell again, and this time, his aim was true. It hit Harry directly in the chest. However, the boy did not fall. A bright pink light shot out of the end of his own wand, and Voldemort’s eyes opened wide as it drove into him. Laughing as he fell, Harry watched Voldemort grow red, struggling for air. He fell to his knees, and then began to twitch on the floor.

“What is this torture?” he shouted as Bellatrix struggled to help him. Harry’s vision was growing dark as he used the strength that was keeping him alive to answer him.

“It’s foreign to you,” he gasped, “It’s what you never felt. It’s love and compassion that are killing you, Voldemort.”

“I don’t want to die,” Voldemort sputtered, and then he grew silent. He was not dead, just suffering as the spell flew through his body, taking over. Harry was conscious to hear him scream as it found his heart and wrapped tightly around it, squeezing until it gave up the fight. With a final gasp, Lord Voldemort’s eyes grew dim. His mouth hung open, and his body went limp. With a final gasp, he was gone, finished forever. Bellatrix let out a moan, calling out more in fear than in sorrow. The authorities that would find her would kill her now. With the Dark Lord dead, surviving Aurors would begin to round up the followers. In anger, she stood up. Whipping around, she aimed to finish Harry off. What she found was enough to make her gasp. Where Harry’s body had been moments before, there was a small raven, staring up at her and cocking its head side to side. The boy was nowhere to be found. Looking around the room, there was no essence of him left. Calling out in anger, and feeling that she was going insane, Bellatrix dropped to her knees again. All she could do now was wait until they found her.

The wind shifted in the air as Ginny and the rest of the survivors marched along the empty field. Exhausted and terribly hungry, the prisoners that they had freed were rejoicing in silence, happy that they had been released. However, an air of anxiety had also swept over them, and many were thinking of Harry and what was happening. Ginny’s head drooped down as she walked beside Fred, who was desperately trying to cheer her up. He told her about the new plans he and George had formulated for the shop.

“We’re going to make this new charm that turns people into candy,” he explained, “You can eat your own fingers and toes, and then drink another potion to make them grow back.”

“That sounds great, George,” she said.

“Fred.”

“Right.”

He squeezed her hand affectionately, but she didn’t feel it. Her mind was focused on Harry…where he was, whom he was with, and if he was still alive. Slipping his hand from her grip, Fred gave her one last sympathetic look before walking away.

“I don’t know if she’s going to be okay,” Fred told Ron, who was walking with Hermione and giving Ginny proper space.

“She’s worried about him, Fred,” Ron told him, “He was capture right in front of her. All she has known for the past few months is torture, and she knows exactly what he’ll be going through right now. She’s struggling with herself, blaming herself for taking him back. He told her what would happen, and she feels that it’s her fault.”

“God,” Fred said, “She can’t hold all of that up inside of her.”

“Just give her space,” Ron replied, “Let her clear her mind.”

“She’ll be okay, Fred,” Hermione told him, and he nodded. He went to walk with his parents, his mother still struggling to walk. She had been injured a few weeks ago in the prison, her leg crushed by a stone that had been thrown at her, and she limped. Arthur supported her with his body, as did George.

Hermione watched as Ginny stopped walking. She stared ahead, as if she had seen something there to upset her. Then, she began to run, jogging at first and then breaking into a short sprint.

“Ginny?” she called after her, unsure of what to think. The unstable mindset into which Ginny had slipped was enough to make her see things, and Hermione was sure something was happening to her friend. She let go of Ron’s hand and followed her. He was quickly on her heels, now seeing his sister running.

Suddenly, all three of them stopped. There, lying in the middle of the forest, was Harry Potter, unmoving with his eyes closed.

“Harry?” Ginny called softly, and then louder. “HARRY?”

He opened his eyes, slowly and with great effort, it seemed. He smiled when he saw Ginny.

“Hi,” he gasped, slowly and barely audible to the rest of them.

“How did you get here?” she asked, and she leaned down so that she could hear him. He was shaking, she saw now, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“What happened?”

“I had to see you,” he told her, “I had to see you before I…”

Realizing what he was talking about, Ginny shook her head.

“No,” she said, “No, I’ve been focusing. I’ve been thinking about you, and I’ve been focusing my love to save you. You’ll be all right, Harry. You’ll be okay; you’re going to be fine.”

“It’s my time, Ginny,” he said, “It’s…it’s time for me to go. The power won’t protect me now. I’ve finished what needed to be done. It’s..t-ti-ime.”

He stopped there, and his voice faded away. Ginny watched his eyes roll back and then close. His limbs stopped moving, and he became still.

“NO!” she screamed, “NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME AGAIN!”

“HARRY!” Hermione sobbed, tears rolling down her eyes. Ron merely stood, stunned, not believing any of it. Ginny rocked him back and forth, shaking him. Yet he did not stir, he did not shudder. It had happened. Harry Potter had defeated Lord Voldemort…and sacrificed himself in the fight.

“What are you doing here, son?” the man asked, and Harry blinked his eyes quickly.

“Dad?” he uttered, not believing what he was seeing.

“Yeah,” James Potter answered, “Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing here?”

“I…I think that I…”

“You must have,” James finished, “Or you are dying…you have to be giving up to be here.”

“James?” came a voice from behind Harry, and he turned to see the unforgettable figure of his mother, coming toward him. She froze when she saw her son.

“No,” she gasped, “No, you can’t be here.”

“I am, mum,” he answered, confused, “I closed my eyes, and then I was here.”

“Go back,” said another voice, and Sirius appeared beside him, “You aren’t supposed to be here. Not yet.”

“The spell didn’t work between Ginny and me,” he told them, “She couldn’t save me. It was my time.”

“No, Harry,” Snape said, appearing next to Lily. He saw the Potions Master gazing at his father, loathing him. Even in eternity, Snape would never have the love of the person he wanted. Still, he cared about Harry. “You aren’t supposed to be here. Go back.”

“I can’t just go back!” he exclaimed.

“You can,” Lily said, “I have wanted to see you for so long. I can wait longer. You are too young to be here forever.”

“What’s all of this, then?”

Harry turned, now completely and totally disoriented. He spotted a tall wizard, a staff held in his hand. Lily and James bowed their heads, and Snape nodded at him. He came down from the stairs that he was standing on, walking toward the small cluster of people that had surrounded Harry.

“Is someone speaking of going back?” the man asked, “Speaking of breaking the ancient code of death?”

“Yes sir,” Snape answered for Harry, “Yes, we are.”

“That’s not going to happen. He’s staying with us.”