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Chapter Text

Every instinct is screaming at him to run, to get away from the thing in front of him and the cult that wants him dead. Towards the safety of the castle and his friends.

Instead he awaits his fate, following the winding and twisted path Albus Dumbledore set out for him. Trusting that, despite what Rita Skeeter wrote and what Aberforth said, Dumbledore chose the method that would minimise suffering, both his and others. Trusting that his death would help his friends kill the monster in front of him, who is currently ranting about something Harry stopped listening to a long time ago. Trusting that it was all worth it.

Harry holds onto this trust with every fibre of his being. And so, when he looks into the snake like eyes of the man in front of him, he is not afraid.

The monster lifts its arm. Long white fingers, almost dainty on the elder wand, produce sparks of magic that travel from them to the tip, building enough energy to end Harry’s life in a second. His red eyes are full of vicious triumph already, as if victory is already his, and Harry is nothing but calm as he remembers the piece of soul that will die with him.

Death is close now. Harry can feel his own magic responding reflexively, desperately trying to save him against the coming curse.

As time seems to slow to a fraction of its usual speed, Harry thinks what a pity it is that the last sound he will ever hear is a symphony of death eater’s jeering, and the last thing he’ll ever see is Voldemort’s ugly face. He makes a point to focus on the treeline, beautiful in the slowly rising sun. His ears latch onto the quieter sounds; the creek trickling through the undergrowth and the unmistakeable sound of an engine, evidently from a muggle village nearby. Calming things, for a calm transition to the other side.

Wait a second...

The nearest muggle village is at least fifty miles away, whereas Hogwarts is only a few meters away. Try as he might, he can’t hear any familiar voices from the school he misses so much, despite the fact it was a hive of activity when he left it minutes before.

The sound is getting closer.

As the incantation forms on Lord Voldemort’s tongue, the source of the noise crashes through the trees in a wave of blue.

It accelerates straight for the monster, and neither Voldemort nor his death eaters have time to retaliate before it hits. The crunch of metal on bone reverberates across the clearing, as the bonnet of what Harry now recognises as a car crumples, and the Dark Lord, Mr Evil incarnate, is flung into a tree.

Voldemort, suddenly very frail and almost human looking, crumples like a discarded crisp packet on the forest floor. Harry stares at the body of the man who was about to kill him, takes in the blood and odd angles, and can only form two coherent thoughts:

One, Arthur Weasley doesn’t mess around with the quality of his experiments.

And two, not even the most feared sorcerer of all time can survive a collision with a determined Ford Anglia.

Chapter Text

There is a second of complete silence. Even the car pauses, seeming to stare down at the white body as a last rattling breath forces its way into damaged lungs. Through the connection he and Voldemort share, Harry can feel the pain and anger that had never quite felt right within him fade. The moment it disappears completely, the magical sphere around Nagini flickers and goes out, and everything comes to sudden and startling life once more. 

As the great snake uncurls, Bellatrix’s furious voice screams out, rallying the death eaters to avenge their master.

And Harry is quite forcefully reminded that he is standing right in the middle of a circle of enemies.

Harry drops to the ground when the first spells come flying in his direction and crawls, army-style, towards the tree line. His way is lit up by the bright lights crisscrossing above him, in a firework display that leaves the air smelling like magic and sulphur. He is conscious of how exposed he is like this; surrounded by enemies and with a weapon he can’t use, but can feel poking his ribs with every shuffle on the forest floor from where he stuffed it earlier.

A particularly bright and loud curse heads straight towards him. Harry makes a desperate dive towards the trees, turning just in time to see the gold sting of magic hit the ground where he used to be, showering him with dirt and dust but somehow leaving him unscathed. It gives him the perfect opportunity to run, to get a head start large enough to potentially make it back, but a sinking feeling in his gut makes him pause. There are two horcruxes left- him and the snake- and both of them are in this very clearing. Harry doesn’t know much about how exactly horcuxes work, but he’s about ninety percent sure Voldemort would need them to come back to life. Maybe, if he kills the snake and then he, well, dies, the tyrant will stay dead. Harry rubs at his scar, which has been notably calm ever since Voldemort was hit by the car. He will think about the second part of his plan once the snake is dead.

Very much against his better judgement, Harry ducks behind a tree, rips his outer robe off and finally grasps the wand like the lifeline it is. He quickly puts up a shield, the stolen wand cooperative for once as if sensing it’s an emergency, and sets about trying to find the snake before Voldemort can return using it.

He shudders. He does not want to think about that part either.

From the light of the stray spells, Harry can make out enough to tell that the clearing is in absolute chaos.

Most of the death eaters are clustered around Voldemort’s corpse, attempting some sort of reviving spell or else looking lost. Bellatrix is among them, screaming at those attempting to save her master.

Others attempt to tackle the car, in a scene which Harry would under most circumstances find absolutely hilarious. The Death Eaters have formed a line of shield charms, glowing in the darkened clearing, and edge carefully closer to the car, wands outstretched. As the car turns on a break light, half of them squeal and duck away, yelling obscenities. They’re so completely out of their depth that Harry just wishes they’d thought about using muggle technology against them in the first place. Like a tank, or a machine gun.

A few are aiming for Harry, firing spell after spell at the slowly settling dust. Some spells look as if they could be deadly, by the way branches splinter and the tang of magic fills the forest air, but so far they’re missing him by meters.

He is in the process of looking for the snake, when Bellatrix looks up from her master's corpse and meets his eyes.

“YOU!!” She screams, jumping to her feet and ripping her wand out of the holster. The death eaters that were so far doing an awful job at killing him cease their firing at once. “What beast did you set on my master?!” She hisses as she stalks towards him, her hair a tangled cloud above narrowed eyes and spit flying from her mouth as she speaks “I will torture you until you are begging me to kill you, I will skin your worthless halfblood body alive, I will kill your beast and then kill you.” her voice takes on a savage sort of triumph, and Harry can’t help but feel a little bit terrified as an angry crackle of energy snaps the tree in two and travels straight through his shield towards his heart. He dives away, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach as he realises there is no way he will be able to dodge such a blow, readying himself once more for death.

The curse hits, but he doesn’t die: instead, pain spreads from his torso, rippling out waves of agony that leave him convulsing on the ground.

Through the haze of pain and black spots clouding his vision, Harry finally finds the snake. She is slithering through the undergrowth, aiming out of the clearing, as if following directions from an outside source.

With a shaking hand, Harry aims a stunning spell at the snake, knowing full well it will be completely useless.

“That wasn’t even kind of close” Bellatrix gloats, looming above him in a way that reminds Harry of a dementor “does ickle Harry not know how to use a wand? Is that why he hires others to- Ach“

There is a loud thump, and Bellatrix’s back arches almost comically when she is flung over Harry’s prone body.

Her figure is replaced by that of the car, whose headlights are positioned in such a way that it almost looks exasperated at him. Feeling strangely as if he’s just been scolded, Harry forces his way to his feet once more.

“Um... thank you... car. For saving-“

A loud honk stops his spiel mid-sentence and he reflexively freezes. A split second later a spell skims his forehead and, a few moments after that, curly locks of hair float onto the forest floor like feathers. He lifts a shaking hand to the left of his head, feeling tender skin and more handfuls of hair.

“Merlin... thanks for that too” Harry manages shakily. The car makes a sound a lot like a tut and the back door closest to him opens with pop. He gets the hint this time, climbing quickly in.

The door slams and the car accelerates before he’s even fully seated, and it takes all his strength just to stay upright.

“Wait! The snake! We need to kill it!” Harry yells above the engine. The car splutters indignantly but turns around, speeding expertly around the branches and trees as if it has completed this route a thousand times.

“There” He shouts, pointing at an outline that looks vaguely serpent like. The car lets out a huff of annoyance, which Harry ignores.

Without warning, the Ford Anglia accelerates, aiming straight for a dark blob that is definitely not the moving outline from earlier. The momentum throws Harry back against the seat, shocking him enough that he doesn’t have time to cry out a warning before the car meets the blob.

When the expected collision doesn’t come, he opens his eyes. They’re moving, but as all Harry can see out of the front window are fading stars and a slowly lightening sky, it takes him a moment to orientate himself. The car seems to have used the blob, which is a fallen tree judging by the outline, as a ramp. The car then confirms his suspicions; it turns sharply, flies for a moment, and then lands heavily on the ground with a resounding thud.

Harry is still recovering from the whiplash and marvelling at the fact he survived all that without a seatbelt, when the ground literally comes to life beneath them. The car tilts alarmingly from side to side, and Harry is flung around like a rag doll

A serpentine head appears in Harry’s field of vision, and suddenly everything makes a lot more sense. Whilst sentient forest floor is not impossible- he’s in a sentient car for Merlin’s sake- it did seem a bit unlikely.

And then it hits Harry that a Ford Anglia managed to land on a moving Nagini in the dark. He doesn’t have time to congratulate it before the car finds some sort of traction, and they are moving once more.

The car reverses onto the snake, and accelerates once more, slowly running the snake further into the ground. The snake lets out an annoyed noise, lifting a fanged mouth to slash at the car windscreen.

“Sectumsempra!” Harry yells, slashing his wand. Large wounds open on the snakes head, and then immediately begin to heal. The snake didn’t even stop pounding on the windshield.

“Oh right. Horcrux. Fuck. Car, we need the sword. I think we should go back now before the death eaters find us and kill us.”

The car makes it clear that it has no intention of leaving by sighing theatrically and continuing to reverse onto the snake.

“Car! I repeat, we must abort mission!” Harry says, panicking now at the sight of a growing crack in the glass from the snakes fangs.

As he says this, however, the snakes movements become more notably more and more sluggish.

“What the...” Harry gapes as the snake keels over, dead. “Car, you’ve got to tell me how you do that!”

The car lets out a quiet beep that sounds a little bit like an amused snort. It reverses one final time over the corpse, and makes to move once more.

Harry still hasn’t stopped gaping when a single death eater crashes through the trees beside them, notices the car and immediately puts his hands in the air. Harry feels like doing the same thing. 

The car ignores the man, instead aiming straight for the clearing before Harry can ask it not to, heading right back into Death Eater Territory. 

The moment it crashes through the trees, most of the Death Eaters start sprinting for the hills, and the cloaked figures that remain part hastily to let them through. If it weren’t for Bellatrix, who regretfully looks unharmed, standing in the middle, shouting after them or the spells that hit the window, Harry would feel like Royalty.

At the last minute, Harry remembers Hagrid at the other end of the clearing. A sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry turns in his seat, wand outstretched and ready to at least free him from the chains that bound him.

It takes a moment to find where Hagrid once was, the tree distinguishable only by a hint of silver that reflects the light of the moon. On closer inspection, Harry confirms that they are the remains of two chains. They hang, limp and attached to nothing, almost as if a particularly strong force ripped the magically enforced links wide open. Harry grins- it seems Grawp beat him to it.

The car reaches the opposite end of the clearing unobstructed, with only a couple of more cracks in the glass from stray spells. Harry can just about make out lights from the castle, from home, when Bellatrix’s magically magnified voice sounds throughout the forest.

“You actually think that’s the end of him?” The witch cackles, sounding even more crazy in loud speaker “You’re all piteous excuses for death eaters. The dark lord will rise once more!”

His scar twinges slightly with her words, and Harry can’t help but agree.

Chapter Text

The car dumps him right by the gate of the castle.

The next step of his two-point plan was to kill himself, or at least let himself die, but Harry really does not want to do that. As a nagging voice in his head keeps pointing out, if there is a way to kill one soul but not the other in his body, Hermione would know it.

Besides, he really wants to see his friends. Even if it’s for them to tell him he needs to die.

He takes an eager step towards the castle, but then pauses. The last crazy hour catches up to him, and it suddenly hits him that the last piece of the wizard who terrorised the people inside the castle is literally inside him, attached to his soul in wherever souls are kept.

He is a walking time bomb, where any minute Voldemort’s tattered soul could jump out and reform. Well, that’s what he imagines would happen anyway. He’s pretty sure he’s the first ever recorded carrier of a second soul, so it’s very much uncharted territory.

What if Voldemort takes over his body? What if it’s some sort of battle for the dominant soul? What if Voldemort possesses him and starts killing people? What if Voldemort has already possessed him and that’s why he thinks this is a good idea?

His mouth goes dry- he can’t do this. He should have made more of an effort to let himself die, but for some reason the car kept saving him.

Said car drives slowly towards him and gives him a gentle nudge towards the castle entrance with the crumpled bonnet. Harry startles at the contact, the metal ice cold against his skin. The car gives a small huff, as if chiding him for loitering.

“Thing is, car, I could be endangering them all” he says in a small voice.

The car doesn’t have time to reassure him, or more likely roll its headlights at him, before the door opens and light pools out.

“... we’re still looking for Eli Broadwidth, Leah Mason and Amy Leong” Oliver Wood’s voice floats out of the door along with the sound of heavy footfall “well, they’re the ones that were definitely fighting. We don’t know how many kids there are out here” he sighs

“And Harry of course” Neville’s voice says brazenly.

“... Look, Neville. The fact we’ve had almost an hour and a half of relief from the onslaught means he probably went to you-know-who. I’m sorry.” Oliver’s voice has a long suffering tone to it that suggests he’s said this all before.

“Don’t be Oliver, I’m right here” Harry calls from the steps before he loses his nerve. The two men gasp in unison.

“Harry?! Thank Merlin you’re alive! Everyone was worried sick! How could you go off on your own like that?” Oliver scolds him, whilst Neville runs over and hugs him.

“Please tell me you didn’t go into the forest, you noble idiot” Neville says with a pained expression, drawing back to an arm’s length away to survey his reaction.

“I’m alive aren’t I” Harry says with a forced cheeriness, very obviously avoiding the question.

“Harry...” Neville says warningly.

“Leave the mothering for Mrs Weasley, Neville” Harry laughs, even though he’s a little touched by the duo’s obvious concern for him.

“Well I guess I should even by happy you’re alive.” Neville concedes “Wait... how are you alive?”

“It’s a long story, but I promise I’ll tell you it later, when I have more time,” Harry says, looking back at the battered Anglia. Oliver gives a pointed cough. “Both of you of course!”

“Okay,” Neville says, voice strong and trusting, despite everything he’s been through, “what do you need us to do?”

Harry takes a deep breath.

“I have to find Ron and Hermione. There is... there is one more thing I have to do.”

The car gives a soft hoot of apparent agreement. Both Neville and Oliver look at the car in confusion, but decide not to comment. There are enough strange things happening at the moment that a sentient car isn’t that weird.

“Are you sure you’re okay Harry? You look like you’ve been beaten up,” Neville asks him, as he leads the way to the great hall. Oliver stayed behind to hunt for the rest of the missing people.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking though,” Harry sighs, running a hand through his interestingly styled hair. He’s surprised no one has commented on it yet, but maybe the rest of his appearance is so bad it doesn’t seem that noticeable in comparison.

“You also look quite worried. I get it. There are so many good people who died tonight already- it’s hard to even look at them. Not to mention their families. But people will be so happy to see you alive it will be worth it,” Neville smiles sadly. And then catches sight of Harry’s face “Or should I get Ron and Hermione to come out?”

“That would be great Neville” Harry says in relief, picturing the scene his reappearance would cause and all the questions, all that would use up time that could be spent killing Voldemort for good, “I promise I’ll tell everyone as soon as I’m finished. Just on a limited time schedule”

“Makes sense. Just wait here, I’ll be out in a second” Neville slips into the hall, casting a reassuring look back at Harry.

For a second or two the door is open, and Harry can’t help but peek inside. The atmosphere has changed since he was last there, when he was mourning the loss of his friends with no idea that he had to die. Back then there were tears and moans of pain and panicking parents. Now, the survivors are stoic. They know more or less their loved ones fates, but not their own. They are slowly processing what has happened.

The door shuts in his face, fanning him with a gust of air, and Harry retreats. A part of him wants to go in to offer whatever comfort he can, but the knowledge of the soul inside him stops that.

The door opens again, with even more vigour than it shut with. Someone comes flying towards him, all puffy hair and warm eyes, and embraces him in a hug bigger than Neville’s.

She is immediately followed by Ron, his normally lanky body looking tenser than usual despite the warm smile gracing his features.

“Tough night?” Harry says with a sympathetic grimace towards Ron’s tensed shoulders and bloodshot eyes. He can’t make out much of Hermione’s appearance due to how tightly she’s hugging him, but he can’t imagine it’s much better.

“Tough night?! Of course it’s a tough night! You went missing for over forty five minutes and we were all certain you’d sacrificed yourself! Without saying goodbye” Hermione says shrilly, pulling out of the hug to glare at him with exhausted eyes. She punches him on the arm for good measure. 

“Yeah. That bit wasn’t cool mate. What happened to ‘we’re in this together’? You’re going to kill us! I’m going to get grey hair before I’m twenty, I swear to Merlin” Ron adds on, looking as if he’s blinking back tears. 

Harry quickly scans the empty corridor- he was so distracted, he must have missed Neville leaving. He lowers his voice anyway. “Look, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. But I was sure that you would convince me not to go just by being there and I needed to go!” He tries desperately “I looked at the memories Snape gave me and found out that some of Voldemort’s soul went into me when I was a baby. I’m the eighth horcrux.” Harry pauses, partly to allow them to process it and partly for dramatic effect. Apart from some swearing from Ron and widened eyes from Hermione, there is not a whole lot of reaction.

“Okay, that is a little anticlimactic, considering you’re just finding out your best friend has had part of the soul of an evil wizard inside him all his life, but whatever” Harry grins at them.

“Oh shut up Harry. We’re trying to listen” Ron says, rolling his eyes

“So I went to the forest-“

“Of course he did” Ron mutters

“And,” Harry continues, slightly louder, pretending not to have heard that “I was facing him when your Dad’s car killed Voldemort and the snake. So I’m the only horcrux left”

“Um... can you repeat that, slower. I must have misheard you” Ron says after a few seconds of shocked silence.

“Voldemort attacked. Car attacked before he could kill me. Main Voldemort died. Bellatrix about to kill me, torturing etc. Bellatrix attacked by car but doesn’t die. I go in car. Car runs over and somehow kills Nagini. Drive away. Now I’m here.” He repeats in a monotone

“Harry what in Merlins name have you been taking from Professor Sprout?” Hermione asks incredulously, as Ron starts to laugh. Seeing that no one else is joining in, and noticing Harry’s expression, he quickly sobers up.

“Wait. The car? From our second year? It’s still there? And running? What? How?” Ron manages “and you’re saying it killed you-know-who? Just like that?! And it’s definitely not a joke? Not even a tiny bit of exaggeration?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Wow. I need to thank my dad” Ron says in a weak voice.

“Look, I need help. And it’s all true! But I don’t know what to do! What if he possesses me Hermione?! I’ve got the last piece of him INSIDE ME” Harry exclaims.

“That sounds wrong mate” Ron winces.

“Ronald-“ Hermione scolds but is cut off by Harry’s laugh, which is a little too loud given the context. She mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “boys” but otherwise looks relieved, even going so far as casting a grateful look at her... friend? Boyfriend? Harry doesn’t know anymore.

“Wait... you two kissed” Harry says smugly. To Harry’s delight, both of them blush hotly.

“And what about it?” Ron asks defiantly, his bold stance and jutted chin a little less effective when coupled with the bright red ears.

“I was just going to say ‘about time’” Harry puts placating hands up

“You said it wasn’t the time, remember?” Hermione says reasonably.

“Well we’re not in the middle of a literal war this time, after months even years of pining, and... oh. Fuck. I almost forgot.”

“Right, horcrux. Harry. I say to the library?” Hermione is suddenly all business.

“When do you not?” Harry mimics her tone but follows her advice anyway, as per usual. Hermione swats at him as they walk up the slightly demolished staircase.

“That should be his new nickname. Horcrux Harry. Has a ring to it. I was getting bored of the ‘chosen one’” Ron muses.

“You call me ‘horcrux Harry’ and I will turn the car on you” Harry threatens playfully.

The top of the staircase isn’t much better- all smashed pillars and empty pedestals and occasional blood stains they all take pains to avoid looking at too long.

“Why did it save you? I thought it hated us” Ron asks, seemingly out of the blue. Harry is pretty sure he knows what Ron is doing- desperately trying to distract himself from a reality Harry can only ever imagine. The closest Harry has ever gotten to a brother is Ron, and he doesn’t know how he would react if anything happened to him. He still hasn’t even fully processed what happened to Fred and-

“I don’t know” Harry answers, just as desperate to stop that particular train of thought.

“Maybe it just hated you?” Hermione says innocently, batting her eyelids at Ron’s scowl in such an uncharacteristic gesture that they all laugh.

“Nah. It saved me from the spiders remember” Ron says confidently once they’ve all recovered, helping Hermione over the remains of a knight.

“... it saved me too?” Harry points out, taking Ron’s outstretched hand and jumping over the knight too.

“Hmm... maybe it was just annoyed at us then?”

“Obviously forgave us” Harry scoffs.

“Of course!”

Hermione rolls her eyes at them “Guys can you focus? Harry, your life is in danger and Ron... your best friend’s life is in danger!”

“Right... how do we kill the bit of Voldemort inside me?”

“I don’t know! That’s why we’re going to the library” Hermione admits. And just like that, Harry realises how unreasonable he is being. If Dumbledore couldn’t think of a better way, who’s to say they will?

“Look, you guys.” Harry stops and takes a deep breath. The other two suddenly look apprehensive, stopping with him. “About why I went to the forest...”

“To face Voldemort?”

“To get it over with.”

Ron and Hermione say at the same time. They look at each other in surprise.

“Well... no. I went to die. To kill the bit of Voldemort, and getting Voldemort to do it was important somehow” Harry says, stepping back in preparation for any explosion.

“....WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK HARRY; YOU WERE GOING TO DIE!!!!!” Hermione screeches, advancing on him angrily. Harry takes another fraction of a step back- in the whole seven years he has known her, she has hardly ever sworn. “I’M SERIOUS HARRY! WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS?? IT’S AWFUL” She all but shakes him.

“You really have to tell us these things” Ron says weakly.

“Dumbledore’s! And Snape’s” Harry says quickly, gulping at looks in his friends eyes.

“YOU TRUSTED WHAT YOU SAW IN THE PENSIVE? AND DIDN’T CHECK?” She yells, so loudly the fragile marble shakes.

“I know memories can be made up and altered Hermione, believe me! But I was- am- sure!! He was working with Dumbledore! Trust me on this please” Harry is surprised to find himself close to tears, unsure how that happened.

Hermione deflates, managing a small “okay.” Ron places a comforting hand over her shoulders.

Hermione’s head shoots up as something else seems to occur to her. “Wait... why did you come back? You.. you don’t want us to... to kill you right?”

“Nope. No, no, no. No. Harry I love you, but I can’t do that for you. Ask me anything else.” Ron says backing away.

“I-I'm not sure. Not necessarily. I was hoping there may be a way. Now that he’s dead. A way for me to survive” Harry says, watching his feet.

“We could go to the ministry?” Ron suggests halfheartedly.

“Half of them are on Voldemort’s side Ron” Hermione says, biting her lip anxiously.

“Now that You-Know-Who the physical is dead...”

“It’ll take weeks until they’re stable enough to handle it... the temptation for the supporters is too much”

“McGonagall? My Mum and Dad?” Ron suggests, desperate now.

“Maybe? It’ll take some explaining and they’re no more experts than we are, maybe even less-“

“I’M NOT LOSING ANOTHER BROTHER!” Ron all but yells. “Not one I can do something about anyway.”

“Ron, come here. Whatever happens, I won’t blame you” Harry says gently, touched by the outburst.

“That doesn’t mean I want to lose you” Ron sniffs, coming over to hug him.

“Okay, you’re right. Of course you’re right. I’ll call them. Carry on, the library is right there.” Hermione sighs

“No, I’ll go. You’re better at this kind of stuff anyway” Ron says, slowly detaching himself from Harry. “Be careful. Both of you.”

“I’ll try not to get possessed” Harry says dryly. He gets a punch from each side for that comment.

They separate, Ron winding back through the debris and Harry and Hermione walking the last few feet towards the library, oddly silent. 

He can almost hear his friend's massive brain busy whirring away, attacking the problem Harry has shared with her.

He is trying to think as well, but keeps getting distracted by a complicated mixture of emotions. Warmth and gratitude towards his friends for not leaving him to fight this on his own, guilt for holding onto a fragile hope at the possible expense of others. That fragile hope in amongst a sea of hopelessness. Merlin, he hasn't felt so much at once since he was 15, and that was not a good year.

They reach the library, skirting around the remains of the two boar statues that used to guard the door. Harry goes to place a hand on the doorknob, when Hermione catches his elbow with a disapproving glare.

"There might be someone inside, or it might be cursed!" 

Harry blinks at her "Hermione... " He says slowly "all the Death Eaters were in the forest..."

"Still! You never know" She says, and Harry gives up and lets her cast her spells.

Finally, she gives him a nod of approval. He opens the door, half expecting to see the library completely demolished with just a drop down onto the grounds below.

Instead, it’s pristine. The book shelves are in perfect order, the chairs all neatly arranged around their desks. In comparison to the corridor outside, with the burns, stains and rubble from the hole in the ceiling, it’s almost too good to be true.

They don’t have to ponder the mystery for long.

“GET OUT OF MY LIBRARY!!! I DO NOT CARE THAT THERE IS A WAR, I HAVEN’T SEEN ANYONE, BUT I WILL NOT HESITATE TO MURDER YOU IF YOU MESS UP MY DISPLAYS!!” Madame Pince, wearing the same robe as always and an angrier version of her signature pissed-off expression, yells from the desk.

Hermione recovers from the shock first. “Um... sorry to bother you, but we need to do some research-“

“What did I tell you girl? OUT!” The Madam raises her hand threateningly, and a gust of wind starts blowing them out of the door

“You can’t kick us out! We are here to research, not destroy anything.” Harry yells, not sure how much the librarian can hear above the wind. Hermione stumbles beside him, from a mixture of the sheer velocity of wind and the amount of hair obscuring her vision. He reaches out and grabs her hand before she can fall, pulling her away from the door.

Hermione spits the hair out of her mouth and raises her wand. A swish of the wood later and a shield snaps into place against the wind. She looks angry; nostrils flared and eyes bright.

“We are here to save lives and read books. So if you do not get out of our way, I will... I will make you get out of our way!”

The wind slows.

“Just let us in.” Harry advises. The wind stops completely. Both their hair even more of a mess, the two teenagers blink rapidly against the suddenly still air.

The librarian purses her lips “What subject?”

“Any books on Horcruxes, soul theory or afterlife” Hermione says coolly

The librarian assesses them, and nods once. A bony hand waves an ancient looking wand, and several books start to fly towards them from different shelves.

“After all the chaos of earlier, I am very glad to see some youngsters who actually want the library to study” she sniffs “We don’t have any on horcruxes. Dumbledore removed them long ago. But we do have some on the soul and afterlife. Do you have a note signed by a teacher?”

“Oh come on!” Harry exclaims, sounding a bit hysterical even to his own ears, “half the teachers are dead for crying out loud!”

Madam Pince puts bony hands on her hips “Young man, do you want my expertise or not?”

Hermione and Harry give her identical flat stares.

“I’m not giving you the books until you have a note signed by a teacher! They are from the restricted section” Madam Pince repeats shrilly “and if you don’t have one, you can get out!”

Harry takes one look at the librarian, and feels completely lost.

The vulture-like woman somehow managed to single handedly keep the advancing death eaters away in the name of her books, so Harry doesn’t think she’ll budge for some pathetic looking teenagers, chosen one or not. But he really doesn’t want to be beaten now.

Hermione is still arguing with her, hands flailing and voice getting shriller and shriller but Harry doesn’t think the words are getting through to her.

To round it all off, his scar twinges again, painfully.

Hermione also looks as if she has a headache. “Okay. Okay. You unreasonable bitch. Here is what is going to happen. Me and Harry are going to get the books and study without the note from a teacher. Then, you are going to ignore us. And we will not attack you. Fair?”

Pince bristles. “Absolutely not young-“

The door bursts open behind them.

Harry and Hermione whip around to see the third member of their little trio, blinking rapidly in the light from the library windows. 

Ron holds the door open, and people, help, come pouring through. First, limping with a cane but looking grim and determined, is Kingsley Shacklebolt. An actual qualified leader, rather than a teenager with a mission.

Next, McGonagall walks in, her grey hair free from her bun and framing her face as she scans the scene in front of her. One of the most intelligent people he knows, come to help.

Getting adults was the best idea ever.

“Irma, for goodness sake, I am here in person. Is that enough for you to give the young lady the books?” McGonagall snaps at the librarian, guessing correctly what was going on.

“They want books from the restricted section” Pince puffs out her chest in indignation

McGonagall gives the librarian a stern look over her spectacles. “Okay. I’ll take out the books Miss Granger has asked for.”

Madame Pince doesn’t even wince. She almost seems immune to the disappointed look, which Harry believes is damming evidence that the witch is not human.

“Fine. Here, Professor. And be careful of the children” she points to Harry and Hermione ”they really want them. And these two books are first editions.” She says the last sentence as if it will mean something to them

“Will do.” McGonagall dismisses her.

“Harry!” Mrs Weasley bustles towards him, embracing him in a hug tight enough to crack his spine. “I am so happy you are all okay, we assumed the worst...”

“Ron tells us you went to the forest” Mr Weasley adds, popping up beside her, worry lines etched onto a face that looks like it has aged twenty years in the last day.

“Ah yeah... about that...”

He is rescued by Kingsley

“Arthur, give the boy a break. He can tell us his story later. Your son did say they needed help killing Voldemort, and that is our priority now” He says in a slow rolling voice, placing a hand on Mr Weasley’s shoulder.

Harry nods his thanks, ignoring the expectant look in Kingley's eyes in favour of looking around the library.

The crowd is larger than Harry expected or needs. Students, parents, teachers and random shop keepers of Hogsmede enter the circular room, wands outstretched as if expecting to get attacked at any moment.

Each and every person looks battered, and each and every person carries wounds deeper than can be seen. Every so often, tired eyes that have been all cried out meet his, and a flicker of hope appears deep within them.

Waves of guilt wash over him. He’s nothing more than a selfish fraud, a body keeping the last fragment of the tyrant alive.

Hermione’s hand slips into his, startling him out of his thoughts. She smiles at him.

Harry finds Ron in the crowd. He mouths something to Harry that looks a bit like ‘I panicked’, gesturing towards the sheer number of people.

For some reason, this also comforts him.

He is distracted again by the sounds of someone dropping something heavy on a desk, and Pince’s indignant spluttering. “’The theories of the souls inside us’? ‘What magic has told us about the afterlife’? ‘Multiple personalities inside a single person- an autobiography’?” McGonagall reads, her voice becoming more and more incredulous “I thought you wanted curses, not theories.”

The crowd in front of him look as if they are wondering the same thing.

“Strange place to bring a fight, the library” Ernie Macmillan shouts above the murmurs from the back of the room. It seems there has been some miscommunication. 

Harry clears his throat “Um, so I was wondering… if anyone knew, perhaps, a way to remove a piece of soul from a body and kill it?” Well, that's one way to get to the point.

The crowd looks very confused.

“Let’s start from the beginning. Um, Voldemort- yes, we can say the name now”  Hermione says tiredly when the room gasps. “well, he made horcruxes…”

As Hermione explains their predicament, Harry can’t help but wonder if they’re doing the right thing. Dumbledore said to keep it quiet, and he’d always assumed that was to stop Voldemort from finding out what they know and taking precautions. But as he sees the occasional face light up or a hungry look enter someone’s eyes, he wonders if this sort of magic should just be kept quiet. Full stop.These were the fighters, the good people. What would the snakes at the Ministry do with the information that they could become immortal?

Were they creating another Voldemort?

Harry shakes his head. Now is not the time.

“… and now that Voldemort and Nagini are dead, there is still one final horcrux, one Voldemort accidently made when he disappeared. The one in, well, Harry.” There are gasps, and suddenly people are backing away from them. Harry doesn’t know why they’re so surprised- he thought they made it quite obvious.

“We don’t want to kill Harry, but we want to kill V-Voldemort. Suggestions?” Ron adds from a few feet away, causing the few people around him to jump.

Slughorn, who has until now looked guilty, shifts awkwardly. “The only way I can think of to kill a soul is-“

Ron cuts him off. “That suggestion has been banned.”  Hermione nods feverishly.

There are a few questions, but no more suggestions. With each passing moment, the sympathy directed his way intensifies. His hope of a solution diminishes and part of Harry just wants everyone but Ron and Hermione to leave.

“Well, we better get researching then” Hermione says in a falsely bright voice. But even Harry can tell that she is scared.

His scar begins to throb.

Chapter Text

Hermione gets to work quickly, handing everyone a book and taking the ones on Horcruxes from her small beaded handbag, much to Pince’s disgust.

She’s busy going through what they should look out for when Harry’s scar stops hurting all together.

It’s a strange sensation- a sudden lack of pain where there was once a consistent dull ache, punctuated by the occasional throbbing. It was the type of pain that you get used to, only noticing it when it’s gone.

A wave of freedom and relief courses through him. And underneath that, unease.

He wants to believe that, somehow, the horcrux in him has died. Maybe it’s like when Voldemort tried to possess him at the Ministry, and could not deal with the sensation of love. At least, that was Dumbledore’s theory.

But people can’t die from love, can they?

But Voldemort isn’t really a person.

“Harry, are you okay?” Hermione is suddenly in front of him, all wide eyed concern. Behind her, people are moving and the tables are levitating together and the chairs are rearranging and Pince is shouting and it’s all a little much. It takes him a second to focus on her question.

“Yeah, um… My scar. It stopped hurting.”

“That’s good isn’t it?” She sounds about as uncertain as he feels.

“I don’t know. It usually means he isn’t close or angry, but… I don’t know”

“Well, whatever it is, tell me if anything changes.”

“I will. Oh and… knock me out. If anything does happen. I give you my blessing” He gives a strained smile, “I give you my blessing to go further actually, but you know that.”

“Don’t start talking like that, please. You have to have faith. Now get to work, here ‘who am I- what magic can tell us’.”

She’s biting her lip, so Harry does as he’s told without making a fuss. The library is quiet now, just a few murmured conversations and the sounds of chairs scraping across the floor.

Hermione slides into the chair next to him, and together they open their books.

Contents

Chapter 1: My journey into self-discovery

Chapter 2: Why self-discovery is so important

Chapter 3: What is the self?

On and on, through meandering topics that don’t look very promising but could, potentially, have something. It’s that ‘potentially’ that gets him- there might be the information in here that saves him, but it’s so well hidden he probably is going to have to read it all.

Well, he better get started then. Chapter three it is.

Beside him, Hermione has already filled half a square of parchment with notes and ideas, her brows furrowed in concentration. Harry hastily starts to read.

Ten minutes later, all that can be heard is the scrape of pages being turned, and the sound of Hermione standing abruptly every so often to disappear into the shelves, parchment in hand, trailed by an anxious looking Pince.

Harry’s chapter is so mind-numbing. Every word sends him deeper into an abyss of hopeless self-pity. The sympathetic glances directed his way don’t help at all.

He massages his forehead. A headache, that for once isn’t originating in his scar, has started. His eyes scan the room, full of the frowning and focused people who are trying to help him. It all feels so… pointless.

And then his gaze fixes on Ginny.

She looks wearier; ugly purple smudges beneath dull eyes and frown lines so deep they look as if they have been carved there. The tragedy that struck her family is taking its toll on her.

And yet, Harry can’t help but be entranced by her.

Harry wants to tell her that he understands, as much as someone who has never walked in shoes anywhere near hers can understand. And that he will be there for her, now and always, to support her in whatever way he can. Unless he dies today.

Right. That’s why now isn’t the time.

Ginny’s face lights up at something she reads, her tired eyes bright with a hint of their former sparkle. “Hermione, you know how Harry is a horcrux?” She calls across the room.

“Hmmm” Hermione hums, for once in her seat and focused intensely on the page in front of her.

“Does that mean he is technically invincible? Only the sword of Gryffindor could kill him?”

“Um.. no? It wasn’t intentional. He doesn’t have the protection ritual stuff performed on him.”

“Harry, you’re a crap horcrux”

Harry sticks his tongue out at her, and she sticks her tongue out right back.

He missed her. He really did.

Five minutes later, and everyone is looking about as restless as he feels. Harry has been half eyeing the window, wondering if he would die if he jumped. And how he could time it so none of his friends saw him.

His scar doesn’t hurt exactly, but it’s tingling now. Hermione had just bit her lip once more until it drew blood and said she didn’t know what it meant either.

“Harry, m’boy.” Slughorn sighs over the rustling and page turning. In the first time since Harry has met him, the man seems genuine. “I had one idea; you make a horcrux of… you-know-who and destroy it. However” he clears his throat “according to ‘a complete guide to dark personal magic’, making a horcrux has a really low success rate for… that. It says the cracks and separations form at random when making them, so chances are you’d end up with most of Voldemort’s soul still there. I’m really sorry but-”

“DON’T” Ron snaps “there is a way, even if it’s not your way. So do something useful mate, and keep searching.”

He sighs again, “I will, Mr Weasley”

Hermione strides forwards until she is face to face with Slughorn “Show me the passage”

“Certainly, my girl. But I don’t think you’ll be able to-“

“Show me.”

He wisely places the book in her hands.

“Chapter 2, section C”

 Hermione drops wordlessly into the closest available seat and starts to read, a frown etched onto her forehead.

No, he definitely can’t let them see. It was a stupid idea coming back here- he was right the first time. It makes it so much harder, seeing the people he loves and how much they care about him.

It has been twenty minutes since the research party began, and there have been no further leads.

Most people have come around to Harry’s way of thinking. They’re just trying to convince Hermione and the Weasley’s to see it the same way.

Ernie MacMillan is first, putting his book down and staring gravely around the table until people start to notice.

“Look, I don’t think there is another way. I’m sorry Harry. The longer we spend ‘reading’, the stronger you-know-who could get, and I’m sorry but we can’t fight another war. We are so close to this all being over-”

Ginny cuts him off “And why are we so close to it all being over? BECAUSE HARRY KILLED VOLDEMORT AND THE SNAKE, THAT’S WHY. We owe it to him.”

Hermione had neglected the car in her tale, it did seem far-fetched, but now Harry shifts awkwardly.

“A lot of people did a lot for the cause! That doesn’t mean we put everyone in danger for them!”

“You two-faced piece of-“

“Miss Weasley, Mr MacMillan, please calm down. We are all- mostly- adults here.” Kingsley talks over them, his deep voice carrying over the squabbling.  “Mr Potter, how are you feeling?”

Harry startles. “Um… fine mostly. My scar stopped hurting a while ago, but we don’t know what that means”

“Your case is unique Mr Potter, no one knows what it means. Keep an eye on it, okay?”

“Yes sir”

Everyone settles back into their research after that. Ernie and a few others look as if they're about to protest, but Ginny keeps glaring at them until they drop it.

Just when the silence becomes natural once more, Ron’s excited voice echoes through the library.

“Wait, Hermione, didn’t you say something about ‘horcruxes being completely dependent on the container’? What if Harry goes into a coma, and stops using magic! Then, the soul will not be able to live, as it’s reliant on Harry.”

“The soul isn’t just reliant on his magic. It uses his life force I’m afraid, Mr Weasley” McGonagall tells him gently “I’m sure there is a way. We’ve only been looking for twenty minutes.”

Hermione, however, jumps to her feet. For once, she looks as if she has actual tangible hope, and Harry can’t help but latch onto it.

Ron looks hopefully up at her “Please tell me you know spells that can revive the dead”

“No, but I just need to check something. I may have an idea, I need to research it”

With that, she grabs her wand and sprints out of the room.

“HERMIONE! YOU’RE IN THE LIBRARY! WHERE ELSE DO YOU RESEARCH BUT A LIBRARY?” Ron shouts after her “blimey; do you think she’s finally gone crazy?”

“QUIET! You know I can still kick you out? Even if there are members of staff present!” Pince scolds.

Ron’s expression is a picture.

When Hermione hasn’t returned for a while, the table becomes restless once more. Harry in particular can feel himself spiralling again- Ernie and the three people who dared to speak out after him and face Harry’s family were right. He is being so selfish.

He has a family- that was his greatest desire at one point and he got one; a loving red-haired family, and friends that mean the world to him. His life is almost complete, if only it got to be a little longer.

He just needs to die.

He needs to tell them first. They can’t stop him, not really, but at least they can say goodbye. He owes that to them after they spent the last half an hour or so looking for any way to save him. Even if it will make it that much more difficult for him.

Part of him wants to wait for Hermione to come back, but deep down he knows that that is just another excuse, a way he can prolong it. The tingling in his scar seems more and more sinister the longer he waits.

And so, he steadies himself, and opens his mouth to speak.

Pain, strong and sudden, engulfs his whole body. For a second, Harry thinks someone placed him under the cruciatus, because he can’t move, can’t see, can’t think.

Until it goes, and he realises he hasn’t moved at all. He hasn’t collapsed or screamed. The people he’s working with haven’t even reacted.

He makes to speak once more, to say what he doesn’t know, when his mouth doesn’t cooperate.

He tries to scream, to move, but nothing happens.

And then, he feels his mouth move without him directing it, hears himself speak in words he hasn’t come up with.

“I’m just going to go to the toilet. If it’s still upright.”

He freezes. There is a strong presence in his head he hadn’t noticed yet, so familiar yet so unnatural. So this is what possession feels like. Strange- he didn’t expect himself to be carried along, able to watch but not act. This is almost worse, but there is opportunity here.

“Tom.” He tells the presence, pushing on it with as much power as he can muster “Will you be so kind as to GET OUT OF MY HEAD.”

A high cold voice answers. “Address me by my name, Potter, or I will make this a lot more difficult and kill a lot more people than I need to. And remember- I am not in your head. Technically, you are in mine.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go on your own, Harry” Ron calls out, and Harry realises that he’s halfway to the door. He pushes harder at the presence, trying to wrestle control for just a second to warn them.

“You can come if you want.” Harry’s voice says, sounding almost exactly as Harry would have sounded if he had a choice.

“So pathetic Potter. I wrestled control from you with a fragment of my soul, it’s like you’re not even trying.” With that, the presence pushes back, hard, and Harry loses even more control of his senses. It’s now even an effort to see what his eyes can see. “I can’t believe I ever marked you as my equal. You think brute force is going to do anything?” Another push and his vision fades even more. Harry stops attacking, focusing on keeping what little he has.

Ron is assessing him, squinting almost, and Harry tries once more to reach out. Voldemort squashes it before he can, but Ron still says. “Yeah, I’ll go too. I actually need to piss.”

“You know that just means one more person I have to kill. You’ve achieved nothing.”

“I swear, if you aim my wand at him, I’ll rip myself apart and kill us both.” Harry tells him feverishly, hoping against hope that he can actually do that.

“My, my, what empty threats. You don’t know how. And my use for you will soon be redundant anyway.”

He's changed his mind. This is the scariest thing ever. Harry would rather face of with Voldemort alone in the woods a hundred times over than feel his own body betray him like this. Than know he is leading Ron to his death. He tries desperately to control his path, to keep Ron in the library surrounded by the order, but Voldemort soldiers on, relentless.

Ron looks almost casual, walking just next to Harry with a lazy sort of indifference on his face. If Harry had just met him, he would think Ron was just extremely laid back.

But Ron is his first ever friend and, as unobservant as he is, there are details that could never run past Harry. The hand that twitches slightly towards his wand and the pinkish ears, plus that pure assessing look earlier? No matter how much Voldemort could mimic Harry, he couldn’t be Harry. And maybe Ron could see that.

Now to keep this information away from the person sharing his brain…

If only he’d managed to learn occulamency.

Voldemort seems suddenly curious in the little space Harry occupies, and the presence seems to push closer. And Harry realises a little late that he hasn’t been fighting as much in the last few seconds.

Quickly, desperately, he starts talking to him again.

“You won’t get away with this. You have a whole room of people who know about you and how you’re here. And they’re all working on getting you out.”

Amazingly, Lord Voldemort takes the bait- monsters really do love the sound of their own voices. The curious tendrils of what Harry takes for Voldemort’s thoughts withdraw, and the voice in his head laughs.

“So naive Potter. Did you really think you could remove my soul without wrecking part of yours? This part of me has been here since I tried to kill you. It knows your body and your habits, it is actually a part of you. And ‘I won’t get away with this?’ I already have.”

The door closes behind them, and within a second, Harry’s hand is gripping his wand.

But Ron is quicker.

“EXPELLIARMUS” Ron bellows before Riddle can even turn around, and Harry’s wand flies out of his hand. Ron glares into Harry’s eyes with a hatred he has never seen before and says: “Now get out of my friends head, bitch”

Harry’s moment of triumph doesn’t last long- pure magic, stronger and more controlled than anything he has produced before, is building in his body, he can feel it. And Voldemort’s fury is terrifying.

Ron needs to start running, or start calling the adults or something, but all he is doing is staring, mouth wide open, at Harry.

“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS” Another voice screams behind Harry. Instantly, Harry’s muscles lock up and he falls backwards onto the floor.

Neville, of all people, comes into view. “That’s not Harry is it? Please tell me I didn’t just attack the chosen one”

Harry can’t help but laugh, almost hysterical with relief. Voldemort’s fury makes it even funnier “First a car accident, now two teenagers who didn’t really put much effort into it. Kind of tarnishes your whole reputation.”

“No” Ron croaks, looking in horror at Harry’s prone body. He swallows “Voldemort. His soul is in him and he’s taken Harry’s body”

“You think this can keep me down? A child's curse? Your friends will just suffer later.”

The wandless magic starts up again, controlled and powerful, travelling up and down the limbs that previously belonged to Harry. It’s almost as if its pushing the spell away, but that isn’t possible.

Is it?

Bit by bit, the jinx is lifting.

Dread courses through Harry, and suddenly, he’s back to trying desperately to regain control. The presence pushes him back, laughing.

Neville’s voice filters its way into his awareness “Do you think Harry is still in there?”

They need to get help, or put another jinx on him or something, but Harry can’t even make a sound.

“Of course” From the corner of his eye, Harry can just about make out the death glare Ron shoots at the other man. Neville places his hands up.

“I’d better get an adult. They can put him in a coma or something.”

Harry silently begs them to hurry up- the jinx has almost completely let up.

“They’re in the library.” Ron sighs “You should take his wand, just in case he somehow summons it. And Neville, um, I’m sorry for accusing you-“

“I get it, trust me. Well, good luck.”

There is the sound of the door opening. Ron’s worried face appears in Harry’s field of vision.

“Listen, mate. I know you’re in there. Please-“ 

Ron doesn’t have time to move before Harry’s hand shoots up and grabs his wand, snatching it away. A second later he is on his feet, somehow managing to look down on the taller man.

Ron, defenceless and terrified though he is, stands his ground. Harry can’t help but feel a little impressed underneath his own wild panic.

“You made a mistake, blood traitor. You should have killed me when you had the chance.” Harry's voice drawls, "Good bye, friend of Potter's. Avada Kedavra"

A green light heads straight for Ron's chest, as strong and fast as a lightning bolt, but Ron is already diving away.

Harry is vaguely aware that he is screaming, even as the light hits the castle wall and fizzles out, and Ron crawls away with wide eyes.

Harry's whole body goes rigid and, before the relief has even sunk in, Voldemort is using his mouth to speak once more. "YOU! Avada-"

He is interrupted by the sound of a door opening and footsteps, shocked whispers and wands being drawn. Voldemort bares Harry's teeth in a grimace, and finally turns his focus away from Ron.

A flick of the wand later, and every single person is flung into the wall.

And Harry, without the aid of a broom, is literally flying though the corridor, out of the broken window and into the dawn.

They land somewhere near the edge of the forest. Harry is hardly aware of it; too wrapped up in fear for his friends. They were flung into the wall as if they were nothing, by a simple, lazy flick of Ron's wand. That wet crunch, the hisses and cries of pain...

It's almost a relief to hear Riddle's smug voice in his head again.

“I was planning on getting a new body, but, well, people hesitate when I wear yours. This will work well for battle”  He's changed his mind: he'd rather be alone with his thoughts than reminded of his use in this new battle. Voldemort is the tyrant with the hero's face, and Harry is his mask. 

"You mean you're scared of the car and don't want to go back into the forest." he replies, because a jab is apparently the only way he can hurt Voldemort now.

"I'm scared of nothing!"  Riddle growls, and the vicious triumph Harry feels curdling inside him feels natural for once.

It's gone pretty quickly- the malevolent presence around him begins closing in, suffocating him until he can feel himself losing consciousness. He's exhausted by the time Voldemort finally ceases the attack.

"Just to remind you that I can end you. Any time I like." The cold voice sounds almost bored

"Do it"  

"And lose your knowledge about my enemies?" 

Great- he's the mask and the informant. He really should have died.

"Don't worry, Potter. The battle will be over soon, and then you can join your parents."

No matter how hard he fights it, his arm lifts Ron’s wand, and his voice sounds out an incantation he never thought he’d say.

A brilliant light appears in the misty grey sky, the shape of a skull and snake.

And an answering cry echoes from the forest.

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye, and Riddle whips around.

Hermione is running towards them, clutching a stitch in her side with one hand whilst the other tries to keep her wand outstretched. Ron is sprinting about ten meters behind her, eyes wide and terrified.

“This is the mudblood you associate with, isn’t is Potter?” the voice laughs. “Does she think she’s found a way to kill me? I almost feel sorry for you lot. So blind in hope that you never realise what needs to be done. You should have died the moment you got here Potter. I can’t say I’m upset with the way this has worked out though.”

Hermione stops a few meters away, chest heaving, and Harry can feel the mouth that doesn’t belong to him anymore twist into a smirk.

“It’s not even fun when they make themselves such easy targets. A mudblood running after me, Lord Voldemort. Right after I’ve called my death eaters. I knew their kind was dumb, but I did not expect this.”

His hand grips his wand, and Harry can feel the emotions that are not his begin to churn in his chest in earnest, so strong that it’s difficult to feel anything else. Hate, disgust and a savage sort of delight.

His efforts to regain control become stronger and stronger. He just needs his right hand, so he can drop the wand and give his two best friends time to run. Just for a second...

He’s definitely slowing Voldemort down- the emotions are more frustrated now. He focuses on pushing at the presence in his mind until his surroundings fade.

It happens so fast he almost misses it. Hermione, with wisps of hair loose from her bun framing her drawn face, stops arguing with Ron and lifts her wand.

A burst of green light.

As it hits him, Harry can feel him and Riddle separate, the latter dissipating into the air with a tortured scream.

As Harry’s vision goes black, as his heart stops, as he dies, he wishes that Hermione knew how much of a favour she was doing him.

His most ruthless friend has a consciousness after all, and this may just destroy her.

Chapter Text

Hermione watches her best friend fall to the ground. It should not be possible, but she can pinpoint the moment the light leave his eyes.
She managed it. The most difficult of all unforgivable curses, requiring strength and skill and a genuine desire for the targets death.
A new sort of bloodlust. The type the prophet said only a sociopath could summon.
And she did it on her best friend for seven years.
She doesn’t want to think about what this says about her.
“FIX HIM! YOU HAD A PLAN HERMIONE, USE IT!” Ron’s panicked voice filters through her brain. Then she is being pulled towards Harry, sprawled beneath the mark of his enemy, and shoved forward. “You said you knew a way to heal him.” Ron’s voice is breaking, and Hermione’s heart yearns to comfort him.
Instead, she kneels by her friend’s corpse, places her palm on his sternum and swallows, the sound echoing in her head.
She hopes she remembers how to do this.
“Ron, can you do that music spell where you set a beat?”
Ron, bless him, doesn’t even hesitate. “How fast?”
“120 beats per minute. Roughly.”
She watches out of the corner of her eye as Ron picks up his wand from Harry’s slackened grip, eyes sad and scared.
“Ron” She says sternly. Hermione hears the hissed spell and the low, regular beat echoes through the cold, still air. Hermione takes a deep breath, and presses down, hard, on Harry’s chest.
5 to 6 centimetres deep. Allow chest to recoil completely between each one. Avoid interruptions between them. Stick to the beat.
“1… 2… 3… 4… 5…” She murmurs to herself, keeping her eyes on the violent rise and fall of Harry’s chest and away from his face.
It’s a bit of a shock, going from theory to practice, at such high stakes. A mixture of Grey’s Anatomy, her year 6 first-aid courses and a leaflet she summoned from her parent’s dental practice doesn’t seem like enough really.
But it’s all she has, and Harry will stay dead if she does nothing.
“…11… 12… 13… 14…” Her arms are growing tired already, and she curses herself for not working on her fitness all these years. She wonders briefly if she can get Ron, hovering anxiously at her shoulder, to take over after the rescue breaths.
“…22 … 23… 24… 25... Ron-send-Patronus-to-Pomphrey, 28… 29… 30” She lifts her hands completely. Ron is instantly by her side, filled with questions and hope and fear that she can’t deal with right now.
“Have you called her?” Hermione asks abruptly, shuffling down to Harry’s head and lifting his chin.
“I don’t know if it reached her, but yeah. Do you want me to keep hitting his chest? I think I can do that and…”
Hermione tunes his panic out, focusing on the task in front of her. Pinch his nose, fasten your mouth around his and breathe, aiming for a rise in the chest cavity.
It’s a lot more difficult than the leaflet said- the angle takes at least three beats to get right and all the focus needed is a nightmare. But eventually, two shoddy rescue breaths are administered and Hermione kneels up again, exhausted.
She starts to shuffle down to the chest again, and almost bumps into a determined looking Ron.
“It’s okay- I’ll do it,” and he does. In time with the beat and with skill Hermione doesn’t think she managed.
She chances a look at her best friends face, and the hope Hermione has felt building inside her dwindles.
No hint of pain from the bone-cracking compressions. No movement but from the systematic thuds. Harry is fading, slower than he would have, but still fading.
They need a high dose of adrenaline, to force his heart back into doing the work they’re trying to replicate. An AED on standby would also be useful, but they are in the one place in this whole damned country without electricity.
“… 30” Ron puffs, and Hermione is startled out of her musings. She lowers her head once more, forces air into Harry’s lungs and hopes against hope that Pomphrey will have something.

Neville had thundered down the main staircase and out of the doors as fast as his legs could carry him, what sounded like a stampede of people following his lead.
He’d passed a terrified Hermione at the top of the stairs and called out a rushed explanation, but he’d lost track of her after that.
Which is why he is so confused when he finally reaches the entrance hall and sees Hermione and Ron halfway down the lawn. That confusion turns to fear, blinding and absolute, when he sees the spell that comes out of her wand.
Unmistakeably green.
And he’s running, because he’s seen how close they were, and the Hermione he knows would never, never turn that spell on Harry. Possessed and standing beneath a dark mark or not.
But then Hermione is leaning over him, doing something to his chest, whilst Ron wrings his own hands nervously. A second or two later, Ron picks up Harry’s wand and a bright light shoots past Neville, straight for the school. A patronus.
And then Hermione is moving, has her lips fastened over Harry’s and his chest is rising.
This doesn’t seem like imposter behaviour, but it doesn’t seem entirely sane either.
“It’s CPR. They’re trying CPR.” Seamus’s awe-struck voice whispers from behind him. The letters mean nothing to Neville, but he relaxes anyway.
Neville puts his wand away again, turning to face the others, “Will it work?”
“Fuck if I know.” Seamus snorts “But they’ve got Granger- she knows what she’s doing.”
“They need electricity.” Dean mutters “At least, that’s what the TV shows do.”
“Elek- what?”
“It’s that thing muggles rely on, for their whole society.” Ginny explains, appearing out of nowhere and sounding very proud of herself. But then she frowns “does it work at Hogwarts?”
Dean worries his bottom lip. “Not usually. I brought a flip phone first year, mum made me, but it just died.”
The group tenses, and Dean nods distractedly
“Hermione wouldn’t be trying it if she didn’t know for sure…” Neville says bracingly, but he’s not so sure. This last year has taught him a lot of things, and one of them is that everyone is as scared and stupid as he is sometimes. He hopes he’s wrong.
“I think there are voices. Coming from the forest.” A quiet voice calls from behind him, and the group falls silent, listening.
Neville listens to the sounds of breathing, to the harsh crack of bone and shuffling as Ron and Hermione switch places. To the gentle trill of a bird, to the hiss of some animal and the sounds of people running in the distance.
And then a flock of birds from somewhere within the forest all fly up together, as if something has disturbed them, and Neville hears the unmistakable sound of shouting.
Neville’s eyes jump to the Golden trio, exposed and vulnerable near the entrance to the forest. They don’t seem to have noticed.
Ginny runs forwards, wand at the ready, and Neville follows without hesitation.
They stand, scared and exhausted, between their friends and the unknown enemy in the forest. Slowly, others begin to join them.
They form the last line of defence, readying for a battle that has already been fought way too many times.

Ron is absolutely terrified.
First Fred; warm- hearted and wickedly smart who could make the world seem a better place with a well-timed comment and a smile.
Then Remus and Tonks and countless others, whose bodies lie in the Great Hall, whose voices shall never comfort him again.
Now Harry, reckless and brilliant and unmistakably dead on the ground, no matter what Hermione says.
Hermione keeps battering at his chest, in time with the ticking of his wand. She has the same air of distress as she does the night before exams, before she gets an outstanding or something equally as ridiculous, the over-achiever she is.
But this is different- it’s real and it matters and Hermione is attempting a theory that no one else has ever tried.
“Ron. Rescue breaths.”
“Uh, right”
One. Two. He watches Harry’s chest rise and fall in time.
He releases Harry’s chin and nose and settles back onto his haunches.
A cackle of delight sounds from somewhere within the forest, loud. Hermione, bent over Harry’s chest, sweat beading on her forehead despite the chill in the air, doesn’t seem to have noticed.
The sounds have become louder, and Ron shoots the forest a worried glance that turns into one of equal parts fear and joy as he takes in the line of people forming between them and the enemy. Closest to the treeline is his baby sister, a fearless sort of determination set on her features, her dark eyes sweeping the trees. At her shoulder, Neville sways on an injured leg, but his wand arm is as steady as ever.
“Ronald” A light voice calls out, and Ron’s attention is brought to the end of the line. Luna has her back to the treeline, watching him, head cocked to the side like a curious bird.
“Luna”
“I think you should hide Harry and move him away from the forest, if you want to keep him safe. I feel like this battle could get quite messy.”
Ron hadn’t even considered that.
“and 30… Ron, rescue breaths.” He opens his mouth to tell Hermione that they need to move, the voices were getting clearer and he could swear he just saw something move between the trees, but she talks before he can “We can move him after the breaths, just do them, okay?”
“Right, okay”
She manages a broken sort of smile and Ron obediently does as he is told. Hermione, meanwhile, conjures a stretcher, and then stares at her wand as if she’s only just remembered that she has it. By the time Ron resurfaces, a newly conjured metal appliance of sorts is floating over Harry’s chest, and half a thought from Hermione has it doing the chest compression's for them.
“Wow” Ron tells the very satisfied looking witch, with a roll of his eyes “you couldn’t have thought about that 10 minutes ago?”
“I didn’t see you thinking of it” she quips back “and it’s only been about 5 minutes”
“It was your plan! And you’re the smart one!”
Hermione opens her mouth, but the retort never arrives- a streak of silver that neither of them saw coming lands on Harry’s chest between them, on top of Hermione’s invention, and both of them immediately reach for their wands. Before they can do anything more, it manifests into a patronus in the shape of a kangaroo. The two conscious members of the golden trio watch, perplexed, as the patronus does some form of scan on Harry, seems to nod and turns towards them.
“I am ready in the hospital wing with some other patients- bring him in at once” Says the kangaroo, in the unmistakable voice of Madame Pomphrey, before it vanishes in a puff of silver.
Hermione, predictably, recovers first “Well? Are you going to help me levitate him or not?”
“Is that even a question?” Ron retorts, in a mockery of the smug tone she used. He then catches sight of her scowl, and hastens to do as he was told.

As soon as they place Harry on the floor of the hospital wing, Pomphrey is on him, muttering incantation after incantation. Ron, hovering uncertainly, watches the nonsensical numbers and colours that are emitting from his best friend’s body and searches Pomphrey’s face for any indication to what they may mean. Apart from the occasional split second frown, she is frustratingly difficult to read.
Hermione is pacing up and down, hands gesturing wildly as she explains her theory the Healer (and indeed everyone else who is conscious in the hospital wing, Ron realises uneasily- those curtains aren’t exactly soundproof). She’s rapidly quoting textbooks and talking about types of curses and arithmacy, and all of it flies straight over Ron’s head.
“… you see, I tried to use a specific type of killing curse- one that targets the heart rather than brain or soul- but I can’t tell whether I even did it right!” her voice has gone a couple of octaves higher and about three times as fast since she began explaining, and Pomphrey’s worried frown has appeared more and more often as the tale has gone on. Finally, Pomphrey gives a decisive nod, and Hermione falls silent.
The matron holds her wand over Harry and Hermione’s makeshift machine vanishes with a pop. The whole hospital wing falls deathly silent as everyone leans towards the fallen saviour, sprawled on the ground, looking for all the world to be completely and irreversibly dead.
But despite the apparent futility of the situation, the woman begins to chant, strange words in a regular rhythm, in time with Ron’s own heartbeat. The spell seems to be drawing energy from the walls of the castle itself, Ron thinks with a faint surprise, as he feels the unmistakable hint of something drawing him towards the wand, calling his magic. The soft floating lights of the hospital wing start to flicker in time with the Latin chant, and a couple of seconds later, Harry’s whole body glows with a faint light.
When the light fades, it looks as if nothing has ever changed.
But then… was that a trick of the light or did Harry’s chest twitch? Yes, a shallow but completely unmistakable rise of the chest. Colour, the wonderful colour of life, slowly seeps back to Harry Potter’s cheeks.
“You… you…” Ron can’t seem to get the words out
“She managed it” someone in the hospital wing yells, and someone starts applauding and other people start joining in. And Ron feels numb, because it’s actually worked, and Harry, his brother, is alive!
Ron turns to Hermione, ready to congratulate her, expecting to see the same naked relief he’s feeling etched on her face, but she’s frowning, eyes on the healer.
The healer looks absolutely dead on her feet.
“Madame Pomphrey?” he says in a small voice “Do you want to sit down?”
“Uh, yes Mr Weasley, that…” the matron swallows “that would be good”

Hermione stares at her best friends body, vaguely registering Ron helping Pomphrey into the seat besides her. There was something... off. Strange.
He is breathing, has a pulse, is, for all intents and purposes, alive. But why had the matron looked so devastated at the end of the spell? And why wasn't he waking up?
Every awful suspicion she has is confirmed with one spell.
"Why" She says, rounding on the tired looking matron with steel in her eyes and ice in her cracked heart "Is he still dead?" The matron winces.
For there is no life detected by the spell, no signs of a soul or spark or consciousness. Despite his beating heart and labouring lungs.
"He might still recover..." the matron rasps "But you're right... there's no recovery if he's already... gone on"
Hermione stares numbly at Harry, her friend and brother, whilst a massive crash reverberates from right beside her. When she finally gets enough control of herself to check it out, she sees that Ron has fainted.

Chapter Text

The forest is alive. It always was, Luna concedes, but now it’s alive with human magic- a far newer, a far more temporary and a far crueller breed of magic. The ambient magic of the forest is still there, a constant background that ebbs and flows like a river, but now it is overshadowed by the storm brewing.

The line of volunteers are getting restless, and Luna can feel their nervous energy creating their own, much weaker, storm.

But it doesn’t matter. They’re not here to win, they’re not even here to drive the Death Eaters away. They’re here, the remains of a small army, to buy Hermione time. Time to make sure Voldemort is gone and Harry lives- that is important. Luna glances back towards the golden trio, hoping they have taken her advice and have run. Ron and Hermione are indeed on their way to the castle, Harry gliding along beside them, one foot firmly in the afterlife, but one foot holding on. Luna smiles after them.

A shout and she turns back to the task at hand.

Shadowy figures have emerged from the darkness between the trees.

Luna raises her wand and prepares to go to battle all over again.

Roughly ten minutes after the hospital wing was thrown into chaos by the arrival of a partly dead chosen one, Hermione is being offered tea by a house elf.

She declines politely, and watches as the elf limps away and apparates to the kitchen. She glances at the bed opposite the one they conjured for Harry (bed shortages were already an issue, and most of the less gravely injured were still in the Great Hall, but Hermione pushes that problem away- she would deal with that later). She hadn’t noticed anyone else in the wing until Harry was more or less stabilised, but that bed holds four critically ill house elves, lying close together with various monitoring spells whirring above their heads. The only one who was conscious, missing limbs though she was, had immediately called some of her co-workers after the spell to “keep Mistress’s energy’s up”. What was left of Hermione’s heart broke just a little for the selfless creature.

Since then, house elves had been more or less running the hospital

Madame Pomphrey had looked alarmed at first, muttering something about medical inadequacy, but she calmed down when nothing bad happened- besides, she was much too exhausted to protest.

Incidentally, she has also been much too exhausted to answer any of Hermione’s questions- mostly regarding the nature of the spell she cast, Harry’s chances and if there is anything, dammit, that they can do to improve them.

Instead, the matron has been writing something on a piece of parchment- a letter of some sort. Hermione is just about to rip it out of her hand and start demanding the answers when the matron signs it and folds the parchment in half. Ron, still very pale and shaky, jolts at the movement, so much so he nearly spills his tea.

Pomphrey then does something very strange.  She grabs a vial with an old fashioned cork from her bag, reaches across the bed and plucks a piece of Harry’s hair to put in it. She then turns to face Hermione, hovering at her shoulder, and hands her the vial and the letter.

“There is a colleague of mine from St Mungo’s in the potions classroom, brewing some supplies for the patients here. Miss Granger, I would appreciate it you could take that note and the vial to her, and tell her we need them as soon as possible.” Every word sounds like an effort

“Fine.” Hermione says, unable to keep the snap out of her voice “Will this help Harry?”

Otherwise I am not doing it. She finishes in her head. From the pointed look Pomphrey gives her, the matron knows exactly how selfish Hermione is willing to be for her friend. Hermione stares right back, refusing to be ashamed for it.

“Very much so” Pomfrey sighs finally, rubbing her temples “They are mostly for Mr Potter here”

Hermione gives Ron a loaded look, and he gives a barely perceptible nod in return. He will keep an eye on Harry.

It’s all the signal she needs before she turns on her heel and starts towards the dungeons- though the moment the door to the hospital wing snips shut behind her, she does stop and open the letter. Hogwarts’s reputation when it comes to hiring members of staff really does speak for itself.

What was with the hair? Were they planning on using polyjuice? Or something more sinister? Hair wasn’t exactly a common ingredient for healing potions according Hermione’s admittedly limited knowledge on the subject- Hermione curses. She hates not knowing stuff.

But she knows enough about dark magic to know that Harry’s DNA could be the key to resurrecting a certain dark wizard.

It’s for Harry’s best interest, Hermione reasons, as she unfolds the parchment and starts to read.

“Ella,

New Critical Patient: Ventricular Asystole and unresponsive myocytes. Patient stabilised via emergency externallis, and minor liver and brain damage was quickly rectified.

Although stable, will need the following ASAP- my magic was already drained prior to the spell, so this really can’t wait

• Cardiac growth solution
• Anticoagulant type C

Another battle commenced near forest line- usual wound healing, blood replenishing and magic neutralising potions need top up. Have enough dreamless sleep.

I, of course, cannot continue caring for the other patients under my care and future patients- will need back up. Call anyone you can who is trustworthy. Will also need aid with caring for the first patient

-PP”

Hermione’s heart plummets. She does a couple of revealing charms, almost hoping that Pomfrey doctored the note somehow and this really is an attempt to resurrect a dark wizard- that seems better than this.

Minerva McGonagall glowers at the forest - she cannot be arsed for another battle. These Death Eaters are going to pay for making her come out twice in one night- a woman of her age needs her sleep after all. Her circadian rhythm is never going to be the same again.

Luckily, thanks to the fact she’s fought with most of the students (no, not students, she corrects herself, soldiers) in the last battle, it only takes a single spell and they’re on board with her strategy.

A wide one-way shield charm is a complicated spell- it allows the caster to act offence and defence at the same time, and is quite a tricky piece of magic- but she is not a professor for nothing. Some students immediately strengthen it with their own magic, something that makes her tired heart glow with pride.

Then shadows arrive on the tree line and curses start to hit the shield, and McGonagall has to concentrate on absorbing every blow. Her lions (for they are all her lions now) are sending stunner after stunner aimed at the origin of the curses, but the enemy aren’t leaving the sanctuary of the trees- their own, far less draining, shield.

A voice, amplified to a level above the clashing and sizzling magic, sounds over the battlefield.

“WE ARE COMING MY LORD! WE WILL FIGHT TO FIND YOU AND AVENGE YOUR SUFFERING!” There is an answering cheer.

McGonagall catches sight of the owner of the voice right as she unleashes three consecutive curses onto the same spot of the weakening shield. The professor feels each hit reverberate through her body like a physical blow, but keeps staring at the woman who has caused so much pain.

As if called somehow by the power of the death glare alone, Bellatrix Lestrange turns towards the professor, chest heaving and eyes gleaming with wild might.

And Minerva stares right back.

Ron watches Hermione's bushy hair as she makes her way across the hospital wing. It's the first time they've been separated since he found them again, Ron realises, a sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He shakes off the thought that the last time one of his friends walked off, it was to his literal death, and focuses on the task at hand.

Right. Keeping Harry safe. Even though he is-

“Are you alright Madame?" He blurts out, and the witch shoots a startled look at him. He hastens to find something worthwhile to say "Do you want something to eat?” 

“Um, no, thank you.” Pomphrey says heavily “I’m just a bit tired- the spell I used… well, there’s a reason you don’t practice it on a dummy… I’ve mechanically stabilised his heart, and his whole body, but it’s a constant strain on my magic… I was prepared to take the risk, but I didn’t realise how great the backlash would be…”

“He’s alive as long as I keep supplying the spell with magic… temporary solution, but I’ve sent your friend to make a potion that is preferably more permanent…”

Ron closes his eyes and grips the arms of the chair someone summoned him (he can't remember who. Hermione said it was the shock). Since coming round and finding out that this whole night was not an awful dream, he is having to do that a lot.

“So let me get this straight” Ron says, slowly “Harry is technically dead. His only chance of living is being completely dependent on you, and you’re getting weaker.”

Madame Pomphrey looks as if she is going to object, when her face turns the grey colour of old parchment and she grips the arm rest of her chair tight enough to splinter the wood. Ron lunges forwards, in case the woman, Harry’s lifeline, topples off the chair, and takes that as a yes.

Ron gives Pomphrey the courtesy of waiting until she looks a little better before asking the question on his mind  “Who is going to make this potion?” Hermione is fantastic and he would trust her with his life, but maybe his heart would calm down slightly if he knew there was someone who had some experience working on this.

“Her name is Ella Reyes, she’s an ex-student… studied bio-magic and specialised in healing…” The Matron is almost gasping the words by the end of the sentence.

Ron is about to ask more about her (something along the lines of whether she’s evil), but even with exhaustion hanging off her like a cloud, Pomphrey manages to give him a stern look. It translates to “just trust me dammit I’m too tired for this”.

And so he does.

With one final look at his unconscious  (call it denial, but Ron refuses to use any other term) brother, Ron leaves them with a house elf. Even though his presence would only stress out Harry’s one connection to life, each step screams at him to go back.

But he makes it to the middle of the hospital wing, and takes a deep breath.

For what feels like the hundredth time in 24 hours, he is at a complete loss of what to do.

Neville is remarkably distracted for someone fighting for his life. But when it’s the second time within the space of a few hours, and you’ve been sleep deprived for a while, it does get difficult to keep motivated.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as his gaze skims the treeline idly and the steady torrent of magic he was pumping into the shield trickles into a not-very-steady stream. His eyes catch on a particularly tall redwood somewhere deep in the forest splitting the horizon, her leaves cutting the morning light. He’s always wanted to see the forest at dawn, but he’s never woken up on time.

A flash and a scream cut short interrupts him, and Neville jumps and looks around, praying it’s not one of their own. It’s not, a cheer to his right confirms, and he just about sags with relief. A second later, and he finds the fallen death eater lying spread-eagled the base of a large ebony, a smoking hole in their chest.

Feeling a bit green, he shakes his head violently. Now is not the time to be distracted. That could have so easily been one of them.

As if the universe was trying to confirm this, the woman who destroyed his family starts shouting some nonsense, and some of his apathy turns to the bright kindling anger he felt at the start of the night. There, perfect. Nothing like a bit of righteous anger to make him focus.

Come on Neville.

He grits his teeth and adds more of his core to the spell, the stream thickening finally. But his eyes keep wandering to the death eater under the ebony tree, and something about it makes him pause.

It takes him a few more moments to realise it’s not the death or the barbarity of the spell that killed them that strikes him as off- he’s seen far worse to people he liked a lot more- but the tree they were lying under.

Ebony is a sought after wand-wood; good at absorbing magic, durable, and not in any way shape or form native to the UK.

He stares at the innocent looking tree, and the bark seems to ripple with magic.

Dumbledore must have put it there. A buffer against magical toxicity, perhaps?

No matter what the reason, if the built up energy were to be released…

Neville eyes the army on the treeline, heart hammering as the pieces come together.

All the magic in the world, and still Hermione is dying by the time she gets to the potions classroom. Well, not dying. That kind of humour isn’t funny at the moment. But she is severely out of breath.

Cursing the fact that there is no long-lasting fitness potion, she wrenches open the door. And blinks.

The classroom has changed. The desks are gone, and in their place are dozens of smoking cauldrons- some burning white hot and others with ice crystals forming on the metal. The smoke is the most interesting- brightly lit and all the colours of the rainbow, it doesn’t mix on the ceiling into noxious brown sludge, as was usual for any potions class Hermione attended, but seems to stick to invisible constraints. She is admiring the way a metallic gold smoke spirals into a shimmering bubble before popping into nothing, when the largest cauldron nearest her begins to shake violently, the white viscous substance inside bubbling dangerously.

Hermione is just about to shut off the flame herself when a woman hurtles from the supply cupboard, hissing obscenities that would make Mrs Weasley faint, and grabs a ladle to stir the cauldron. The bright white fades to a reddish-orange, like molten rock, with each clockwise spin, and Hermione finally recognises it- analgemia rubor, a strong topical pain relief for severe burns. With notoriously rare ingredients. Well if there was any doubt about who she is….

Hermione approaches the woman who she is supposed to trust to save Harry’s life. Tall and willowy, with clever dark eyes and brows furrowed in concentration, she looks every bit the down-to-earth genius Hermione was hoping for. However, it is the fact she is dressed in comfy muggle clothes that makes Hermione trust her- or the thought of what Snape would think if he saw her in his former position. Even if her threadbare shorts and oversized Hawaiian shirt, which has been buttoned up wrong, undermines her whole respectability thing. Though Hermione notes she is wearing suitably closed shoes at least.

“Ella?”

“Christ!” the woman screams, plunging a hand into her afro and withdrawing a wand, pointing it threateningly (albeit upside down) at Hermione.

It’s so harmless compared to the things she has seen so far today, that Hermione just sighs “I’m Hermione Granger? Madame Pomphrey sent me?”

“Oh thank Merlin!” She says, grinning tiredly at Hermione. Then she takes a better look at Hermione, and frowns “Hermione. Hermione. Where have I heard that name before? Are you her apprentice?”

Hermione blinks “I am… Harry Potter’s friend? Golden girl? I seduced him and broke his heart according to witch weekly?”

She frowns again “I guess that could be where I have heard of you from… No, it was definitely more recent…”

Hermione is about to interrupt, to let the strange potioneer know that they are on a time limit dammit, when she perks up.

“Did you write an article for “the alchemist’s stories”? Yes, you did! About your research on the mandrake root and its use in audiology enhancement!”

Hermione gapes at the delighted looking woman. Her beam dims.

“Was it a different Hermione Granger?” She whispers, looking mortified

“Oh no… that was me” Hermione manages “it’s just… I’ve never met anyone who has read any of the papers I submitted”

She very much looks relieved “Oh! Well, it was a very well written piece. The idea of widening it’s uses to perforated eardrum of any cause was so simple, but no one had ever thought of it! I started substituting aloe root for mandrake root in my general external and middle ear healing serum, and I have seen some incredible improvements!”

And Hermione, for only the second time since the sun went down 12 hours ago, smiles. Broadly and without even a hint of hysteria.

The woman smiles back, a bewildered thing really. "Sorry, I got distracted. Why did you come down here?"

And just like that, reality sets back in. 

Ginny is angry. At life. At death. But most of all, at the fucking death eaters, who don't know the meaning of a moments peace.

She is hammering spell after spell at them, each one brutal and aiming to kill. Slowly. They lost their rights to a simple stun the moment one of them claimed her brother.

One of her spells hits someone behind a tree, and she lets out a vicious whoop as the masked person catches fire. The death eaters around her victim stop attacking them and start trying to summon water to put the fire out, but Ginny grins, something cruel and wicked that makes her friends on either side of her shuffle away. This last year in a boarding school with literal death eaters really improved her work ethic. Well, when it came to studying spells to make her enemies suffer, anyway.

It's a draining spell, but only the caster can put out that particular fire.

She watches as the death eater screams, something of pure unrelenting agony, and ashes start flaking off their body. 

Her grin doesn't falter.

Their mask clatters to the ground, and Ginny meets the cold grey eyes, now alight with fear, of Lucius Malfoy. 

Her grin broadens.

She has never forgotten what that man did to her when she was eleven years old. She was hoping to be the one to kill him.

She winks at him, and he keeps burning burning burning.

She might see him in Hell. But at least she was the one to put him there.

One of them next to him, a woman from the sound of it, screams. Narcissa. Ginny feels a pang of guilt, so at odds with the anger, fear and pain, as if it shouldn't be able to exist along with the multitude she is feeling. But then the Malfoy matriarch rips off her mask and turns to Ginny, a promise of a painful death clear within them.

Ginny can't say she blames the woman. But she is itching for a proper fight.

"Cadiac growth serum?" Ella all but screeches

Hermione winces. "Is it difficult?" She had never heard of it, but it's name was relatively self-explanatory.

"You have the DNA of the patient?"

"Yes" She holds up the lock of hair, and the potioneer examines it, seems to find something in it satisfactory, and puts a stasis charm on it.

"We have most of the ingredients already then. But it's complicated... and will take a few hours. It's more the patient I am worried for in the meantime, and Poppy of course."

"Why?" Hermione asks. Despite the womans tone, her words are actually quite reassuring. Their task is to literally grow new heart cells, and the witch doesn't seem to think that's the difficult part- more keeping Harry alive in the mean time?

Ella sighs "The spell Poppy used, externalis, it's... A tricky spell. It involves sharing your life force with someone else to keep them alive. It can literally kill you both if you use it too long. Most people last, on average, half an hour. We need about two hours."

"Oh" Hermione says, and she suddenly feels a rush of gratitude towards the medical lady. She really did go above and beyond for her patients.

But as for the problem...

"Teach me the spell."

"What?"

"I'll add to the spell, split the load with Pomfrey"

"That's never been tried before-"

"Neither has anything else I've tried tonight. Teach me the spell, or give me a book to study whilst we work on the potion."

The potioneer/healer (Hermione still hasn't asked her profession) looks as if she's about to object again, but she see's something in Hermione's face that makes her only raise her hands in surrender "Okay. I'll summon you any books on the subject. But I warn you- this spell is old. Like, really old. It's what ancient healers used to do before potions became a thing, so it's not really taught in medical school. Not many people know how to do it. I only know about it because I am extra and read up about history."

Hermione nods solemnly. She knows what it's like to be extra. "Thank you."

Ella's face softens "I will call all my fellow trainees though. If we have multiple vulnerable people, we're going to need as many as we can get... And I do not care if it's five o'clock in the morning or how many exams they have coming up"

Neville falls back from the front line, and runs along it, scanning for a teacher. There! The tiny figure of the one and only Professor Flitwick.

"Professor!" He pants, and the man whirls

"Mr Longbottom" He squeaks, just as a spell hisses through a gap in the shield.

"Look out!" Neville yells, but the spell merely skims the top of the mans head. He looks mildly surprised.

"What is it Mr- Neville" The professor asks him, and it takes Neville a moment to remember why he went running for the man in the first place. He's too busy looking at the mans bald patch and calming his racing heart.

"Oh yeah- I have a plan..." Neville explains his ebony-tree-theory, all the while very aware that the death eaters were still firing at them, even though the professor doesn't seem to notice.

"Hmmm. That sounds like it could work actually. We'll have to shield ourselves of course, but..." The professor trails off, and without another word, he turns around and starts casting what seems like diagnostic charms at the lonely tree. Neville stands to the side, a bit lost of what to do now.

Then a second spell makes it past the shield, and Neville remembers himself.

What is with him today?

Neville is adding his magic to the spell once more when the professor lets out a squeal beside him.

"It wont take much at all!" The professor beams at Neville, and then runs off.

Neville assumes that means his plan is going to be utilised. But he really can't be sure.

A couple of minutes later, the man appears again at his shoulder (well, far below his shoulder). "McGonagal has been warned. Let's do this."

Ron doesn't want to leave the hospital wing, with Harry lying prone on the bed. But he also wants to help his friends on the battle front- it's killing him that he doesn't know what's going on.

It's quite a conundrum. 

But he made a promise to Hermione, and you don't break a promise to Hermione. He'd keep an eye on Harry. That doesn't mean he has to just sit anxiously.

So he works on transfiguring some bandages into mattresses and quilts and pillows. His pillows are made from a material far more course than Hermione's would have been, and his mattresses far too soft, but he is happy with his four extra beds.

He makes his way to the great hall, and steels himself at the door. Fred's body would still be there- most likely cool to the touch, paler than he's ever been before but with streaks of blue mottling his skin. Perhaps his body would be stiffening up as his cells started decomposing and rigor mortis stepped in. Perhaps-

Ron stops that thought right there. He takes a deep breath, shakes off the disturbing images, and forces the door open.

Looking determinedly away from the line of dead, he scans the living. And stops. And scans again.

There are only five people in the hall. Four huddled together and one by themself.

He knows for a fact there were about a hundred, two hundred even, when he left with what was left of the order and DA to go to the library. Some of them have been moved to the hospital wing too- he knew that.

But where were the rest of them?

He walks up to a group of four, three teenagers and one man huddled together, and only the oldest girl and littlest boy looks up at his approach with grief filled eyes.

It's a family, Ron realises with no small amount of horror, the Creevy family to be exact. And between them, away from the rest of the dead, was little Colin Creevy. Lying, with pale, mottled skin and closed eyes.

He crouches with them "I'm sorry for your loss" He says quietly, unable to keep his own grief out of his voice

The family start despite his volume. The man looks up, and seems to squint at Ron, as though it's taking a lot of effort to actually see him.

"He was so excited. To see your world. And it killed him." Despite his words, the man doesn't sound accusing. He sounds hoarse, as though he hasn't spoken in a while.

Ron wonders when they were brought into the school, called at some ungodly hour of the morning to be told that their son and brother was killed in battle.

Ron swallows "He shouldn't be dead, and in a better world, this war wouldn't have had to be fought. But your son-"

"Don't talk about my son as if you knew him at all. And don't talk about his death as if it was worth it" This time, the man does sound accusing- accusing and angry and menacing. Ron doesn't know what to say, because he knows full well that in Mr Creevy's shoes, he wouldn't want anyone to say anything at all.

The middle child, Dennis Creevy, Ron remembers, pipes up "Dad, I don't think Ron is saying any of that. He also just lost someone- I saw him here earlier"

The man looks at him again, with fresh eyes, and Ron is uncomfortably aware of the whole family staring at him.

He awkwardly clears his throat "uh yeah, my brother." They all look at him sympathetically and he rushes for words, anything to negate the accidental offloading, and stop causing them more pain "But yeah I'm fine- completely! Haven't really let it hit yet. You know- apathy. Been keeping very busy. Still a war after all"

He laughs, but it sounds strained even to him.

"There's still a war?" The youngest says with wide eyes "it's not over?"

"There's a battle happening on the grounds now" Ron says gently  "I'd advice you and your family go home actually. Get some rest. Unless you need medical attention?"

"We're fine" The girl says quietly, and nudges her father. Ron hears her telling him they'd come back for her brother's body- come back to bury him properly.

Dennis nudges Ron "Can you give us some dreamless sleep? I think it'll be a rough night." and he looks so heartbroken that Ron agrees

"I've heard it can be quite addictive though- go easy on it"

"It's just for tonight"

Ron nods "I'll see what I can do"

He turns to ask the family where their nearest floo point was, and the words die in his mouth. Mr Creevy has an envelope in his hand, and with the gentlest touch, is removing photographs from them.

Ron finds himself drawn to them. 

He recognises Hagrid's hut in one, the smoke curdling from the chimney, the sky alight in oranges and reds, the forest dark and foreboding behind. Creevy's father places it reverently by the boys side. The next is a group of Gryffindor's Ron recognises from the year below, sitting in the soft armchairs by the fire, smiling as they use the flames to roast something white on a stick. As he watches, one of them catches fire, and the girl starts blowing on it frantically whilst the group laughs and she swats at them. That too is placed down beside Colin. A rainy quidditch match follows, then the soft glow of honey dukes in the snow, followed by the group from the first picture looking absolutely freezing in the entrance hall. One of Colin's friends in ridiculous poses next to the Slytherin hour glass. One of a boy, about 14, holding what was clearly a sex book  in the library and pointing smugly at the title. One of Colin trying and failing to pet the giant squid, and one of him, clearly a few moments later, dripping with black ink and looking shocked. Then there are some of Colin's family and muggle friends, on holiday in Blackpool or on a beach, smiling so wide.

Then there is a disturbing photo, of one of Colin's friends, older now and shirtless and with his back to the camera, gesturing to some gruesome looking sores covering his back. Another of a friend sleeping in the hospital wing, where the photo includes Colin's hand clutching hers. There is one of Snape walking in a dark hallway, looking very bat-like, with rain lashing the window and lanterns swaying. These less happy ones are also put next to him, and Ron finally realises what Colin's dad is doing- displaying his son's art, and promising never to forget.

And as Ron turns away to give them privacy, Ron knows in his heart that he doesn't need photos. It will take a thousand years for him to forget.

Hermione is perched on a stool in the corner of the classroom, reading for the second time during the final battle. It's very surreal.The book in question is thick, and it sports some of the oldest dialect she has ever read, making it almost impenetrable. But she is not Hermione Granger, class nerd and queen of extra study, for nothing.

The Latin chant is also by far the longest she has ever read, Hermione realises with increasing foreboding. A little note next to the block of text warns the reader of the complexity of the spell and the importance of not straying from the instructions. It also gives a list of unpleasant to downright deadly side effects that have occurred throughout history when one mistake or another has been made.

Whilst she is making notes, Hermione is vaguely aware of the classroom fireplace occasionally emitting an exhausted looking student at various levels of put-together, before consulting some notes (usually written on their hands) and running out. It seems Ella has been busy, keeping her word.

When she finally has the Latin chant written out and practised well enough that she is confident, and has skimmed most of the book, she waits anxiously for the witch to return. Just to confirm that she isn't going to endanger everyone involved.

Several students later- seriously how many people studied healing?- she appears, out of breath and as dishevelled as ever, with what would hopefully be the final student. A plump, cheerful looking witch with bright blue hair, who immediately runs to the potion nearest her and adds something from her pocket.

"Hello Hermione" Ella says tiredly

"You managed it, I see?" She says drily 

Ella grins "How's the research? Got the spell down?"

She waves her page of notes around proudly, and Ella comes over.

"You've got to focus on your core for the whole spell" She says, crossing at one of Hermione's bullet points with a pen she extracted from her waistband.

"The book only mentioned it at the end"

"That's why we cross reference" Ella says kindly, albeit firmly "Now, show me the wand position you're going to use"

After a few questions that prove Hermione's exhausted brain really did retain the knowledge, Ella nods, and gives a nervous smile. "You're ready" 

"Reyes" The blue haired witch interrupts in a Scottish accent "I need the boys DNA"

"Already?" Ella gives Hermione an apologetic look and runs towards the cauldron "You did the scaffolding quickly! This is great- it'll only be 90 minutes from now and his new heart will be ready!"

Hermione blinks and sets down her notes "New heart? I thought we were giving him replacement cells, not a new heart!" 

The medics look at each other, and Ella steps forwards.

“Well, the patient has complete asystole, or flat lining. What a heart attack usually leads to, and it means the cells are completely dead. Now, it’s still treatable- it's not a great prognosis for muggles at all. But, it's not a complete lost cause to those of us who can use magic. Although the cells of his heart have been killed by the spell, you have kept the rest of his body alive using your CPR, which has been effective, and the externalis. What we can do is use some cardiac stem cells that have been altered to contain his DNA, to create a new heart for him”

The woman is so matter of fact about the whole thing, that Hermione finds herself nodding along. It’s only when Ella takes the hair from her pocket that what she said really sinks in.

“A heart transplant?!” She squeaks.

“We call it an organ replacement. I know it’s a massive thing in the muggle world, but it’s quite a common procedure in the wizarding one. Organ rejection is really very unlikely due to the fact it’s his own DNA. If we minimise tissue damage and wire it all up correctly, his chances are very good."

Hermione nods- even though both witches have turned back to the caudron and can't see her- and puts her head in her hands. She takes a deep breath.

They have a plan, and they seem confident. Those are two things that she does not have. 

She can trust someone else to carry out a crazy, one-in-a-million plan for once. Channel her inner Ron for a bit.

She opens the door to go back to Harry, when Ella turns back around. "Good luck. We'll try to make it as quick as possible"

Hermione nods "You too"

The ebony tree is nearly pulsating now, as Flitwick and Neville direct spell after spell towards it.

"Nearly there!" The Professor squeaks excitedly "Now, we have to attempt to direct it as much as possible- the last spell to hit it is vital!"

Neville nods and wipes the sweat on his forehead- any minute now...

"Expelliarmus!" He yells, and before the spell even hits, Neville knows it will be the one.

With a violent pulse of magic, it explodes outwards with the force of a bomb, and all Neville can see is red light as the shield disintegrates, he is thrown backwards and all goes black.

Chapter Text

Harry comes round a few seconds after the curse hit, about an inch to the left and few meters back from his still warm body.

He stares as tendrils of something simultaneously a metallic sliver and all the colours of the rainbow leaves his prone form and drift towards him. Life, some part of him that is old and young at the same time realises.

His heart sinks. Figuratively of course- he doesn’t think he has a heart in this form.

He was really hoping to not become a ghost. As much as he loves his school, he doesn’t want to be there forever, doesn’t want to watch as everyone he loves moves on, never to see Sirius again.

“You are not a ghost” someone says from the forest behind him, and Harry whirls. A middle-aged man stands before him, corporal and in colour, at odds with the trees behind him, which are now tinged in that silver substance. Harry watches him wearily. There is something familiar about him, about the old fashioned clothes and the crooked smile, and from the gleam in the man’s eye, he knows Harry too. The gleam turns into amusement as he cocks his head, “you don’t recognise me, do you?”

The man’s voice gives it away.

“Nearly Headless Nick?!” Harry exclaims, looking at the man with new eyes. Without the silver translucency, he looked completely different.

“At your service” the ghost bows stiffly “As you know, I prefer Sir Nicolaus, but I understand this has been a difficult day for you”

“Sorry” Harry says awkwardly, but the corporal version of the ghost just smiles. Harry clears his throat “So what happens now?”

Nick hesitates “I do not know. I chose to stay.”

“How come I can see you as a…”

“Living being?”

Harry nods

“You are in between. Like I have been for the last 400 years” He says wistfully “It happens when you’re dying, and then, you feel the next world calling you. Unfortunately, that’s all I know. I picked to stay in this world. Broken and fractured though it is, I chose the evil I knew rather than the one I did not”

“Evil?” Harry asks, more intrigued than scared. This seemed more like a philosophy lesson than his fate for the rest of his existence.

“We like to think death is eternal peace, but it’s a lot more complicated than it seems I think- from what I could tell from the peek I was given” Nick sighs “I am sorry to say”

Harry doesn’t really know what to say to that. He lapses into silence, half wanting to look behind him to see what has become of his corpse, and half terrified to see his friends grief. The Gryffindor ghost is already watching him with enough pain and sorrow in his eyes- which are a deep brown, as it turns out- to make Harry feel guilty. He doesn’t want to be the cause of any more pain.

“How long does it take?” Harry blurts out- anything to make the ghost look less sad

“Before you can move on?” Nick asks, some emotion in his voice Harry can't place. 

Harry nods

“I’m not sure. It’s different for every person”

“Have you been there for a lot of people?”

“Anyone and everyone who dies near Gryffindor tower” He says proudly, chest puffing slightly. The gesture looks so familiar yet so different in this form, it makes Harry’s chest ache “I make sure they’re not alone whilst they’re dying, the way I was. Usually, the Friar takes the grounds, but he let me come and talk to you, because he knows we’re… we’re friends” He sniffs, composes himself, and when he looks Harry in the eye again, there are tears in his eyes “I actually wanted to say goodbye. You are a good kid, Harry, and you deserve better.”

Harry nods in thanks, words suddenly difficult.

And then he feels it.

A pull, a calling. Telling him to come.

The pull becomes stronger, and Harry knows it is almost done, almost over.

He looks at the ghost, and the ghost looks back at him.

“How come you couldn’t tell me this before? Tell anyone?” Harry asks, for some warning would be nice. He thought it would be like Sirius said- like falling asleep and waking up in the after world.

“The limited things I know” He says “they don’t make any difference, in the long run. I have seen hundreds of deaths, and in the beginning, I told the living of my experience with it. It only added to the fear and the unknowns. I realised that I didn’t know much more than someone like you, who has been alive for 18 years over my 400. My peek was just that- a peek. For all I know, that world could be better than this one. ”

He sounds sad, and Harry suddenly doesn’t like the thought of leaving him. The friend who came for him, the friend who is stuck in a world in which he does not belong, an entity always separated from the living. “Could you ever go to that place?”

“I have heard of it happening” he says “you have to remove your tethers to the earth, which is far harder than removing them from an organic body. And then you have to trust that you will feel the pull to the next world and not back down again if you do, because if you back down, you might become an untethered spirit and that’s a very dangerous thing to be.” Nearly Headless Nick becomes lost in thought, and the Pull becomes harder and harder to ignore. “But you won’t have that problem. You are braver than I ever was- I can tell. You have hardly any inhibitions, despite what you stand to lose”

Harry lets out a startled laugh “I have plenty of inhibitions”

“It would be weird if you had none” he smiles “you know, you can go. I can see you straining- I just wanted to keep you company until you died”

Despite everything, Harry smiles “thank you. For this”

Nick smiles back “Good luck, Harry Potter. Don’t look back- it’s harder to leave if you do.”

And Harry finally listens to the pull, tugging him away from the earth. Half a thought and he’s in the air.

As he’s flying up, the pull stronger than ever, towards the unknown world where his beloved dead may be, Harry hesitates.

He wants to look back. Just once. He knows it’s a bad idea, that he might never leave.

But he wants confirmation- something to reassure him that his family and friends are alive and will heal and maybe even be happy. To tell him that the world he’s leaving behind is good.

And so he does.

His sight is different in this form. Light seems to be muted and secondary in how the dead see. Instead, the castle and grounds are covered in that shimmering colour, the forest practically glowing with it. He has to really squint to make out the people, the blobs of rainbow silver in a humanoid shape.

Except something is wrong. There seems to be two lines of people on the forest line he just vacated, and there is what he instinctively knows as hostility radiating between the two.

He stops following the pull into the unknown, stops feeling its call at all.

He flies down, faster than a broom, faster than free fall, and looks.

He picks out Neville in the crowd, powering up the shield, exhaustion lining his very soul. He sees George, devastation and anger and wild grief lining his being as he fires curse after curse at the death eaters, not pausing for a second. He sees Fleur and Bill, together working on unweaving the complex magic the death eaters have used to protect themselves, their connected souls fighting for hope. He sees Luna, adding her own magic to the shield, her bright protuberant eyes on him, smiling sadly.

And there is Ginny, her lithe glowing figure moving in slow motion as she fires a spell at the trees, the fear and grief overshadowed by white hot burning anger.

No matter how desperately he looks, he cannot find Ron or Hermione amongst the crowd of allies or enemies. He's hoping they’re carrying out some master plan, like they did with the basilisk fangs. Something that will make sure all the remaining fighters walk away.

It clangs through him then- despite the fact that Voldemort is dead, the prophecy fulfilled, everyone he loves is still at risk. Will probably always be at risk, for there will always be hatred and fear.

It isn’t fair. 

Just then, a figure appears in front of him- corporal and alive-looking, hovering above the battle like Harry is. Luna, a few meters to his left and a few more below him, gives a start, staring at the newcomer.

And there is a lot to stare at- along with a muscular physic which is neither male nor female, the stranger has the most flawless dark brown skin Harry has ever seen, hair like long black feathers and intelligent silver eyes that seem to be made of life itself.

Harry thinks they might be a god. And because of that, he knows his time for staring is up.

“Please. Before I go, I want to know. If my friends make it” 

“I know the whole of time” They say, their voice dreamy “I can tell you when and where they die and who they marry, I can tell you about your deceased friends and family, I can tell you the secrets of the very universe”

Harry feels like there’s a “but” coming

“But” They say, and Harry sighs “such knowledge comes with a cost. To know the secrets of one universe is to never leave it, and to never be among the living again”

Harry frowns “As I am dead, I think it would be difficult for me to be “among the living again” anyway” he says drily. Which probably isn't smart, but he's tired and he's dead, and he's sick of adults never telling him things clearly

The god gives him a look, and Harry does indeed regret his snapping. “I do not appear to anyone, you know. And I am not here to take you to the next world.”

This makes Harry even more confused “Why did you appear to me?”

“Because” they say simply, looking at Harry intently “I wanted to give you a warning. The fate of this world- it is not your concern alone, nor is its evil your burden. You are strong, Harry, but you need to be less selfless.”

“Um… thank you?”

The god rolls their eyes “You are being given another chance- you have some powerful allies and the universe has granted you this- but to stay again will make it harder to leave when your time comes again.”

“Wait…. I can go back?.. I’m not dead?!” 

“It’s an option. You will feel two pulls in a second- one to the earth and one to the after. It is your choice which you follow.”

Harry doesn’t really know how to feel, and the stranger is making him even more confused.

“But surely, if I choose to stay, I will die again, properly, in the future?”

“Yes. But the Pull will be different, and the temptation to stay, in whatever form, will be even higher next time. I know you, Harry Potter. You will bind yourself to whatever conflict is happening at the time of your death, and the temptation will be even greater for you. All I can say is; don’t give your soul to this world before you have seen what is out there.” Something about the sorrow in their voice makes Harry think they are speaking from experience.

“You think I should go” It’s not a question, but they nod anyway.

“Whilst you can, before you grow too attached. Others will not make the same choices as you.”

There was definitely something there- something sad and knowing and certain that comes from more than simply knowledge.

“If you don’t mind me asking… How old are you?” as soon as it’s out of his mouth, Harry winces- the question seems way too personal

But all they do is bark a laugh “If you’re asking when I was human, it was a very long time ago. And before you ask- no, I am not a ghost. I have the knowledge of the universe at my fingertips. I am forbidden to communicate with the living- I only do what I can to aid them from a distance. But I am impressed. No one has ever asked me that before”

The god smiles at him and Harry gives a relieved smile back, before something they said resonates with him.

“Wait… If you’re talking with me, doesn't that mean I am dead?” He is very confused

“You will forget this conversation whether you choose life or death. But I am offering you another choice. It’ll cost you your humanity, but you can join me and let me answer every question you’ve ever had.”

“I thought you wanted me to move on?”

The god laughs again “I can only appear to mortals in situations such as these- when they are neither dead nor alive, tethered to nothing but beckoned by everything. I thought I would add another option before you made up your mind. Next time you die, your body will not come back and I will not get to speak to you. Your options will simply to be to cling on to a place as a ghost or to move on- like they are for most. What I am offering is power. The ability to tether your soul to this very universe. The chance to change the shape of the world at the cost of not being a part of it”

“Why?”

The god shrugs “It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to talk to. Without your humanity, you don’t feel things such as loneliness, but I am bored. And this world needs all the help it can get. You will be of more help as a powerful spirit than a ghost”

Harry’s head is spinning. He can go back to his life and see his friends, can die and see his family or can become a god, like this magnificent creature before him, and make life better for so many.

The latter really did appeal to his saviour instincts (as Hermione called them).

Was there any real reason for him to return?

He looks down at the battle raging below- they don't need him now, as a person. He had done the part they needed him for- he has killed Voldemort, fulfilled the prophecy. The remaining evil in society is not something one person can tackle all on their own, but, just maybe, it was something a god could.

Ron and Hermione and the rest of his friends- they would mourn for sure, but with so much power, he could make their lives so much better. And he would have so much power. He can feel it radiating from the being in front of him. Half a thought from them, and the crust of the very earth would shatter.

And if he became like them...

With half a thought, Sirius could be alive again. Teddy would grow up with his parents and George could have his twin back.

It's so tempting. It's not just power- it's the chance of redemption for every mistake he has made.

But then again, would he really be able to do that? Drag people away from their death and force them to come back to mortal, earthly bodies? Force them against their will and against the natural way of things? Who was he to decide

Whose to say he wouldn't do more harm then good, that, with a bit of power on his side, he wouldn't become as crazed and vicious as Voldemort?

No. He did not trust himself with that power. He has already hurt too many people because of bad decisions.

As for life or death (if life was even an option- he still didn't believe it)... He would have to go for life. For whilst he didn't want to rule it, he wasn't yet ready to give up on this world either.

He trusted himself to be brave enough to step through the veil when his time eventually came, despite what this all-seeing being in front of him said. 

He looks up, and the god is looking at him expectantly. He clears his (figurative) throat.

“Um… thank you for the offer… really… but-“

“You’re going to have to go back to your life?” the god smiles ruefully “well, I can’t say I’m surprised. But I want the record to show that I tried”

They look so condescending that Harry bristles and says, defiantly, "I'm going to go to the next world when the time is right though. I have too many people I want to see."

The god raises their hands in mock surrender. For a spirit without humanity, they really have nailed the mannerisms "You never know. People have surprised me before."

The god steps back and starts to fade, and, as if that is the cue, Harry can once again feel the pull- two, like they said there would be. One calling him towards life and the earth, and one singing to him, calling him towards death and a new world. Both leading away from the inbetween and strange god he met there.

"Wait" Harry calls to the fading being, on impulse, and they pause. "I wanted to say thank you. For the offer. And for the second chance... and... um... to say I hope we meet again."

The god looks sad "The second chance was not my doing. I believe that was due to a friend of yours. And the durability of human bodies." They sigh "Be strong, Harry Potter, and selfish. For your own happiness. And you will be okay."

Harry stares as the god vanishes. Then, feeling like he is making the wrong decision, he follows the beacon leading him to earth.

Against what every spirit he has met has told him, he enters the hospital wing, past the exhausted looking matron, and settles into his breathing body.

Chapter Text

Ron waves as the four living members of the Creevy family disappear in a spinning flash of green, little Dennis armed with a flask of potions to keep the demons at bay. And then he is alone in Madame Pomfrey’s office.

He walks out into the main wing and towards Harry’s bed, curtained off to protect from curious onlookers (wondering, and Ron can’t exactly blame them given the pandemonium, what on earth happened to the chosen one), and peers inside. It’s much the same as he left it, except now, there are several empty mugs of coffee on the table by the matrons side. Harry still looks as if he is merely sleeping.

Ron swallows. The matron looks up at the sound, eyes bleary, and squints to look at him, which is not the best sign.

Ron makes his voice as soothing as possible “How are you feeling?” The house elf taking Harry’s pulse looks at Ron and shakes their head vigorously, as the matron looks at him incredulously.

“Like I have been attacked by a Hippogriff, how on earth…” she pauses to catch her breath “do you think I am feeling?”

Ron grins and backs away. “Noted” he says, closing the curtains behind him. If he had waited a second longer, he might have noticed the twitch of Harry’s eyes at the sound of his voice.

The rest of the occupants of the hospital wing seem to be stable too- in fact, they seem better than stable. In his rush to get to Harry, he missed the fact that there were a bunch of new faces amongst the house elf staff- healers, by their uniform. Bloody healers, administering potions and calling out orders.  He never thought he’d see it; a semblance of actual training, qualifications and people who know what they’re doing.

On the bed next to Harry, two healers administer some form of skin grafting potion on a burns victim, whilst the healer on the bed next to them frowns at a graph weaving its way in front of her. The healer opposite battles a violent looking curse in the pit of a man’s stomach, and Ron watches as he collapses, exhausted but victorious.

Ron smiles to himself- he hated the whole being-the-only-conscious-human-being-in-the-hospital-vicinity and the related having no-clue-what-to-do-if-there-was-a-medical-emergency thing. Hermione (because Hermione was probably behind the increased staffing) was a godsend.

Though, Ron notes with no small amount of satisfaction, his extra beds still resemble beds. They have not converted back into bandages, and one of his beds are currently in use. Given how the rest of this year has gone, and his general transfiguration performance, such success is surprising.

Despite his proven bed-making skills, it’s clear to the wizard that he is not needed in the wing. Harry would be fine, Ron reasons. Still, he’ll wait until Hermione or someone else he trusts gets back before he’s planning on joining the battle, but for now…

He’ll scour the castle for any injured people Oliver and Neville missed. Starting with that lone figure in the Great Hall.

He closes the main entrance doors behind him, and misses Hermione by roughly three and a half seconds, and Flitwick’s Patronus by another five.

Hermione is again out of breath by the time she reaches the hospital wing. As soon as all of this is over, she is definitely doing something about her cardio.

As she arrives, huffing and puffing with her notes clutched in her hand, a streak of silver fires past her. A bird materialises in the centre of the wing, and says, in the voice of Flitwick, “There will be a tactical explosion on the treeline near Hagrids hut. Need aid.”

The wing goes still and whispers break out. A tactical explosion? What did that even mean?

Hermione winces. The fact they have resorted to explosions suggests the battle isn’t quite going as well as she had hoped.

There is a second where she really wonders if her energy may be better used on that battle field. Whether they should just let Harry rest and cut their losses and work on preventing more death, rather than wasting three valuable members of their team on a fools attempt to save one of them. Then she feels like an awful friend, for she is certain that Ron wouldn’t have even considered this.

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. She has made her decision. She has already committed to it. They’ll be fine.

And a smaller, more selfish part of her doesn’t want to be remembered as the girl who killed her friend.

So she walks over to the dark thick hospital curtains and yanks them open. Pomphrey looks almost as lifeless as Harry does, hunched over in the chair and so, so pale. A thin sheen of sweat covers her forehead, which the house elf is wiping off with a towel. The elf’s large brown eye’s focus on her.

“Please leave Miss!” the elf says in a high voice

“I can help her” Hermione says, confidence she doesn’t feel in her voice “I am going to do the spell”

Pomfrey’s strained expression turns to one of alarm “no, Miss Granger! If you get this wrong…”

“I know.” She says firmly, and raises her wand anyway.

When the blast hit, Ginny was lucky- right on the far end of the fighting, duelling Narcissa Malfoy through the shield. She was pushed back a bit, made temporarily blind by the light, but was overall unharmed.

Now, looking over the wreckage, she realises just how lucky she is. Any death eater close to the… tree? She thinks it originated near that small tree. Regardless, any death eater near the source was flung into the neighbouring trees with enough force to kill.

In fact- was that Bellatrix’s long black hair in that central pool of blood? Ginny grins.

Her grin fades when she looks around their side. Despite the shield, they really were all scattered by the explosion. Most nearer the edges are stirring or looking around blearily, but those who were nearest…

McGonagall, Flitwick, Neville…

They’re so still. From this distance, she can’t be sure.

Ginny makes to check on them, but Luna, looking absolutely fine, points calls out to her. There is enough panic in the blond girls voice that she turns, and follows the direction she was pointing with her eyes. There- by the treeline. Another blond is on her feet, blood matted in her hair, and pointing her wand at Ginny with fire in her cold eyes.

The woman walks up to Ginny, through the now weak shield, and Ginny has the good sense to feel a little frightened.

The woman stops about a metre in front of her, and Ginny waits. “You killed my husband” Narcissa says, voice as cold as the moon.

Ginny juts her chin “it was a pleasure” she says, just as coldly

Narcissa snaps. “You arrogant little shit!” She yells, and fires a spell right at Ginny’s chest. Ginny had been braced for that, and dives to the side. She lands, and fires a very dangerous spell (according to Harry- he had warned her not to use it except in emergencies) and the Malfoy matriarch doesn’t have time to do anything but an instinctual spell that deflects most of it.

Even with the much reduced impact, there is blood everywhere, but Narcissa doesn’t seem to notice as she casts again, as viciously and without care for rules and etiquette as Ginny has been casting.

Ginny rolls- this time away from her recovering friends. She ducks, shields, feints, and fires spells she shouldn’t even know about, and Narcissa matches her exactly.

Ginny grins. Despite the gash down her cheek, her ringing ears and the sweat stinging her eyes- this was a proper fight.

She catches the witches eye as the blond ducks, and is surprised to find her grinning too.

Ron doesn’t like the Great Hall anymore.

He manages a glance towards the line of dead this time (a wavering glance that skips over all the faces) and sees that they really have been left alone. A few are decorated with flowers, others are covered in boxes and surrounded by stone, but there are no living amongst them.

A good number are fighting. The injured have all been moved. But the mourners- they must have left. Except, apparently, one.

Ron makes his way to the lone figure he spotted earlier, in the darkest corner of the hall far away from the dead.

Definitely alive- they’re fidgeting and shuffling, as if trying and failing to get comfortable.

Ron’s foot scuffs on the ground and the figure looks up, and Ron starts.

White blond hair, far dirtier than it was a few hours ago, falls onto pointy, scowling face stained with ash- Malfoy.

“Weasley” He sneers “close your fat mouth and quit gawping before I shove my fist down your throat.”

Ron blinks. Well, it’s definitely Malfoy. Clutching his side and wincing though he is.

“Malfoy” Ron says in exasperation “you are injured and you don’t have a wand.” Malfoys hand twitches at his empty holster, and Ron rolls his eyes “You owe a life debt to Harry, you are in a room full of people you and your friends killed, you are in the midst of your enemies, you are alone, and you’re threatening me?”

His voice becomes angry towards the end, and he makes to take a step forward. He stops when the boy flinches backwards. Was Malfoy… Scared of him?

No one has ever been scared of him before. But now, his long-time rival- the boy who tried to make his and his friend’s lives hell, who called him a blood traitor and worse at every opportunity, whose father constantly belittled his dad, who hurt so many people- he is completely at Ron’s mercy.

“I didn’t kill anyone” Malfoy says in a low voice “I swear to Merlin”

And his enemy looks so pathetic, so young and lost and scared that Ron feels the fight go out of him.

“Oh I believe you” Ron says wearily, and Malfoy looks at him in surprise “you might be a snivelling coward, but you’re no killer”

Malfoy glares at him “You know nothing about me. Weasel, if you’re just here to insult me, you can leave”

“And you’ll sit here hoping someone else comes to help you?” Ron scoffs “And Weasel? Really? Bit uncreative isn’t it?”

A ghost of a smile appears on his face, and he groans “I’m half delirious you half-wit.”

Ron examines the pointy junior fascist more closely. He seems coherent, but he also seems less… prickly.  And he is definitely injured.

“What happened to you?”

“I got cursed you numbskull. Out on the grounds trying to find my parents, and the coward didn’t even have the nerve to face me. I woke up here, disarmed, and everyone just kept their distance and ignored me once they realised I knew nothing about their precious Potter” Malfoy spits bitterly

“Except for the fact you tried to turn him into Voldemort” Ron says drily, some part of him (most of him, to be honest) delighting in Malfoy’s flinch at his old masters name

Malfoy purses his lips.

Ron sighs “Okay. Okay you pointy twat. You’re coming to the hospital wing” he holds out his hand reluctantly- he really doesn’t want to be near the git, but war is all about sacrifice and all.

Malfoy eyes his outstretched hand in distaste. “Is it a requirement?” He bursts out “In order to be Potter’s friend, do you have to sign an agreement that you have a saviour’s complex? I’m a fucking death eater Weasley. Do you not understand what that means?”

Ron takes a deep breath, his outstretched hand dangerously close to throttling the pricks pale throat “I understand perfectly what that means. I lost a bloody brother to one.” He says coldly “now you have two choices. You can take my hand. Or, I will knock you out and levitate your body”

Malfoy glowers at him and Ron glowers right back. This is a waste of bloody time, Ron decides, but he doesn’t walk away. After all, Harry will be pissed at him if he lets the prat die after all he did to spare him.

Hermione is concentrating so hard on reciting the words and simultaneously trying to feel Harry's magic (however that's supposed to feel) that she almost misses it. A very faint cough that almost sounds like "'mione?". 

A second later when it registers, her words almost, almost falter. 

When he speaks again, she is better prepared. Her voice remains steady but her eyes fill with tears, even as she refuses to look up from her parchment or stop the steady stream of Latin binding him to her.

When she feels a broad familiar hand close around her own, she does grip it back just as tightly though. If not more so. There is a gasp from the exhausted matron behind her, and there is a smile in Hermione's voice. Her voice becomes stronger almost, more confident. This was not all for nothing. He's still there, still fighting.

As she finishes the spell, the lights do flicker, but it doesn't stop her tear-filled eyes from meeting his green ones, and it's not the bright colour of the iris's, but the fact they are filled with life once more. With Harry.

She smiles and sobs even as exhaustion and pain slam into her, as she feels her and Harry linking their very life force. As she stares into the dazed, smiling eyes, she doesn't regret it one bit

Luna is surprised to find herself still alive. The magic from that tree was radiating like crazy, but she didn't expect it to explode like that, all white and bright and angry. Even now, its aura is vibrating. She rubs her wrist, which she landed on funny, and glares at it.

And then is startled by a movement to the left of the tree. 

With barely a conscious thought, she stuns the death eater moving to run away and then looks at her wand with mild surprise. At the beginning of this battle, she'd never done stunned anyone in practice before.

She is shaken from her dazed sort of self-congratulatory wanderings by a very vicious sounding yell, coming from her left. A flash of red and yellow, and there next to her is none other than her best friend. Ginny barely seems to be noticing her surroundings, least of all Luna, her focus completely on the witch before her. It is clear from the crazed look in their eyes that Narcissa and Ginny are both as broken and bloodthirsty as each other.

She wants to help, but they are moving way too fast with way too much magic that it would probably only make things worse. And she is having enough trouble deflecting the stray spells away from people still recovering from the blast.

But she can't look away. It's almost mesmerising, seeing a fight like this. She has never seen anything like it. 

"Blimey" Says a familiar voice next to her- Dean "Ginny can fight"

There are more people joining her, DA and order alike, but none are daring to get too close to the witches, and anxious whispers are spreading. And then Molly is there, elbowing her way past Luna with barely a glance, eyes watching every movement the women make with wand raised uselessly in front of her. 

Behind her, Luna is vaguely aware of healers running down and taking looking after the more injured people, and Kingsley stunning and chasing any death eaters still conscious, but it doesn't feel like the battle is almost over.

No, it feels like that whole set-up was the warm-up to the duel in front of her.

Malfoy is hissing the whole way

The twat had initially tried to stand on his own, had managed all of one haughty step before he collapsed against the wall, and Ron had had to catch him and lower the boy to the ground lest he passed out. It was only after that when he accepted Ron’s hand.

Now, he is all but carrying the prick.

“Bloody hell Malfoy… How much do you weigh??” Ron pants, and the scowl on the blonds face deepens further

“Keep quiet Weasley, I swear. I can almost pretend this isn’t as humiliating as it is if I don’t know it’s you”

“Well it is me, and you’re going to have to come to terms with it at some point,” he tells him, as he all but lifts Malfoy over some fallen rubble.

Then, as he is wiping the sweat out of his eyes, Malfoy moves. A sleek, sudden, almost desperate and definitely planned, attempt to grab the wand out of his hand.

Ron jumps back easily and pushes the man away. “What part of I am trying to help you do you not understand?” Ron says in exasperation, but his heart isn't really in it given how the git immediately stumbles and clutches his stomach. Malfoy only scowls. "Like seriously, what were you going to do? You can barely walk! From what I remember, you were shit at healing charms, not that they would help, and we're far away from anyone you could threaten"

Malfoy spits out a glob of blood, and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand "I don't know okay" He says, looking a little mad with the smear of blood, dark against his pale cheek "I didn't have a plan. But I don't like not being in control. For obvious reasons"

Ron rolls his eyes. If Malfoy was looking for sympathy now of all times, after everything... "it's not as good as you thought having a master huh? Well tough. Don't you worry though, as soon as you're in the hospital wing, you are no longer my problem. In fact, I'm completely okay to pretend this never happened"

Malfoy looks at him oddly. Then says, in an eerily serious voice, "We do not speak of this again" and offers his hand.

After a second, Ron takes it. He doesn't really fancy being teased for being soft after all this either.

Without another word, Malfoy collapses into Ron's side, and they take off once more.

They reach the hospital wing without another word between them until Ron walks over to one of his transfigured beds, and dumps Malfoy unceremoniously onto it. He is almost disappointed when the transfiguration holds and the bed remains a functional bed.

But then he regrets these thoughts a little, as instead of a half-hearted glare or muttered curse, the prick tiredly sounds out something that could have been a "thank you". If you strained your ears. 

Ron still hears it though, even over the general chaos of the hospital wing. He freezes and spins around, but the git is fast asleep, pain etched on his drawn features. Ron frowns. The fact he is asleep, despite having a very painful curse cast on him, in addition to the git thanking him... Ron comes to the uncomfortable conclusion that Malfoy is in a far worse state than he originally thought.

Cursing him creatively, Ron hails down one of the less harrassed looking healers headed towards the potion cupboard.

"Excuse me! Miss..." the healer turns impatiently, and Ron gulps "I have bought in someone who has been cursed? On the far bed?"

"How urgent?" She asks in a heavily accented voice, her words clipped and gaze scanning the beds

He hesitates "I don't know. But it's bad" 

She sighs and heads over to Malfoy. Ron is about to head back to Harry when her curt voice calls out "Come, Red. Tell me what happened"

With a sigh, Ron changes course. And then freezes. She is staring at Malfoy's left forearm, and the dark mark emblazoned on his skin. 

Harry is asleep now. His hand is curled around Hermione's, as if the link between his life and hers demands it. He looks exhausted, sweat building on his upper lip and large purple bags under his eyes, but he's alive. She keeps repeating those words in her exhausted brain.

Madam Pomphrey beside her looks a lot more alert now. Although she is still unable to stand up or move, and she is still looking very much in need of a power nap, she looks positively perky in comparison. Eyes bright where they were once alarmingly dull. She even managed a whole conversation with the house-elf who came to check on them.

However, they are far from in the clear. 

Hermione checks her battered watch. Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes and then Harry's new heart will be ready.

Hermione and Pomphrey just have to last until then.

Ginny is vaguely aware of the crowd building around her and the Malfoy matriarch. If only because her mother, in all her worried bustling, keeps trying to step in and ruining the flow of the damned duel. 

Narcissa had to know it too. She had to know that she was surrounded by the enemy and that even if she did beat Ginny there was no way she could get out of this unscathed. Narcissa might have known it, but she didn't give up. If anything, she threw even more of what she had at the red-head, and Ginny matched her with ease. Weaving around one another in a dance, where the wrong footwork was enough to kill...

Harry was wrong. This wasn't awful. This was the most fun she'd had all year, an outlet for her pain and fear.

One of her more dangerous spells missed Narcissa by millimetres, and the curse heads straight for the crowd. As she predicted given the nature of that highly illegal curse in general, it goes straight through Luna's shield. Ginny temporarily goes on the defensive to check it doesn't hit anyone, ducking and weaving and conjuring boulders to absorb the impact with barely half a thought as she watches the crowd part and the spell head straight down the middle. And then she loses track of it as her boulder shield is transfigured into a massive spider, and she's back to battling for her life once more from two attackers.

And then Molly chose the wrong moment to try and step in. A spell meant for Ginny is blasted away from her by her mum, and Molly, a murderous look in her eyes, glares at Narcissa as she steps in front of her only daughter.

And she is promptly forced backwards by a second, more sly spell from the blonde. Mind magic, Ginny recognises with horror. Molly, expecting the same brutal spellwork she had seen the woman do in the past, hasn't properly prepared her shields. Within seconds she is clutching her head.

Ginny screams. With a brutal twist of her wand, the spider dies, and Ginny turns to the Malfoy. "Crucio" She says, her voice a hoarse unrecognisable cry. The crowd gasp and mutters, but Ginny ignores them. They were forced to practice the spell on first years, it was only right to practice on a death eater.

Narcissa twists with pain, but she doesn't scream. She merely stares at Ginny, disappointed, as if this wasn't part of their deal.

Before the spell even wears off, Narcissa points her wand at Ginny and disarms her, and in the same fluid motion, takes two steps towards her and shoves the tip of her wand at Ginny's throat.  For the first time, Ginny is a little afraid. Even as she raises her chin defiantly. 

There are easily 10 wands focused on the blonde now, but in a question of whose spell would hit who first, Ginny wasn't doing all that well. And for killing her husband, for torturing her... well Ginny couldn't really blame Narcissa for wanting to do it.

"Do it" Ginny hisses

Narcissa holds strong "Just tell me if my son is alive"

Ginny laughs, a broken thing "what so then you can kill me?"

"I don't intend to kill someone who can match me in duelling," Narcissa says briskly, and it takes Ginny a second to realise the compliment 

"How kind of you," she says dryly "last I checked, your coward of a son" Narcissa's eyes narrow but she doesn't contradict her "is still alive. He is in the Great Hall, no one really knew what to do with him" 

Narcissa breathes a sigh of relief and then does something amazing. She passes Ginny back her wand. 

And then is promptly stunned in the back by Molly Weasley.

"How dare you threaten my daughter you bitch!"

Ginny rolls her eyes "a bit late mum"

The crowd erupts into cheers, and surges towards her. Within seconds she is being carried to the castle on the shoulders of twenty-odd people, congratulating her and beaming with every step. But Ginny can't shake the feeling that she hasn't won anything at all.

Neville wakes with the most painful headache he has ever experienced in his entire life. Opening his eyes turns out to be a mistake- the morning sun is bright. Wincing, he covers his closed eyes with his palms, and tries to make sense of what just happened.

"Oh thank Merlin" Someone sighs next to him, before he really has much time to think at all "you're alive"

He groans "who are you?" he manages, his tongue feeling weirdly disconnected from his body

"Oh I did not introduce myself- I'm Healer Clearwater, I'm the trainee field healer. You suffered a rather nasty head wound and a couple of other injuries from that explosion my boy, but you've stabilised since. You'll be absolutely fine in a few hours"

Explosion? And then it all comes rushing back to him in a rush of memories "everyone else! Are they-"

"Most people are absolutely fine, in fact, they all seem to have crowded over there; I think it's a duel going on. Though I can't speak for everyone- Professor Flitwick was rushed into the wing rather quickly" Clearwater catches sight of Neville's expression, and quickly finishes with "but he should be okay! Poppy knows what she is doing"

"and the death eaters?"

"Three or four dead, one or two in critical condition, the rest stunned and tied up. A few are trying to escape through the forest but Kingsley is sure we'll catch them." He lists with a flourish

Neville sighs "So it's over?"

"I think so! I can't see much more fighting going on now" The healer smiles softly

Well, that really depends on which death eaters are still alive, Neville reasons. "Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Critical condition. The explosion really knocked her"

And just like that, Neville feels the tears begin to spill.

"Oh no don't cry! That's like the opposite of my job" The healer murmurs helplessly

Neville smiles through his tears and makes to sit up. At once the headache he almost forgot about reminds him, rather forcefully, of its presence. 

"Don't move either! You're still recovering" groans the healer as Neville grabs at his head.

"I'm fine" Neville insists "The battle is over, you've said it yourself! We won" He doesn't quite believe it, but the smile bursts through anyway. Just as the healer smiles uncertainly back at his wide grin, a spell hits him in the side.

He gasps blood pooling out of his abdomen. Neville, still recovering from his head injury, takes one look at this and faints rather dramatically.                                                                                                                                                 

The spell, it turns out, was a stray, from the last duel between Ginny and Narcissa. Healer Clearwater managed to close the wound and call for help himself, as Neville was out of it for a good three minutes and not a whole lot of use.

They hear about the duel later from Luna, who felt a little guilty given that she was the one who was meant to be deflecting curses away from people.

"Ginny almost beat Narcissa Malfoy one-on-one?" Neville repeats, a little awestruck but not completely surprised "she's 16!"

"She's really good at it. I think she's a bit disappointed Mrs Malfoy is going to prison- we weren't much of a match for her in DA sessions"

"Woah..." 

 Healer Clearwater, whose bed they are standing around, gives a little sigh "Of course it's the littlest Weasley who almost killed me. This is the second time. I missed most of my OWL year because of her"

"... What?" asks Neville

And then it suddenly makes sense as to why Clearwater looks so familiar.

"Wait, didn't you used to date Percy? Ravenclaw right? You look different!"

Clearwater gives him a flat stare "Well, I now go by Peter if that's what you mean"

Neville flushes "It's a very nice name"

Peter takes one look at his embarrassed expression and bursts out laughing. Which, funnily enough, wasn't great for his stitches.

Ron sighs. He really doesn't want to spend any more time with Draco bloody Malfoy. He needs to really be checking on Harry and Hermione now.

So he goes for the short version. "Yes, he's a death eater. He's also a kid and disarmed and cursed and he's going to die if we leave him. Harry seems to believe he's not a complete shithead and worth saving anyway"

The healer eyes him with an expression that's hard to read. Finally, she says "well, we have the staff".

She turns over Malfoy's forearm gingerly, as if scared it's going to bite her, and then casts some diagnosis spells. And almost drops her wand. 

"Merlin... this is going to take a lot of resources to fix"  She glares at Ron as if it's his fault

"But he's going to be okay?" Ron doesn't know why he cares as much as he does

"He'll live," She says curtly "but it's good you bought him here as quickly as you did- he has minutes"

Not exactly a ray of sunshine, but the best he was hoping for. As the healer starts working on Malfoy, Ron places the curtain back around the bed and then finally goes to find Harry.

"Ron!" It's his Mum, running towards him and almost knocking him over with the force of her hug. 

"Mum!" He says, voice slightly muffled by how tight she is squeezing his ribs "Of course, I'm okay" He laughs and hugs her back "How is everyone else though? Everyone on the battlefield?"

"Oh minor injuries, apart from that Malfoy bitch, they all went down without a lot of fight. Flitwick is still unconscious but they are hopeful! One of the healers got hit with a stray spell but is awake. Everyone else is okay"

Ron almost collapses with relief.

Molly then holds him at arm's length, studying him shrewdly for injuries "What have you been doing? Nothing dangerous I hope" She says, eyes flashing. And for once, Ron notes, she won't be disappointed in the truth.

"Mostly just keeping busy whilst Hermione is completing her master plan of reviving Harry. Getting the injured, helping out here and there, etc."

She looks pleased "And how is Harry?"

"I don't know I haven't seen him," Ron says in what was meant to be a light and breezy tone, but which cracks in all the wrong places

Molly senses this. She always does. "Well, he was hit by quite a curse. What a boy. We'll check on him now, because by Merlin I am not losing two sons tonight" She vows. As simple and stupid a gesture as it is, Ron can't help but feel a whole lot better. The fates should really know better than to try Molly Weasley's famous temper, and that alone gives Harry a fighting chance.

Molly opens Harry's curtains (Ron hesitated a little), and is met by the sight of three absolutely exhausted-looking people. But Ron only has eyes for his best friend, who is finally, finally stirring. And wants to cry and laugh and scream all at once. As a compromise, he insults the living shit out of him.

"Bloody hell, Harry you look awful!" Harry's lips twitch at Ron's voice

"Give him a break, he's just died!" Says Hermione's voice, a smile in it too.

"You don't look much better yourself Hermione, sorry to say it..."

"Give her a break Ron, she's just bound her life force to me" Harry manages in a croaky voice

There is silence, as Harry knew there would be, and then... "You did what?" Ron says sharply "That's so dangerous- you don't know the spell!"

"Oh as if you wouldn't do the same Ron" Hermione snaps

There is silence. Harry forces his eyes open for a few seconds, enough to see the blob that is Ron nodding thickly. And then he is too exhausted to register much more, and falls into a deep sleep again.

He is home. He is with the people who matter.

His heart may not be working on its own, but it still feels lighter than it has in years.

Home.

The heart operation is a success. Emma Reyes managed to do the whole thing without so much as a scar, and 24 hours later, Hermione and Pomphrey can terminate the spells draining their bodies at long last. And not a moment too soon.

Both of them immediately fall into a deep sleep.

They would never be completely separate from the chosen one; they had bound their lifeforce to him at some point, but everyone had made it through, and they would deal with the consequences as they came.

But they knew that before they even did the spell, Reyes tells the anxious Weasley boy, Professor McGonagal and Harry, who was just waking up and was a little bit slow on the uptake as a result of all the spells they put him under. She had to explain it to him about three times what had happened and that yes they would be okay. But even so, she feels herself warming to the chosen one whose heart she had just replicated. She could see why the Hermione Granger had done so much for him.

There are celebrations throughout the country the entire week, as the wizarding world is finally free from the tyrant that plagued them twice. Huge parties, fireworks and sales of mead and firewhiskey hit record highs. 

Voldemort is declared dead by a qualified healer (they aren't making the same mistake again). The Ministry is purged off its Voldemort supporters. The Aurors crack down hard on those outside its walls. Kingsley Shacklebolt is declared minister and McGonagall headmistress. The remaining Malfoy's are put under house arrest whilst the new team of law enforcement decide what to do with them.

A temporary orphanage is set up at Hogwarts for the summer.

But Harry misses all this, as throughout the week, Harry, Hermione and Pomphrey remain in bed.

On the 8th day since the battle, Ron visits him again, this time bringing Gobstones and news of when Fred's funeral will be.

Harry feels an inexplicable sense of shame when this is announced. Fred wasn't given a second chance, unlike him, which seems ridiculously unfair.

"You okay Harry? Lost you for a second there" Ron says, smile a little forced given the topic of conversation

"I'm fine," he says quickly "Ron look it's your go!"

But Ron is not easily dissuaded. Despite the cloud over him, he doesn't let it go  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Completely fine. Honest Ron!” He makes a brave attempt at a smile. He isn’t completely lying. He might not feel amazing- in fact, he feels nothing at all most of the time- but that’s bound to pass.

“Okay… but even though you’re completely fine now… remember that it’s okay to not be later. Normal, in fact. And there are people around who understand. Who are only a floo call away. Closer if you let them be.“

Harry swallows around the lump in his throat “I know. Likewise Ron”

Ron stares at him for what feels like ages, before replying at last with an "Oh I know. I'm coming to you whether you want me to or not"

Harry smiles- to feel loved and needed... it was something incredible.

The door opens with a fierce bang, and Ginny (who else with that kind of entrance?) followed by a slightly shaky Hermione enter Harry's rest-room. This is the first time Hermione has managed to walk, rather than being wheeled, which causes Harry's new heart to soar. Ron gives a cheer. Hermione responds with a bow, though almost instantly stumbles.

Luckily, Ron is waiting for her with open arms. 

"I had it Ron" Hermione says crossly, looking up at him from her position in his arms

"I know. Just making sure" Ron grins at her, though his gaze softens as he stares into her eyes and they share a very, very private moment that makes Harry turn away uncomfortably.

Ginny is scowling at them "just one moment, that's all I wanted, without feeling like I was third-wheeling" She says crossly

"I wonder if this is how they felt with us last year," Harry says neutrally  

"Oh absolutely not. We were never this sappy"

THIS breaks Hermione's and Ron's moment. The sheer ridiculousness of that statement.

As they splutter their denial, Harry smiles something true. 

No, they would not be okay for a very long time. They had lost people and suffered greatly. But they would get there.

He was sure of it.

Far away at the entrance to the forest, a Ford Anglia’s engine hums. The vulnerable human would live, even if he seemed determined not to. The car reverses and travels down the worn path, as it had done a thousand times before. Hopefully, it wouldn’t have to do any more rescuing.

Even farther above, and in a separate world, a lonely god looks down at them all. And smiles.  They would do well, these humans.