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Chapter Text

(Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows; J. K. Rowling; p. 702)

Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and now Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth.

“Harry Potter,” he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the splitting fire. “The Boy Who Lived.”

None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting: everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting. Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear—

“NO!” A voice rang out like a thunderclap, and Harry nearly stumbled with the intensity of his horror as he recognised it.

It was Hermione.

Her disillusionment charm fizzled away into nothing as she staggered into place at his side. He stared at her, acutely feeling the terror roiling just under his skin. There was no warmth, no comfort in her presence, for he had come here to die.

“Go back!” Harry hissed at her, panicked and angry. “You can’t be here, you can’t—”

A cruel chuckle cut him off. Voldemort was shaking his head, a malevolent grin stretching across his horrific, serpentine face.

“The mudblood’s here too!” Bellatrix cackled. “Now you’ll both get to die!”

Hermione tugged at Harry’s hand, urging him away from Voldemort and his crowd of Death Eaters. “Please,” she whispered desperately. “Don’t do this, Harry, we can find another way! Please… please…”

But he stood in place, his heart beating thunderously with the force of his anticipation and fear.

Voldemort tilted his head to the side once more, that same curious look overtaking him. “Avada Kedavra,” he said softly, almost gently.

Hermione tried to tackle him out of the way, but she was too slow and the spell was too wide. It hit them both at the same time in a nauseous flood of green, and everything was gone.

He woke up, face down, on a hard surface. As his senses gradually returned to him, he noticed something.

He wasn’t alone.

It was oddly silent, though, and there was no movement from the faint presence a few feet away. It was like a fluctuation in the atmosphere, like a dent in the space around him.

He found himself feeling comforted by the thought that something else was here besides him, even as some strange intuition told him that he didn’t quite exist.

A long time later – or perhaps only seconds – something clicked into place. He must exist somehow, in some way, because he wasn’t alone, and he was lying on a solid, tangible surface.

He rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes.

After only a moment, he realised that there were glasses on his face, which was odd for some reason he couldn’t place. Why was it odd? His lips involuntarily twisted into a frown; he usually wore glasses, didn’t he?

He blinked, sat up, and looked to his right. On the ground, silent and unmoving, lay Hermione Granger.

Harry scrambled to his feet, awareness and clarity returning to him as he took in her prone form.

She was clad in the same clothes she’d been wearing that morning and the day before, through their siege on Gringotts and their return to Hogwarts – the hunt for the diadem and the battle itself. Stuck magically to the waist of her jeans was her beaded bag, the very item that had allowed them to survive for months on end in the wilderness. Her brown, curly hair was splayed out on the solid surface below her like a halo, and her face was slack with peace.

However, there was no movement. She was utterly still.

Not breathing.

Not alive.

A numb shock surged through his chest as he made the connection. No— no, no, no.

Harry collapsed to his knees at her side and wept, paying no heed to his surroundings or anything other than the dead body of his best friend.

Unbidden, a memory flooded his shattered mind, intense enough that it overtook his vision entirely.

Winter on the run certainly hadn’t been pleasant – especially now, when the air in the tent was bitter and freezing. He shuddered, gripping his mug tightly as he tried to bury himself deeper into his armchair.

“Harry?”

Hermione was leaning against the wall just outside the kitchen, a fond smile stretching across her face. Despite the hint of warmth that her smile stirred in his heart, he couldn’t find it within himself to respond.

She huffed and twirled her wand. He relaxed instantly; it was as if the cold had simply washed away. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Hermione sat down on the arm of his chair and leaned against him, trusting him to keep her stable. “Anytime,” she whispered, reaching down to gently pull the locket off and over his head. As she placed it on the table, he sagged back into the armchair, filled with a deep sense of relief. Hermione shrieked and tumbled onto his lap; in relaxing, he’d destabilised her position.

They stared at each other for a moment, frozen, before breaking down into breathless laughter.

“Sorry,” Harry managed once he’d regained some of his composure.

Hermione’s eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. “Nothing to be sorry for,” she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He stared at her, surprised by the casual gesture, but neither of them made an effort to move.

Carefully, hesitantly, he laid his arms down on her lap. He glanced at her apprehensively, afraid of her reaction, but she only smiled.

They stayed like that for some time.

The memory faded away, crackling apart like sparks jumping from a fire until there was nothing left except for the bitter charcoal dust of reality.

Harry stared down at her lifeless body, overcome with profound sorrow and guilt. “She— she shouldn’t have been here. I should have— I should have…” He paused, finding it difficult to speak. “I should have made sure I was alone when I went to face him,” he said to nobody. “Hermione, I… I…”

He broke down into heaving, shuddering sobs, yet he couldn’t look away from her still form.

Eventually, something in the distance sounded, pulling him out of his stricken haze. It was a pitiful noise – a soft thumping mixed with struggling and incoherent wailing. He tried to ignore it, but it only grew louder. He gave Hermione’s body one more tearful glance before he forced himself to his feet and turned towards the origin of the sound.

As Harry looked away from her for the first time, his surroundings seemed to come into existence before his eyes: a wide-open space of white with thick mist on the horizon. He recoiled as he laid eyes on the source of the noise. It was horrifying; a twisted, aberrant thing. A disfigured, flayed-looking baby. It seemed to have no muscle mass at all – just a pile of raw flesh and brittle bones. Unnervingly, besides Hermione’s body, it was the only other thing with any colour at all for as far as Harry could see.

Hesitantly, he stepped towards it.

“You cannot help.”

Harry whipped back around, hoping beyond hope – but no. Hermione’s body was still unmoving and silent.

Of course, he realised, that voice hadn’t sounded like Hermione at all. He slowly turned to face its source, frowning.

It was Dumbledore, striding towards him wearing simple robes of midnight blue. “Harry,” he said with a smile, arms outstretched wide. “You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us—”

He stopped abruptly, his eyes darting to the side.

Harry followed his gaze and swallowed heavily. Dumbledore had noticed Hermione.

“Oh dear,” Dumbledore murmured. “Oh, no, this won’t do at all.” The old wizard’s eyes filled with tears behind his half-moon spectacles. He approached Hermione’s body slowly, cautiously. “How did this happen, Harry?”

Harry looked away, not able to bear the sight of either of them. “I was meant to be alone in the forest, Professor,” he said, clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I left without telling anyone – I knew they would try to stop me. But… I must not have noticed her following me. Just before Voldemort was about to cast the killing curse, she interrupted. He hit us both. It’s my fault.”

Dumbledore sat down heavily on the surface below them, his whole body exuding sorrow. He didn’t say anything.

“It was supposed to be me.” Harry’s voice was hollow. “Only me. She wasn’t supposed to die for me. After how many we’d already lost…” His voice broke and he trailed off, glancing at Dumbledore. “Sir… why are you here?”

Dumbledore did not answer for some time. “I… I had come, Harry, to congratulate you,” he said finally. “With the destruction of Voldemort’s soul fragment within you, you’d be welcome to go back to the land of the living – to return to your friends and perhaps even put an end to Tom Riddle once and for all, free of the stain he left on you all those years ago. But now…” He sighed. “I do not know what to say, other than to apologise sincerely, though I know I do not deserve forgiveness or anything resembling it. Miss Granger, she did not deserve…”

“No, she didn’t,” Harry said coldly. For a moment, he was surprised at his tone, but that shock quickly shifted into sheer resolve. Pieces clicked into place and many things, previously hazy, made sense at once.

Dumbledore did not take offense from Harry’s sudden anger; he simply nodded softly. “I believe that I’ve hurt you enough. I will take my leave.”

As Dumbledore faded away into nothingness, Harry gritted his teeth. “You certainly have,” he muttered, quickly moving to kneel at Hermione’s side.

He took her clammy hand into his own and shut his eyes, remembering the warmth of her smile, the strength of her courage, and the brilliance of her mind. He should have noticed – should have stopped her. If only he’d been more aware, maybe he could have turned her away before the end. If he’d just— if he’d only—

Harry sighed heavily. He’d never hated himself as much as he did at that moment.

His thoughts drifted.

Inexplicably, he thought of the Invisibility Cloak and the way it covered them, hiding them in their times of need. He suddenly felt it draped across his shoulders, and wondered if it had been there the whole time. In that same moment, he also became aware of the presence of a ring on his finger and a wand strapped to his arm.

Harry frowned, wondering if they had been there the whole time, too.

It didn’t matter, because they were here now – all three.

Wand,

Stone,

Cloak.

Line,

Circle,

Triangle.

Power,

Grief,

Protection.

Harry clutched her hand desperately and focused on what he wanted to happen.

Dumbledore had promised he could go back if he chose, but it seemed there weren’t any second chances for Hermione.

That was unacceptable.

He felt an icy burning sensation on his shoulders, his right ring finger, and his arm. Not even a fraction of a second later, light exploded behind his eyelids.

For one breathless moment, Harry felt nothing – not pain, not warmth, not even his own heartbeat.

And then, sensation slammed into him like a tidal wave, overwhelming him with sharp, alarming clarity. 

There was a solid surface against his back, but he wasn’t lying down. He tried to move but found that he couldn’t; tight restraints held him in place.

Something else penetrated his senses: the taste of dark magic. The very air was suffused with it – twisting, oily, and revolting.

He shuddered, resisting the urge to throw up. His mind reeled as it struggled to comprehend what had just happened. Where was he? Where was Hermione?

“Robe me,” said a high, cold voice.

Dimly, Harry could hear someone sobbing and moaning in the background. “Please, Master,” came a whimpering voice, “my arm… my arm…!”

Harry gritted his teeth and forced his eyes back open.

He was tied up in a cemetery. A thin man had just stepped out of a massive cauldron, and he was staring at Harry with the oddest expression.

Harry knew who it was immediately. As long as he lived, he would never forget the horrible face of his worst enemy. It was whiter than a skull, with wide, red eyes and a flat nose with slits for nostrils. It was Voldemort.

“How… intriguing,” Voldemort said, eyes flashing as he peered intently at Harry. He looked to the side and snapped, “Wormtail! Robe me!”

Suddenly, Harry noticed the sobbing man on the floor. His stomach churned and his face paled with rage as he took in the sight of the man who had betrayed his parents.

Wormtail scrambled to his feet and shakily handed his master a robe. “My Lord,” he said, clutching his stump with agony, “I—”

Voldemort waved a hand dismissively as he dressed himself. He held his hands up to his face, turning them around in careful inspection, before he stuck one in his pocket and pulled out his wand. He caressed the wand gently, as if greeting a lover after a long time apart, and it let out a faint spray of green sparks.

Harry recoiled at the sight, disturbed beyond words. As he watched, he felt a sense of growing unease overlay his visceral disgust at what he had just seen. He would have to be stupid to not know where he was— when he was, but how could he possibly be here? What had he done?

Hermione’s voice rang through his mind, stiff with warning. “Bad things happen to wizards who mess with time, Harry.”

He had wanted to return with Hermione, and something… something had happened? Why couldn’t he remember? Could it have been the Hallows?

The moment their name formed in his mind, something incredible happened: he felt the weight of the Invisibility Cloak settle on his shoulders; he felt a ring twist into place on his right hand with cold, dark power; he felt the wand appear and burn brightly against the flesh of his right arm.

At the same time, Voldemort clutched his head, fell to his knees, and shuddered intensely.

“M-Master?” Wormtail whimpered.

Harry watched silently as the Dark Lord writhed, but inside, his mind was whirling. Had summoning the ring destroyed the Horcrux residing in it? Was Voldemort feeling the destruction of that part of his soul? Voldemort had never felt the death of his Horcruxes before – if he had, they never would’ve succeeded in taking out more than one. He would have moved all of them as soon as he realised they were at risk, and everything would have been lost.

Voldemort’s shaking cut out abruptly as he regained control of himself and got back to his feet.

“M-Master?” Wormtail tried again.

Voldemort flicked his wand and the rest of Wormtail’s already partially dismembered arm was separated violently from his body. “Enough,” Voldemort said as his servant screamed in agony. He glanced at Harry, a small frown twisting his hideous face. “Someone has been… foolish.”

Harry glared back at him.

The Dark Lord suddenly laughed. “I wonder who it was? Perhaps Lucius… yes, it would have been him, of course. No one else would know.”

Voldemort looked down at Wormtail, eyeing the arm still attached to his body, and Harry wondered what he was thinking. Would he call his followers again? He mentioned Lucius… did he suspect that the diary had been destroyed?

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort said after a moment, ignoring Wormtail’s continuous wailing. “The Boy-Who-Lived… what a presumptuous title. I was going to allow you to duel me before you died, but now… I think I’ll just kill you.”

Before he could make good on his promise, an ear-splitting crack rent the air not far from them. Voldemort looked up sharply. “Who…?”

Without warning, the ropes holding Harry to the gravestone vanished. He took advantage right away, rolling to the side and grabbing the wand stuck to his arm. He noted with no surprise that it was, indeed, the Elder Wand that he was holding.

Voldemort hissed angrily and swept his wand in a deliberate motion. A heavy, oppressive feeling settled on Harry’s shoulders, and he understood immediately that he would not be able to Apparate away. “Accio holly wand!” Harry shouted, snatching it out of the air as it hurtled towards him from Wormtail’s prone form. He quickly stuck the Elder Wand back to his arm and ducked as a bolt of malevolent green magic whizzed over his head. He couldn’t spare a moment, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he rejoiced at reuniting with his first wand, which had been snapped months prior.

“Protego!” Harry said, ready to ward off Voldemort’s next spell.

“Nagini! Come!” Voldemort hissed instead of casting.

Harry paled, knowing he had nothing capable of destroying the snake on hand.

“Confringo!” came a loud voice from behind Harry. He blinked, shocked beyond words as the curse shot over his shoulder, aimed unerringly for Voldemort’s face.

Harry chanced a look behind him, and his jaw dropped.

“Hermione?” he whispered.

She was standing right there, only a few metres behind him, alive, breathing, wand in hand, and with her beaded bag stuck to her waist like always. Her chest heaved with exertion and she met his eyes with a wild look full of desperation.

His heart skipped a beat.

Seeing her now, he could hardly believe his own memory of grieving her dead body only minutes ago. What the hell was going on?

He felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he wrestled down the surge of powerful emotion before it could overtake him. There was no time for that now.

Without a word, she rushed to his side and handed him the Sword of Gryffindor – which he hadn’t even noticed she’d been carrying before. Harry took it without hesitation, switching it around so he held his wand in his left hand and the sword in his right.

He looked back to Voldemort and saw that he was, unsurprisingly, no worse for wear. Hermione’s blasting curse hadn’t done anything at all. Voldemort’s face twisted as he considered the two of them.

Before he could attack them, Harry moved first. “Expelliarmus,” he said instinctively, stepping forward as a beam of red light erupted from the tip of his wand.

Voldemort promptly cast another killing curse. As expected, they met in the middle, clashing in the brilliant golden light show of Priori Incantatem.

“Hermione!” Harry yelled as Voldemort howled with rage. “Take the sword! You know what to do!” He tossed it back to her.

“Got it, Harry!” she called back as she snatched it out of the air. He turned back to face Voldemort, whose scream of rage was only getting louder as Harry’s disarming charm slowly overpowered him. Before long, shades erupted from Voldemort’s wand once more. Harry smiled sadly as he saw the shadowy forms of Cedric, his parents, and a few witches and wizards he couldn’t quite recognise appear.

The shade of Cedric floated close. “Hold on, Harry,” he said. His voice was distant and echoing, but still audible. Voldemort’s expression was just as shocked as it had been last time.

The shadowy form of James Potter drifted to his side. “When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments, but we will give you time… you must get to the Portkey, Harry. It will return you to Hogwarts. Do you understand?”

“Hold on,” Harry said firmly. “Please, as long as you can.” He gestured the hand not holding his wand towards where Hermione was running through the grass, not too far away. “We need time… it’s important…”

Lily nodded resolutely as she joined her husband at his side. “It’s more about you than us,” she said. “As long as you can maintain the connection, he’ll be stuck.”

“Potter!” Voldemort yelled, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “What is the meaning of this?”

“That won’t be a problem,” Harry said, entirely ignoring Voldemort. “I can hold it.”

“Harry…” whispered Cedric. “Will you take my body back, please? To Hogwarts? To my parents, please…”

“Of course.”

Hermione made a loud, triumphant noise and swung the sword in a graceful arc. Harry’s eyes lit up with delight as he watched a black cloud of smoke rise from the corpse of Voldemort’s beloved familiar.

Voldemort screamed again in truly terrific and impotent rage. Not a moment later, the connection between their wands shattered.

Harry swore loudly. “HERMIONE!” he bellowed as the shades all crowded the Dark Lord. “NOW!”

When he saw that she was running towards him, he concentrated his willpower and flicked his wand twice. “Accio Cedric’s body! Accio cup!”

“Accio Peter Pettigrew!” Hermione yelled shrilly as she slammed into him. Not a moment later, Cedric’s body, Peter Pettigrew, and the Triwizard Cup collided with them one after the other, and they all vanished from the cemetery in a multicolour swirl of magic.

Everything was silent for a long, tense moment before Voldemort unleashed a massive, uncontrolled blast of magic, obliterating everything within thirty metres of him.

“POTTER!”

They tumbled into the grass of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch with bruising force.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, rolling away.

Hermione was quicker to come to her senses, hopping to her feet almost right away. “Incarcerous!” she incanted, pointing her wand at Pettigrew. “Stupefy!”

Hearing her cast those spells was like having a bucket of ice water dumped over his head, shocking him to full alertness immediately. Harry hastily stood, eyes darting around until they landed on the impostor in their midst who was quickly approaching. Harry whipped his wand out. “Accio wooden leg!”

As the fake Moody’s leg soared through the air towards them, everything else penetrated his senses. There was panicked shouting and screaming from the stands, and the few people who were approaching were all yelling.

Harry paid them no heed, though. He only had eyes for Barty Crouch Junior. “Levicorpus,” he said. “Stupefy!” As unbalanced as he’d been from the sudden absence of his leg, Crouch quickly fell victim to Harry’s spells, hanging in the air unconscious.

“What is the meaning of this?” came the outraged voice of Cornelius Fudge as he took in the scene.

“Miss Granger, Harry,” Dumbledore said faintly as he came to a stop in front of them, looking them up and down with an expression of complete and utter befuddlement. “What on Earth…?”

Harry glanced down at Cedric’s body and his composure finally broke as long-suppressed memories threatened to overwhelm him. “I’m sorry, Professor,” he choked out, gesturing to Cedric. “I couldn’t… He’s…”

A sudden wailing came from Cedric’s side and Harry felt his heart drop into his throat. Cedric’s father had arrived.

Hermione came up behind Harry and put a hand on his back. “It’s okay, Harry,” she whispered. “We’re going to be fine.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard. His chest felt tight, his breath unsteady. He wanted – just for a second – to fall apart after this nightmare of a day. He was running on fumes, now. Robbing Gringotts, infiltrating Hogwarts, dying, and now this? Hermione, dead – Hermione, alive? Just as the emotional whiplash started to become unbearable, she started rubbing small, comforting circles on his back, and he relaxed just enough to stave off the impending breakdown.

“Peter Pettigrew? But— but— Sirius Black—” Fudge exclaimed, and Harry’s head snapped up.

He turned to face the Minister, rage bubbling beneath the surface of his skin as he recalled everything the idiot man had done to him over the years. “Do you still believe we were Confunded?” he said in a low, dangerous voice, looking the man directly in the eyes.

Fudge pointed right at Harry, shaking. “It’s you, Potter, I don’t know what you’ve done, but…! But…!” His eyes darted around frantically, looking everywhere but at Harry.

Harry’s fury continued to build. “What the hell are you on about now?” he demanded. “Look at what’s become of your mess! Peter Pettigrew alive, just like we told you a year ago!” His voice continued to rise as he spoke. “Cedric Diggory dead from the Triwizard Tournament, a Ministry-sponsored event! The cup portkeyed us off the grounds, right to Pettigrew who killed Cedric outright! Where were the protections?”

Fudge’s shaking had turned into outright trembling.

Dumbledore put a calming hand on Harry’s shoulder, which Harry pushed off, frowning. “He’s back, Professor,” he said. “He’s back.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened.

Harry looked around exhaustedly, taking in the chaos. Wizards and witches ran amok – students from the stands made a mad stampede back to the castle, and the tournament staff didn’t seem to have a clue what to do.

“I must ask, Harry,” Dumbledore said after a moment, gesturing towards the fake Moody, “why did you apprehend Alastor?”

“That’s not Moody,” Harry said simply.

Dumbledore met his eyes briefly before glancing at Hermione, who nodded sharply in response.

Moody’s skin started to bubble. Somebody gasped once the potion had worn off entirely: “That’s Barty Crouch Junior!”

“Mr. Potter! Miss Granger! Oh dear…” It was McGonagall. “We really must get the two of you to the hospital wing! I’m sure Poppy will be able to get you both back to normal. Perhaps a counter-aging potion is in order as well…”

Harry shook his head. “I’m sorry, Professor, we have work to do,” he said, gesturing towards Pettigrew.

McGonagall looked worried, but Harry could tell that she agreed – at least about his presence being necessary. “Surely Miss Granger…”

Hermione cut her off. “No,” she said curtly.

McGonagall sighed but moved around them to kneel next to Mr. Diggory.

Harry exchanged a weary look with Hermione as she sidled up next to him. “We have a lot to talk about,” she whispered.

“I know,” he whispered back, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. “I know. I’m just… so glad you’re here with me.”

She cocked her head to the side, puzzled. “Where else would I be?”

Fudge cleared his throat. “A team of Aurors will be arriving soon,” he said, trying and failing to appear composed. “Best get these criminals into the castle.”

It didn’t take long for the cavalry to arrive, and things were tied up quickly. Harry and Hermione soon found themselves trailing silently behind the procession of Aurors and professors as they marched through the entrance hall, up to the third floor.

“I feel like I’m living in a dream,” she murmured as they walked.

Harry shook his head subtly. “I don’t think so.”

“How do you know?”

He grimaced and held out his hand with the resurrection stone ring.

Hermione’s breath hitched and her expression went very, very stiff as her eyes locked on to it. “No…” she whispered. “All three?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t dare say anything more, not with their present company.

Barely a minute later, they all filed into an empty classroom. Aurors took posts against the walls in even intervals, McGonagall conjured chairs, and Dumbledore directed the prisoners to be seated and tied up.

Pettigrew stirred.

Harry’s wand was out before the traitor could even open his eyes. “Stupefy,” he said, and Pettigrew went slack again.

Everyone stared at Harry except for Hermione.

“He’s an animagus,” Hermione explained calmly. “If allowed to become fully conscious, he would try to escape right away.”

For once, Fudge seemed to agree. He turned to the Auror standing closest to the door. “Fetch Amelia, please, and my guards.”

The Auror left promptly.

The room remained in tense silence until he returned with a woman and two dementors. The woman looked familiar, though Harry couldn’t quite place where he’d seen her before. She had a stern air about her, similar to the way Professor McGonagall held herself, but she was younger and dressed distinctly – wearing a monocle and robes bearing the sigil of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Harry surged to action. “Expecto Patronum!” Prongs burst from his wand, trampling down both dementors before they could get anywhere near the prisoners. An otter quickly joined his stag, and he smiled warmly at Hermione, silently thanking her for her support.

“What is the meaning of this?” the woman demanded as she recovered from the sight of two corporeal patronuses. Fudge looked similarly outraged.

“You can’t have them Kissed,” Harry said firmly. Dumbledore stepped up behind him in a silent show of support. “Not yet, not until they’ve been properly questioned.”

Fudge’s outrage only grew, but the woman silenced him with a glare. “They would not have been Kissed, Mr. Potter,” she insisted. “The dementors are merely here as an intimidation tactic for dangerous criminals. We have a high-profile murder at a Ministry-sponsored event on our hands – their use is only standard procedure.”

Harry eyed Pettigrew and Crouch doubtfully, remembering what had happened the first time around. “We can’t risk it, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s too important. He is back. It must be known. They have to be questioned.” He turned to face Dumbledore. “Could you ask Snape to bring some Veritaserum?”

Dumbledore conjured his patronus and whispered a message to it.

Fudge seemed to finally find his voice. “How dare you!” he exclaimed. “Why, I never! Interrupting Ministry procedure, attacking our protectors, and you claim You-Know-Who is back? Preposterous, preposterous! I’ll have you charged for this, boy! Completely delusional!”

Contrary to Fudge’s wild exclamations, the woman only eyed Harry consideringly. “Mr. Potter… You are Harry Potter, correct?” she asked, glancing at Dumbledore, who nodded. “I understand your concerns. These are extraordinary circumstances, so just this once, the dementors will be dismissed.” She waved to the Auror who had brought her in, and watched with grim satisfaction as the dementors were led away. “My name is Amelia Bones, and I am the head of the DMLE. Despite what some may think,” she gave Fudge another stern glare, “I am leading this investigation. Once your professor arrives with the Veritaserum, we will begin our questioning. After it concludes, I will require each of you to submit memories of the ordeal for processing. Is that acceptable?”

“Amelia, you can’t—” Fudge tried to speak, but she interrupted him once more with a raised hand before turning back to Harry for his response.

“Yes.”

Much of the tension in the room dissipated at once, and chatter slowly picked up as Madam Bones engaged the Minister in a heated discussion and Aurors started prowling the room, casting all sorts of charms around the prisoners and the entrance.

Harry tapped Dumbledore on the shoulder. “Hermione and I need to talk,” he said quietly. “We’ll be silenced. When Snape arrives, please ensure that they are questioned appropriately and thoroughly.”

Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow at Harry.

“I know you would have anyway,” Harry said, looking away a bit sheepishly, “I just thought it needed to be said.”

“You’ve done good work tonight, my dear boy,” Dumbledore said softly. “I daresay Sirius is about to go free. However, there is much to discuss…” He trailed off, giving Harry’s body a once-over and raising an eyebrow again.

Harry sighed.

Sensing that their conversation was over, Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged him off to the side of the room. “Muffliato!” she said, twirling her wand in the odd looping and zagging motion that the charm required.

“Hermione, I…”

He was interrupted as she threw herself at him in a desperate hug, which he returned with equal intensity. “Why, Harry?” she sobbed. “Why did you go into the forest by yourself? You didn’t even say goodbye!”

Harry was trying very hard not to cry, now. “I… I was a Horcrux, Hermione,” he said softly. “It was the only way.”

Hermione drew back a bit so she could look him in the eyes. “It was not!” she insisted. “There’s always another way! We could’ve done something, dealt with it together! Please, Harry, promise me you won’t do it again. Promise!”

“I’m not a Horcrux anymore,” he assured her. “Well, I don’t think I am, at least. My scar didn’t hurt at all, even though he was right there in the cemetery.”

She seemed to accept that, and they stood in silence for a long stretch of time, simply drawing comfort from their embrace.

“How are we here?” Hermione murmured into his chest.

“You died,” he said after a moment. “And so did I? Kind of? I woke up in this strange, white place, and you were there too – but it wasn’t really you, just—” He paused, swallowing heavily. “Just your dead body. Dumbledore came, said I could go back, but… I couldn’t. I couldn’t go back, not without you. And then, something happened? It’s fuzzy now, but I know it has something to do with the Hallows. Something happened, and I woke up tied to a headstone in the cemetery.”

Harry felt something wet his shoulder, and he realised with shock that she was crying. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

He hugged her tighter, cutting off her self-recrimination. “It’s my fault, not yours,” he insisted quietly, his voice muffled by her hair.

“I woke up in the stands, right next to Ron,” she said after a time. “God, he looked so small. I knew where I was right away, though. I never forgot that night, and I never will. I went to Dumbledore immediately and told him to get me the sword. He knew something was happening and let Fawkes take me outside the wards. I Apparated right to the cemetery – I knew you’d be there.” She looked back up at him, and although she had stopped crying, her eyes were still glistening, threatening to overflow with tears again. “This is all so weird! It makes no sense. If we’d just gone back in time, you’d think we’d either appear separate to our younger selves, like how time-turners work, or maybe we’d just overwrite their memories, but look at me! Merlin, look at you! We both still look like we did yesterday, and there’s no younger selves to be seen!” She paused, gulping. “Do you think we replaced them?”

Harry realised with intense surprise that she was correct. Even though they were back in the past, she was still eighteen and he was still seventeen. He didn’t notice it before – with all the madness, it hadn’t occurred to him in the first place that they should have looked different. But, she was right. If he had taken the place of his younger self, it was quite odd that he didn’t look like he was fourteen. “Bloody hell,” he said. “This is a mess.”

Hermione giggled wetly. “I’d say we’ve done a good job so far,” she countered, reaching up to run a hand through his messy hair. “Pettigrew and Crouch, captured. Nagini, dead. The Horcrux in you, gone.” She glanced down at the ring on his finger. “The ring is clean too, isn’t it? We’re in such a good position now! We can fetch the diadem tonight and deal with the locket at Grimmauld tomorrow. The only issue is the cup, I suppose.”

He grimaced. “I really don’t want to have to break into Gringotts again.”

“We’ll figure something out,” she said with a smile.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Fuck, Sirius is alive. You’re alive,” he exclaimed breathlessly. “They’re all alive! Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin, Dobby, Hedwig, everyone!”

Hermione squeezed him tighter. “We’ll make sure they stay that way.”

They stood together and silently revelled in their joy for another long minute before Hermione reluctantly pulled back and dispelled the privacy charm.

Sound slammed into them; Pettigrew was speaking. His voice was a dull monotone, the tell-tale sign of Veritaserum in action.

“—secret keeper. Initially, they wanted Black, but he insisted that he was too obvious. With Lupin abroad, I was the second choice. It was perfect. As soon as they cast the charm, I went right to the Dark Lord and revealed the secret to him. Unfortunately, Black was quick to realise what had happened. A few days after Halloween, he cornered me on a street in Muggle London. I knew that it was the perfect opportunity to frame him…”

Pettigrew continued to explain, in excruciating and sometimes horrifying detail, how he’d framed Sirius and where he’d been since.

Madam Bones’ eyes progressively widened with each sentence to the point where it was a small miracle that her monocle hadn’t fallen to the ground. In contrast, Fudge’s expression was a pasty white.

Harry grinned viciously, exceedingly glad that the bumbling idiot was finally realising how much he’d fucked up the year before. “Confunded, my arse,” he muttered.

Hermione smothered a snort.

The Veritaserum eventually expired, and Pettigrew was promptly stunned. He’d given enough testimony to both free Sirius and verify Harry’s claims about what happened in the cemetery.

Snape moved towards Crouch and placed three drops of potion on the unconscious man’s tongue. “Rennervate,” he said, and Crouch jolted awake. The potion’s influence was immediately clear, as he didn’t even try to struggle against his bonds.

Madam Bones stepped forward and Snape stepped back. “What is your name?”

“Bartemius Crouch Junior.”

“How did you escape Azkaban?”

“My father replaced me with my dying mother and kept me under the Imperius in our family home.”

“Explain how you got free.”

“My father was distracted during the attack on the Quidditch World Cup, and I broke free from the curse…”

The man continued, going into depth about casting the Dark Mark, escaping to find Voldemort, and his whole plan around the Triwizard Tournament.

“Incompetent, the lot of you,” Crouch said dully. “The boy was clearly entered into the tournament against his will. It was honestly surprising to see so little investigation into the matter. It certainly made my job easier.”

Harry frowned.

Questions were asked one after the other until the potion finally wore off and Crouch was incapacitated.

Madam Bones turned to Harry, conjuring two small vials. “If you could provide the memories now, it would be much appreciated.”

Harry took them both and handed one to Hermione. He put his wand up to his temple, concentrated, and extracted the memory, starting from when he’d awakened in the cemetery. Once he’d finished, he handed the vial back. Hermione was quick to do the same, holding out her memory only a split-second after him.

Madam Bones took them and capped them before placing them in her robes.

McGonagall appeared behind them. “Hospital wing, now,” she insisted.

Harry looked to Hermione, who nodded. The message was clear: they’d done enough.

McGonagall led them down the hall without another word, and Harry finally allowed himself to fully relax.

Their work was finished for the night, and they were safe.

Chapter Text

Harry jolted awake from a particularly harrowing nightmare, but its substance slipped through his fingers, and he soon found himself unable to remember anything about it at all.

Ignoring the racing of his heart, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair before opening his eyes to take in his surroundings. The hospital wing was bright with the shine of the rising sun, if still a bit sterile. He allowed himself to relax somewhat, taking comfort in their apparent safety – something that hadn’t felt guaranteed for months on end, no matter how many wards they’d put up around their tent.

Then, he noticed the soft pressure against his whole left side. He looked over and blinked; it was Hermione, cuddling into his side and clutching his arm like it was a body pillow. She must have crawled into his bed sometime in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t unusual behavior.

In the months that Ron had been gone from the tent, they had often spent their nights together. It wasn’t anything romantic or sexual, just a mutual assurance of safety and comfort in their lonely and dangerous world. Often, it was even a necessity as the biting winter cold infiltrated their refuge.

It had stopped once Ron returned, as neither was willing to risk driving him away once more. Harry had seen what the locket Horcrux had shown when it turned its attention to Ron, and seeing the two of them together in bed would certainly have set him off.

Harry refocused on Hermione’s face, admiring the adorable way her frizzy curls framed her sleeping visage and marveling at the simple fact that she was alive and breathing. He wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself that he’d missed seeing the way she looked in this state.

Mentally shaking himself out of his trance, Harry reached out his arm and plucked his wand from the bedside table. He flicked it, whispering, “Accio glasses.” His glasses promptly flew from wherever they had been lying directly into his waiting hand. 

Once his glasses were on, Harry barely managed to keep himself from jerking in surprise as his surroundings came into focus – Ron was asleep in a chair only a few meters away from their bed.

He threw up an imperturbable charm around the bed. “Hermione,” he said softly, pushing himself up a bit so he could look down at her sleeping form. “Come on, Hermione, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

“Mmm… five more minutes, Harry,” she mumbled, reaching out blindly for his arm that he’d partially pulled away in the process of sitting up. “I’ll set an alarm, just lay back down…”

Harry ran a finger down her arm and watched, amused, as she shivered, trying to ignore the sensation. He chuckled at the disgruntled expression that passed over her face.

“No, Harry,” she complained, trying to bury her head into the real pillow.

“Want me to spray water in your face? I’ve got a mean Aguamenti.”

Hermione shot up into a sitting position immediately. “You wouldn’t dare!” she exclaimed, jabbing a finger into his chest.

He twirled his wand around his fingers and gave her a lopsided smile. “Wanna bet?”

“Ugh!” She flopped back down onto the bed.

Harry chuckled again and heaved himself out of bed. “Could you summon me a change of clothes out of the bag? This stuff is honestly disgusting at this point.” He gestured towards his grimy jumper and trousers.

Hermione groaned but obligingly got up and snatched her bag from the table next to her.

A few minutes later, Harry dispelled their conjured privacy screens and sighed with relief at the simple comfort of clean clothes. “Accio Harry’s gross, disgusting, and totally yucky clothes,” Hermione said with a grin.

He watched, astonished, as his dirty clothes flew right into her bag. “There’s no way that actually worked,” he managed before breaking down into laughter.

She quickly joined him, and as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, he couldn’t help but notice the way the skin around her eyes crinkled with her mirth. He found himself amazed just by how completely carefree she looked in that moment and a warm feeling flooded through his body, making his stomach flip and his fingers tingle.

He reveled in the feeling despite not fully understanding it. It entwined with his genuine amusement and blossomed into a sense of pure elation that he’d never felt before.

“Thanks,” he said, once they’d both mostly regained their composure. “I think I needed that.”

“Me too,” Hermione said, smiling widely. “I know the last few months haven’t been the easiest for either of us, so I’m glad you’re feeling comfortable enough to laugh again – Merlin knows it’s the same for me.” Her smile faded into something sincere yet insistent. “Really, Harry, it makes me happy to see you like this. It’s been too long…”

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. “I feel the same. It’s such a relief to be safe again. No more scrounging for mushrooms; no more miserable sleepless nights in the middle of nowhere. Mostly, I’m just glad you’re here with me. If… if…” He trailed off awkwardly, his throat closing involuntarily as he remembered the feel of her cold, clammy hands and the sight of her still, lifeless form splayed out on the indistinct floor of wherever they’d been. Had it really only been yesterday?

“Oh, Harry…” She encased him in a warm hug, and he relaxed.

They sat back down on the bed and planned for a bit. To start, they’d go for the diadem, since it was hidden in Hogwarts anyway. After that, it would be easy to sneak out and find Sirius in Hogsmeade – as the head of the House of Black, he held the answer to them getting access to at least the locket, and potentially even the cup depending on how Gringotts handled vault access. Bellatrix had once been a Black, after all.

Once the Horcruxes were all gone… Well, that was a bit more uncertain, but they’d need to get Voldemort himself out of the way quickly, before he decided to make any more of them.

“Where’s the Cloak, Harry?” Hermione eventually asked as they discussed ways to hide.

Harry focused on the feeling of the Invisibility Cloak, and his skin prickled as a weight promptly settled over his shoulders, the cool, familiar fabric slipping into place like it had always been there. “I’m still not sure how that happened,” he admitted, looking at it in wonder.

She stared at him, deeply worried. “You have all three, right?”

He caught her look, and his awe fell away. “Yes.”

“It’s just…” Hermione hesitated. “They’ve never been united before in all of history, as far as we know. I suppose I’m just worried about what it might do to you… what it’s already doing to you. You were never able to summon the Cloak like that before, Harry.”

Harry looked away, uncertain about what to say.

“Just promise me, when this is all over, we’ll look into it. Let’s make sure they won’t hurt you,” she said firmly.

He exhaled heavily. “They’re the only reason you’re not dead right now,” he said, looking back over to her. “It’s not like it was just me that brought us back in time – that sort of magic is beyond any individual.”

Hermione put a hand on his arm. “That’s exactly my point. We need to know what it means for you.”

Harry looked back at the Invisibility Cloak, uncertain, but relented after a few seconds with a sigh. “Okay, I understand. We’ll look into it, I promise.”

She sighed in relief. “Alright, then. Ready?”

He nodded and drew the Cloak over both of them. As they made to exit the hospital wing, they both glanced back at Ron, who was still fast asleep, snoring on the chair next to their now vacant bed.

“We’ll talk to him later,” Harry decided. There wasn’t any time for that now.

Hermione pulled out the Marauder’s Map. “Of course.”

They left without another word, heading straight for the seventh floor.

The Room of Requirement was just as cluttered and confusing as they remembered. Massive piles of lost and hidden things towered over them, consisting of anything from discarded robes to dangerous dark artefacts.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to find the diadem. There was one brief distraction when they stumbled across the vanishing cabinet, but Hermione was quick to obliterate it with a dozen back-to-back blasting curses. Moments later, it was in hundreds of pieces, scattered all over the room thanks to her gratuitous application of banishing charms.

Once the dust settled, Harry looked at all the rubble around them and raised an eyebrow at her.

“What?” Hermione asked innocently.

Harry just shook his head and tried to hide his grin. He wasn’t very successful.

The diadem was resting just where it was the first time he’d seen it – inside of the cabinet he’d initially chosen to hide Snape’s potions book. Harry placed it on the ground and took the Sword of Gryffindor from Hermione.

One swing later, the diadem was split in two and spewing black smoke.

“Well, that’s another one down,” he said as he handed the sword back.

She dropped the sword back into the bag. “Two to go!”

Harry picked up the destroyed relic and inspected it curiously. “Such a waste, honestly,” he muttered, dropping it into the bag. “Time to go see Sirius. Could you hand me the map?”

With both the Invisibility Cloak and the Map at their disposal, it was absurdly easy to sneak out of the castle. Only half an hour passed before they emerged from the Honeydukes cellar.

Harry smiled mischievously and barely glanced at Hermione before Apparating them away without warning.

They landed in front of Sirius’s cave with an ear-splitting crack.

“Harry James Potter!” Hermione shrieked. 

He laughed uproariously as she shoved him away, knocking the Cloak off them in the process.

She stomped her foot and huffed. “If I throw up on you, you’ll be the one cleaning it up! You better not have splinched so much as a fingernail off either of us!”

Harry shook his head, still grinning despite her words. “I’m perfectly capable of a decent scouring charm, Hermione, and you know I’d never splinch you.”

There was a manic glint in her eyes. “You’ll need a scouring charm when I’m done with you,” she informed him primly.

He just rolled his eyes and tugged her onwards even as she continued sputtering half-hearted threats promising violent retribution.

Loud, warning barks came from the cave as they approached. Harry felt a lump form in his throat, his mood falling as it finally sunk in just who he was about to see again. He was not ready for this, but there wasn’t much of a choice.

“It’s me, Harry!” he called out.

“And Hermione!”

The barking paused, and they took that as their cue to enter. They ducked through the entrance and Harry found himself immediately smothered in a hug from his godfather.

He struggled not to cry as Sirius pulled back. “Merlin, Harry,” he rasped. “What happened to you? It’s only been a couple months!”

Harry offered Sirius a tremulous smile before he gave in and wrapped him in another far more desperate hug, his body shaking as he tried to contain his emotions. Hermione put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he spent a good few minutes purging his grief in his godfather’s embrace.

When they eventually separated, Sirius looked far more worried. He looked at Hermione questioningly. “What’s going on?”

She stepped up next to Harry and wrapped an arm around his side, smiling up at him even as he looked away. “It’s a long story,” she admitted quietly, “but we don’t have all that much time.”

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry said suddenly, wiping away his tears. He smiled crookedly at Sirius. “It’s been a bit longer for us than it’s been for you – I’m seventeen now, Hermione’s eighteen. Time travel.”

Sirius opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“We died, I think,” Harry said when it became clear that Sirius wasn’t going to reply. “Do you know what Horcruxes are?”

All Sirius could do was nod.

“Well… I was one. We’d been on the run for around a year – me, Hermione, and Ron. We’d destroyed all of them except for his snake… and me. I found out I was one at the last minute, and, well… how do you destroy a Horcrux?”

“No…” Sirius breathed out, horrified.

“Hermione tried to stop me, but we both ended up dying instead. He did it himself. I’m not quite sure what happened in between, but somehow we’ve ended up back here, three years before it all happened.”

Silence pervaded the cave for a solid minute before Sirius managed to find something to say. “I wish I could deny it, Merlin, I do,” he said, sighing. “But… damn it, Harry, you look older. Fuck.” He looked away. “I assume you two came here for a reason, yeah? I know I’m not exactly the ideal choice to help,” he laughed derisively, gesturing to the general state of his body, “so why did you seek me out so soon?”

Harry frowned. “Sirius, I… I love you, and I wanted to see you. I can’t deny that, yes, we do urgently need your help, but it’s not just that. I’ve missed you.”

Sirius looked lost for words again. “You missed me? Did I…”

“A year from now,” Hermione said sadly.

“Fuck,” he said emphatically. “Fuck.”

Silence stretched out between them again. Harry desperately wanted to break it, but he couldn’t find the words.

Finally, Sirius spoke again. “What can I do for you? There’s got to be something.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a sad look. “We need Kreacher to give us something,” Harry said. “There’s a Horcrux at Twelve Grimmauld Place, and he should know exactly where it is.”

Sirius’s expression was one of pure, unadulterated horror, but he complied. “Kreacher!”

The air twisted violently as the old house elf appeared in the cave. “No! No! Kreacher won’t! Kreacher won’t! Useless traitor master, defiler of the House of Black calls, and Kreacher will not obey!”

“Kreacher, stop!” Sirius said sharply.

Kreacher stilled immediately, but he looked mutinous.

Hermione was frowning, but Harry stepped forward and knelt down in front of the elf. “We can help you complete Regulus’s last order,” he said softly. “If you bring it here, we’ll destroy it.”

Kreacher looked conflicted, clearly torn between the prospect of fulfilling his final order to his beloved master and the horrid idea of listening to anything Harry had to say. After a long, tense moment, he slowly turned to look up at Sirius, who appeared to be even more shocked after hearing his late brother’s name. “Er, yes, bring it,” he said.

Kreacher promptly popped away. 

“What the hell?” Sirius said. “What’s Regulus got to do with any of this?”

“His last act was to steal one of his Horcruxes. He tasked Kreacher with destroying it, but they are immensely resilient,” Harry said solemnly. “I imagine it did more damage to Kreacher than Kreacher did to it.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, lost for words.

“We’re sorry to spring all this on you, Sirius,” Hermione said hesitantly, “but there’s still much to do and not much time in which to do it. Thank you for your help.”

“Of course,” he said quickly. “Anything. I already owe the two of you more than I can ever repay, and there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for Harry regardless, so what’s a bit of emotional whiplash? I’ll be fine.”

Kreacher popped back into the cave, the locket held delicately in his worn, wrinkled hands.

Harry nodded to Hermione, who opened her bag and summoned the sword. “Please lay it on the ground and back away,” he told the elf. “You too, Sirius.”

“I’ll count you down,” Hermione said as Kreacher and Sirius followed Harry’s instructions, her knuckles white with the intensity of her grip on the hilt.

“Ready.”

“Three… two… one—”

“Open,” Harry hissed, and Hermione brought down the sword. The locket clicked open, but before the illusory smoke could get even a few centimetres out into the air, the sword split it cleanly in half.

The cave was filled with the locket’s anguished screaming as it died.

Sirius and Kreacher stared at the still-smoking locket, naked shock plastered across their faces. Kreacher broke out of his trance first as he fell to his knees, wailing. “Master Regulus’s last order… Kreacher has finally fulfilled it…”

Harry crouched next to the elf and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Regulus would be proud of you, Kreacher. I won’t forget what you’ve done for us.”

Kreacher stared up at Harry in abject shock, completely speechless.

Harry turned to Hermione as she dropped the sword back into the bag, and he smiled widely, whispering, “One to go.”

She wrapped him in a desperate, giddy hug. “Just the cup!” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s the last one! I can’t believe it!”

“How many have you destroyed?” Sirius cut in.

“There were seven in total, so six. But, one of them was destroyed five – er, no, wait – two years ago,” Harry said.

“Bloody hell.”

Hermione stepped back out of the hug to look hopefully at Sirius. “The last one is in Gringotts, in Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault. We’d assumed that since you’re the head of the Black family, you’d have some sort of access or control over it?”

Sirius frowned. “Well, she’s a Lestrange, not a Black, but I suppose I could dissolve her marriage. That would get me access, since… wait, is the vault her personal one, or the one belonging to the whole Lestrange family?”

Harry grimaced. “It’s the family vault. Is that an issue?”

Sirius nodded grimly. “That’s out of my reach,” he confirmed.

“Kreacher can get it,” the elf said suddenly. All eyes swiveled to him, but instead of faltering, he stood straighter. “Mistress Bella never took Kreacher off the access list.”

Harry barely refrained from letting out some indistinct sound of disbelief. Things never went this cleanly for them.

Despite their incredible stroke of luck, Hermione looked uncomfortable. “I suppose…” she said hesitantly.

“He’ll be fine,” Sirius said, waving a careless hand. “Bella was always fond of Kreacher. I doubt anything in there would hurt him.”

Hermione pointedly ignored him, turning to Harry instead, who gave her a helpless sort of look. “I know it’s a bit risky for him, but how else are we going to get it? Do you really want to break in again?”

She looked away. “No…”

Sirius stared at them blankly. “Break in?” he said incredulously. “What?”

Harry laughed awkwardly. “Er… yeah…”

Sirius shook his head. “No. I don’t want to know. Bloody hell, Harry.” He paused, glancing over at Kreacher briefly before turning back to Harry. “What does the cup look like?”

“It’s a golden goblet with two handles and a badger engraved on each side,” Harry said. “Do not touch it until it’s out of the vault. Actually, don’t touch anything in there – it’s all covered with a gemino curse.”

Hermione conjured a large, white cloth and knelt down next to Kreacher. “Use this to handle it,” she said as she passed it to him. “It’s better not to touch it at all.”

He nodded and promptly popped away.

By the time Kreacher returned, the sun was high in the sky.

He appeared in the cave with a loud crack and immediately dropped the cup. Hermione gasped; he was covered in burns from head to foot, his breathing came in shallow gasps, and his pillowcase was singed to tatters, barely hanging onto his small frame. The white cloth Hermione had given him was nowhere to be seen.

“Kreacher slipped,” the elf groaned as he fell to the ground, trembling in pain. “Nasty curse… so much gold…”

“Oh, shit,” Sirius whispered, stricken. Despite his obvious dislike of Kreacher, the injuries he’d sustained were still nothing short of horrific.

Harry and Hermione were by his side in a flash. “Dittany?” Harry asked, and she nodded, quickly summoning it from her bag.

They got to work right away, treating Kreacher’s most severe burns. Eventually, they ran out of Dittany, and Harry helped the elf to his feet. “Can you take yourself to the Hogwarts hospital wing?” Hermione asked softly. “I’m sure Madam Pomfrey has plenty of burn salve on hand. Tell her Harry Potter and Hermione Granger sent you.”

“Kreacher can,” Kreacher croaked, glancing at Sirius, who nodded. He promptly disappeared with a thunderous crack.

Harry and Hermione both clutched their ears, cringing and stumbling back.

“He must’ve been in a lot of pain,” Sirius said quietly. “House elves are almost never that loud when they move about.”

“Madam Pomfrey will take care of him,” Harry said. “Most of his burns weren’t too intense.”

“I know we didn’t have much of a choice, but I wish we hadn’t sent him,” Hermione murmured.

Neither Harry nor Sirius knew what to say to that.

After a moment, she sighed and summoned the sword from her bag. “Well… we can’t let his pain go to waste. Let’s do this, Harry.”

Harry stared at Hufflepuff’s Cup, anticipation curdling in his gut. What they hadn’t accomplished in a full year on the run hadn’t even taken them a day with Sirius’ help. He glanced up at his godfather. “Want to do the honours?”

Sirius straightened. “I’ll give it a shot.”

Hermione passed him the sword, and he swung it a couple of times experimentally. “Beautiful sword.” Without further fanfare, he swung it down towards the cup.

There was no resistance. The Sword of Gryffindor cut through Hufflepuff’s Cup like it was made of butter, and the screaming shade of Lord Voldemort erupted from the pieces before fading away into blessed silence.

The sword clattered to the stone floor, its silver edge stained black with the oily, viscous remnants of dark magic.

“That was it,” Hermione said, staring at the shattered remains of the cup.

Harry sat down heavily on the ground, feeling like a great weight had been taken off his shoulders. “Bloody hell.”

Hermione sat down next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. “They’re all gone.” She pressed a hand over her mouth and swallowed hard. “It’s just him, now.”

Sirius carefully set the sword down next to her and sat across from them. “So… he can be killed?”

Harry just nodded.

“Thank you, Sirius,” Hermione said. “This would’ve been much more difficult without you and Kreacher.”

Sirius inclined his head. “How long did this take the two of you the first time around?”

“We were on the run for about a year, figuring this stuff out, but we only came back in time last night.”

Sirius exhaled, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. We spent a decade fighting him and got nowhere, and then the two of you, barely of age… Merlin. I’m certain that I speak for most of magical Britain when I say we’re grateful.”

The electrified sense of victory slowly faded, and they sat in comfortable silence for a good, long time, basking in their relief.

Harry was the one to break the silence, standing suddenly. “We should get back,” he said. “We’ve got to kill him quickly, before he can make any more of the nasty buggers.”

“We’ll be back with news soon enough,” Hermione added. “We didn’t tell you before because there were more pressing concerns, but Harry and I captured Pettigrew last night. Expect an exoneration before long.”

Sirius blinked owlishly at them until her words sunk in and his jaw dropped. “Bloody hell, Hermione,” he said. “I can’t thank the two of you enough.”

“That one’s mostly her,” Harry said, smiling at the woman in question. “She’s the one that summoned him clear across the cemetery before we portkeyed out. The Aurors have him – we were there when he was questioned last night. Rest assured, it won’t be covered up this time.”

“Harry and I will make sure of it,” Hermione added darkly.

“Thank you,” Sirius said, his voice raspy with emotion and his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them.

“We’ll be seeing you soon, Padfoot,” Harry said, turning away and holding out his arm for Hermione to take.

She linked her arm with his, and they promptly twisted away with the tell-tale crack of Apparition.

“Where do you think he’s hiding?” Harry asked.

Hermione made an indistinct noise, too wrapped up in her own head to pay attention to his question.

They were sitting in the Room of Requirement, which was configured into a replica of the Gryffindor common room, albeit smaller and with only one small sofa in front of the fireplace. They sat side-by-side, each staring pensively into the flames crackling away in the fireplace.

“Because, well… that’s the next step, isn’t it?” Harry continued. “We find him, kill him, and then it’s over.”

Hermione shook herself out of her thoughts and arched an eyebrow at him. He didn’t notice.

“But what can we do?” he said despairingly, slouching down into the sofa. When she didn’t answer him, he turned to look at her and blinked, surprised to find her already meeting his eyes.

She smiled at him fleetingly before sighing and laying her head on his shoulder. He was quick to bring up his arm and wrap it around her waist. “Come on, Harry,” she said quietly once they’d fully settled into their new position. “We’re so close. Have a bit more hope!”

Harry exhaled heavily. “Yeah, I know, I should.”

“I have something, actually.”

He sat up a bit but was careful not to dislodge her from his shoulder. “Really?”

“I was thinking, where would he go after the cemetery?” Hermione said, tapping her knee with one finger as she spoke. She angled her head up so she could look at him. “Last time, he called them all there using Pettigrew’s mark, right?”

“Yes.”

“He couldn’t do that this time,” she reminded him.

Harry considered that for a moment before an idea struck him like lightning. “Right, and he’d be eager, too…” He trailed off, trying to coherently frame his thoughts.

Hermione poked him in the side and he yelped, grabbing her offending hand. “Eager to do what?” she demanded, grinning at his reaction.

“He was in quite a bit of pain when I summoned the ring for the first time – he might’ve thought it was the diary being destroyed. After all, Bellatrix is still in Azkaban and none of the others are nearly as accessible to anyone. The diary is the obvious answer, and Malfoy had access to it.”

Hermione was nodding along. “And Malfoy has been building himself up for years in the Ministry – he’s got tons of gold and a big, well-protected manor. If he wanted to build his power base back up quickly without easy access to followers…”

“Malfoy would be the obvious choice,” Harry finished.

They sat in silence, dwelling on the revelation they’d just had.

There was still one issue, though. “How would we get to him?” he wondered out loud. “It’s like you said – a big, well-protected manor is quite safe, unfortunately.”

Hermione didn’t answer him, her brow furrowed.

Harry settled back into the couch and relaxed a bit, relishing in the comforting feeling of her curled up adorably against his side. He knew she’d tell him what she was thinking once she’d sorted it out herself.

Eventually, she did. “What about Dobby?”

Before he could even begin to process her sentence, a faint pop split the space in front of them and the very house elf they’d been speaking of appeared, clad head to toe in eye-watering colors that did not blend very well together.

Harry choked on nothing, wholly unprepared.

Dobby opened his mouth and paused, his bulbous eyes suddenly widened further, to the point where Harry was almost worried they would fall out. “Er, Harry Potter is looking older?” Dobby paused again, and glanced back and forth between Harry and Hermione rapidly, as if watching a professional tennis match. “Dobby is very confused!”

Harry tried to smile at his old friend. “I’m a bit confused myself, Dobby,” he said roughly, leaning forward and putting a hand on the elf’s bony shoulder. “But it’s all okay, really. Thank you for coming, I missed you.”

“We missed you,” Hermione corrected, tears glistening in her eyes.

Dobby seemed to be shaking. His eyes were gleaming brighter than Harry had ever seen, as if some deep emotion was surging forth and he was trying very hard to contain it. However, he quickly lost whatever internal battle he was facing and leapt forward, encasing both Harry and Hermione in a strong hug.

Harry briefly wondered how the little elf had managed to get his arms far enough around the two of them to hug, but that thought went out the window right away as he brought his unoccupied arm up to embrace his friend just as tightly.

“Never before has—” Dobby sniffed loudly, “has anyone ever missed Dobby!”

“We definitely have,” Harry assured him.

Dobby sniffled again but pulled back. Like a switch had been flipped, his enthusiasm returned. “You called Dobby. I is being here – does Harry Potter and his Grangy need help?”

Harry glanced at Hermione, an eyebrow raised. “Well, we do, I think,” she said. “Er… I suppose that depends on something. Can you still get into Malfoy Manor?”

Dobby frowned thoughtfully before disappearing with a pop. Harry swore loudly, but the elf reappeared moments later. “Yes, Harry Potter’s Grangy, Dobby can!”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, visibly exasperated. “Please be careful, Dobby,” she urged. “Vol— er, You-Know-Who might be there. I don’t want to imagine what might’ve happened if he’d seen you.”

Dobby paled considerably at that. “He Who Must Not Be Named is being there? He is being alive?”

She hesitated. “Well, we’re not quite sure. He is alive for certain, but we don’t know where he is – it’s just a very good guess. Um, can you make yourself invisible?”

He shook his head, his large ears flapping around with the motion.

“Don’t worry,” Harry told Hermione, summoning the Invisibility Cloak to his free hand. He looked Dobby squarely in the eyes, a large smile stretching across his face. “Dobby, you don’t have to do this, but if you’re open to the idea, it would be really helpful if you could put on my Invisibility Cloak and see if he is in the manor. We really need to know where he is.”

Dobby nodded resolutely. “Dobby will do it!” Without a moment’s hesitation, he snatched the Invisibility Cloak out of Harry’s hands and popped away.

A startled silence settled over the Room of Requirement.

“I didn’t mean right away!” Harry exclaimed.

“I hope he’ll be okay,” Hermione said, worrying her bottom lip. “We already got one house-elf injured today. I didn’t want to hurt another.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel.” He squeezed her a bit tighter. “It was a good idea, though, and he knows his way around the place. If anyone can get around undetected, he can.”

“He does have the Cloak,” she said, clearly trying to convince herself.

Dobby didn’t return for ten minutes, but when he did, it was with another faint pop and an exuberant grin. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak off and hopped up and down. “Dobby is feeling like a spy, Harry Potter! He Who Must Not Be Named is being there, sir, in the drawing room.”

“Thank you so much, Dobby,” Harry said quickly, relieved. “Er, did you see any other people there besides the Malfoys?”

Dobby nodded rapidly before rattling off a list of names, “Bad Master is being there, as is Mister Avery, Mister Goyle, Mister Crabbe, and Mister Macnair. Bad Master is looking like he is burned, sir.”

Harry nodded grimly, not surprised at all. Voldemort had not been happy.

“We need a plan, then,” Hermione said. “But that’s good. I thought there would be more.”

“Even more of a reason to act quickly,” Harry agreed. “He doesn’t have much support right now, but that will change as soon as he decides to raid Azkaban.”

“Raid Azkaban?” Dobby said anxiously.

Harry smiled at him. “Don’t worry, it’s not going to happen.”

“Not if we have anything to say about it,” Hermione added.

“Right, so, a plan.”

“Dobby can be getting you in,” Dobby said.

Harry gave him a high-five. “I think an ambush is in order,” he said.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Hermione agreed, looking deeply thoughtful. A few beats of silence passed before she suddenly gasped. Her eyes cleared and a wild, dangerous grin stretched across her face. “Harry, your wand!”

“My wand?” he repeated.

Her dark brown eyes sparkled as they met vibrant green. “How would you feel about me using your wand?”

The Elder Wand heated up excitedly on his arm and he understood her idea. A broad, anticipatory smile spread across his own face.

It was perfect.

Chapter Text

They spent several hours planning with Dobby and practicing magic, but eventually Harry reached his limit and dragged Hermione out of the Room of Requirement, ready for dinner.

“Kitchens?” Harry asked hopefully as the door vanished behind them.

“Of course,” Hermione said. “There’s no way we’re going to the Great Hall as we are.”

“Right,” he agreed, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over them.

They pressed close together to fit under it. “Let’s go,” she said into his ear.

The walk passed without incident as they used the Cloak and the Marauder’s Map together to ensure they remained hidden. They passed corridor after corridor of anxious students who were still talking about their exams even now, days after they’d taken them. They were still talking about exams, when just the day before, a student had died.

He pushed the thought away – they were just kids.

As he noticed Hermione rolling her eyes at one student who was loudly fretting about his Transfiguration practical, he leaned over and whispered, “What are you rolling your eyes about? If I recall correctly, every year after exams, without fail…”

She narrowed her eyes at him, as if daring him to finish his sentence.

Harry shot her a cheeky grin. “Come on, you know it’s true.”

Hermione huffed. “Well, not every year.”

He paused for a moment, his cheer fading away at the reminder of how their summer term usually ended. “Well, every year where nothing horrific happened.”

She threaded her hand through his and squeezed. “It’s okay, Harry. Everyone knows I’m a bit swotty.”

“Well, you’ve gotten a lot more fun over the years, Hermione,” he said honestly. Without thinking, he continued, “And besides, it’s kind of cute.”

Hermione ground to a halt, forcing him to stop as well lest he dislodge the Cloak. “What?” she said, utterly dumbfounded.

Harry swallowed and didn’t turn around to face her. It was too late now – any backtracking would only hurt her feelings and make him look more pathetic. Furthermore, he had meant it, even if he hadn’t exactly meant to voice it. So, he doubled down: “What? It’s true.”

She grabbed his shoulders and forcibly rotated him around so she could look him straight in the eyes and did so for an awkwardly long stretch of time. Her gaze was sharp and assessing – it felt almost like she was looking right through him.

A small smile slowly spread across her face. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he repeated, still caught up in her stare.

Hermione shrugged, trying to play it off, but her cheeks were stained pink. “I’ll accept your compliment,” she told him. “Now, let’s go before someone walks into us.” She paused. “You’re kind of cute, too, by the way.”

Without waiting for a response, she started marching forward again, and he stumbled, trying to keep up.

Harry was so busy replaying the moment in his mind that he didn’t notice when they finally reached the kitchens, and he nearly walked into Hermione when she stopped. He clenched his fists at his side, suddenly and irrationally nervous, but forced himself to calm down when she pulled out her wand and disillusioned herself so that she could tickle the pear. It giggled, and the door swung open.

They stepped inside, and Harry handed her the Invisibility Cloak so she could stuff it away. Before they could so much as look around, an eager-looking house elf was in front of them, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Can Mimsy be helping you?”

Harry crouched down so that he was at eye level with her. “Could we get some dinner, please? We’re not keen on visiting the Great Hall tonight, so it would honestly be a huge relief to eat here with the lot of you.”

Mimsy nodded vigorously, her long ears flapping. “Of course, Harry Potter sir. Mimsy will get on it right away!”

Harry stood back up and looked over to Hermione. She was smiling, but it was visibly strained. He put an arm around her shoulder and guided her over to the nearest table. “Sorry, Hermione,” he said as they sat down.

“No, don’t be sorry,” she protested. “I’m the one who agreed to come here… It’s just…”

“I’ll campaign with you,” Harry said suddenly, and her eyes shot up to meet his, naked shock written in their depths.

Hermione frowned at him. “Campaign?” All traces of her previous discomfort were gone. Instead, she stared at him piercingly, as though weighing his sincerity.

“For S.P.E.W. Though, I do think we should workshop the name,” he said lightly.

The frown slipped off her face with his confirmation, replaced by a dumbfounded look. “You— what? You’re serious? Really?” 

Harry took a moment to consider his words. “I hate slavery,” he said, his mind flashing back to frying pans swinging through the air and the overwhelming desperation he had felt as he slowly starved. “I hate slavery. So, in principle, I’m with you all the way. I just think we need to do some research first, to figure out how to properly approach the issue.”

Hermione’s eyes gleamed. “Research?”

He glanced at her, amused, and she blushed. “Yes, research,” he said. “Maybe you’re right about them being indoctrinated, maybe it’s something else, but it hardly makes sense that house elves were always bound to wizards—” He cut himself off as she shivered from head to toe. “Er, Hermione?”

“Yes?” she squeaked.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course,” she said quickly – too quickly.

Before he could question her further, the door to the kitchens swung open and slammed into the wall. They both jumped.

“Bloody hell!” came the voice of Ron Weasley as he stumbled through the entrance. His face was tight with frustration, and he waved an old piece of parchment at them angrily. As the door clicked shut behind him, Hermione went rigid in her seat. “I’ve been looking for you two all day after you left me alone in the hospital wing! Where’ve you been?”

If it was even possible, Hermione’s posture stiffened further.

Harry looked more closely at the parchment Ron held and felt his heart sink. It was the Marauder’s Map. A second Marauder’s Map.

He felt like slamming his head into the table as he realised how stupid he’d been. They’d brought the Map back in time with them, but it was hardly as unique as the Hallows – of course the version of it from this time would persist.

They should have stayed in the Room of Requirement.

“Well?” Ron demanded. “Say something!”

“What do you want me to say?” Harry said as he turned to face him. “I mean, look at us. We’re not even the same age anymore, Ron.”

“I want you to tell me what’s going on,” Ron said, his voice low as he stalked toward them. “Who cares if you two look a bit odd? We’ve seen and done all sorts of crazy shit. Just… Tell me the truth.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Hermione said curtly, staring at the far wall.

Harry sighed. “Hermione…”

“Don’t have time?” Ron’s eyebrows rapidly climbed up his forehead with his indignation. “Hermione—!”

She abruptly stood and spun around to glare at him. “No, Ronald. Don’t you ‘Hermione’ me! We genuinely do not have time for this right now!”

It was Harry’s turn to shoot out of his seat. “We’re not going anywhere until late tonight, and we already have a plan,” he told her firmly, grabbing her hand. “Come on, Hermione, he’s right. After everything we’ve all been through together, he deserves an explanation more than anyone.”

“Does he?” she whispered. “How can you say that, Harry? After he left us in that tent? How can you bear to even…?”

“Seriously? We forgave him for that months ago!”

Hermione paused, her expression wavering.

Ron exploded. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here! And what the hell are you talking about?”

Her anger snapped back into place. She yanked her hand away and took a menacing step towards Ron, fuming, but managed to put a lid on the worst of her temper at the last second. “Nothing,” was her curt response. “Nothing that you deserve to know, anyway.”

Harry exhaled heavily. “Come on, you two,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Just… stop, and communicate for once in your lives. Please.”

Hermione paused again, and conflicting emotions warred for dominance over her features. Ron seemed to hesitate fleetingly, but his anger won out. Despite his darkening look, though, he kept quiet.

“Hermione,” Harry said softly, moving into her personal space and grabbing her hand again. “You’re blaming him for something that hasn’t happened yet. Besides, you can’t tell me that this is really why you’re mad. I know that you know I’m right – like I said, we forgave him for that months ago.”

She stayed silent, keeping her gaze stubbornly averted.

He shook his head and looked over at Ron, who was eyeing them suspiciously. “We will tell you everything, Ron. I promise. We left this morning because there were a few things we urgently needed to do, which we will explain to you soon. Do you think you could meet us in the left seventh-floor corridor in about an hour? I think we all need to cool off before we really talk.”

Ron stared at him for a long time, his fingers gripping the Map so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His mouth opened, like he wanted to say something more, but in the end, he just nodded tiredly, his posture sagging.

“You’d better be there,” he warned before stalking out of the kitchens.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Hermione crumpled into Harry’s arms.

A hesitant, quivering voice reached his ears a moment later, “Is Harry Potter sir still needing Mimsy to be making him dinner?”

Harry barely stopped himself from swearing loudly as he suddenly registered the dozens of house elves who were all blatantly staring at them. “Er, yes, please. If it isn’t too much of a bother, could you take us to the Come and Go Room and bring the food there once it’s done?” he asked, recalling that the elves referred to the Room with a different name.

“Of course, Harry Potter, sir!”

Mimsy reached out to him, but he gestured for her to wait. “Also, I’m sorry for bringing that into your kitchen,” he said to the group of elves as a whole. “I never meant to cause a scene.”

“You is being forgiven!” a squeaky voice said from the back. Most of the other house elves nodded in agreement.

Harry felt himself relax ever-so-slightly and looked back down to Mimsy, who was smiling. He took her hand, and they twisted away to the seventh floor.

A minute later, Harry had recreated the same room they’d used for their planning, albeit with a table for their dinner, and Mimsy had popped back to the kitchen.

He settled down on the couch next to Hermione, and they sat in silence for a short time, staring into the fire.

“Want to tell me what that was actually about?”

“I hate him,” she whispered.

“No, you don’t.”

She sat motionless for some time before grudgingly admitting, “No, I don’t.”

Harry reached over and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side. “Then what was it?”

Hermione hesitated. “I… I’m not sure I want to talk about it, not yet.”

“Why?”

She squirmed around a bit, struggling to find a comfortable position, before finally laying her head on his shoulder and settling down. “I’m going to ruin everything,” she murmured. “I— I can’t lose you, Harry.”

He squeezed her a bit tighter. “You won’t,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I messed around with space-time for you, Hermione. Nothing you could possibly say would drive me away now.”

Hermione sighed again and sat silently for a moment. “It’s petty,” she admitted.

“It’s okay,” Harry told her. “Just talk it out.”

“Well, I guess I… I guess I’m really mad at him for interrupting.” She looked away, her cheeks flushing bright red, and hastened to explain, “He’s always getting in the way of what I want! He ruined the Yule Ball for me, he always belittles my interests, he— he just—”

Hermione stopped, exhaling shakily, and took a few deep breaths before forging on. “Then… he left, and I think I finally understood. It was never him. I was just… deluding myself, I guess. Distracting myself.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed as he considered her odd wording.

“And then, when I’m finally actually hearing everything I’ve ever wanted to hear from you – actual, genuine appreciation and support for my passions – he barges back in, demanding to know everything!”

Harry froze.

“He’s always demanding something, Harry. Always! I’m sick of it. He left, and we forgave him. I forgave him. I did. I just…” She hesitated again, and when she spoke next, her words came out in a whisper, “You were falling apart when he left, and I— I couldn’t. One of us had to keep going, and he left us to that – alone, cold, and starving in the woods. Yes, we forgave him. But, Harry, he always gets to make mistakes. We always forgive him, no matter how much it hurts. In fourth year, with the Goblet. Then, the tent. Where does it end? Where’s the line?”

Hermione stopped again, and Harry didn’t dare to so much as twitch a muscle. He just looked at her, some unnamed feeling stirring in his gut, and simply waited for her to continue.

“In the end, it’s always you and me,” she whispered. “It always has been. I’d never leave you like that. You’d never leave me like that.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat at her raw sincerity.

Hermione laughed humourlessly. “I’m just— I’m so tired of him thinking he can demand to be involved in any of this, not when we’re doing so well for ourselves. Not when you finally see me…” She trailed off, lifted her head off of his shoulder, and slowly met his gaze. “You literally broke the universe for me, Harry. I can’t even tell you how impossible it is for us to be here, but we are. After everything— everything we’ve done for each other, I’ll never settle for anything less. Anything else. Anyone else.”

Hermione’s eyes were blazing now, and he couldn’t look away.

“And I won’t let him get in the way of that,” she told him fiercely. “Never again.”

Harry stared at her, completely and utterly lost for words, and the truth made its way to the front of his brain, clamouring for attention like it never had before.

He’d known Hermione was pretty – he’d even told her once or twice. This, however, was different. How had he never seen it?

As he watched a raging fire of desperate emotion burn in her eyes, he realised with absolute certainty that she was beautiful.

Harry reached up to brush aside a curl of bushy hair that had somehow ended up across her face, and her eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

He didn’t pull his hand away, instead deciding to slowly trail it down her jaw.

She shivered.

He wanted to kiss her.

And so he did.

As their lips pressed together and she sighed in blissful relief, it felt like the most significant decision he’d made in his entire life, and it felt right.

It felt so, so right.

Hermione threaded one hand through his disheveled mop of hair and used her other to pull off his glasses. He moved one of his own hands to the small of her back and the other to the base of her neck, clutching her tightly as he leaned forward and angled her down, manoeuvering her so that he could support her upper body entirely as they lost themselves in each other.

They separated for just a moment, gasping for air, before diving back in. She parted her lips, he parted his own in return, and the kiss deepened.

It felt like he’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted, all at once.

“Harry,” she said breathily into his mouth.

He groaned into her lips, and she smiled against him.

When they eventually pulled apart, Harry found himself grinning madly as they rested their foreheads together. “So much for conflict resolution,” he murmured.

“Bugger conflict resolution,” she told him, and he was so shocked by the fact that she, Hermione Granger, had sworn out loud, that he couldn’t find it within himself to protest when she pressed her lips to his once more.

Twenty minutes later, they managed to gain some semblance of control over themselves and settled back onto the couch together, only this time Hermione had curled up in his lap with a soft smile stretching across her face. At some point while they’d been distracted, their food had arrived. And yet, neither had so much as glanced at the table, still far too preoccupied with each other.

“We should probably talk about this,” Harry said. He still had a goofy grin plastered to his face, and he felt like it wouldn’t fade for hours.

“We should,” Hermione agreed, her lips twisting into a faint smirk.

“Well, how about this,” he said dramatically. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

She smacked him on the shoulder. “Obviously, you dolt. Like I’d let you kiss me if I didn’t want that!”

Harry huffed out a laugh and clutched her tighter, leaning forward to lean his head against hers again. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he said.

Hermione looked lost for words as she stared into his eyes. “I love you,” she murmured, before freezing as she realised what she’d said.

He froze as well, shocked, but a warm, joyous feeling bubbled in his chest as he processed those three momentous words.

He refocused on her, and was dismayed to see that she had misunderstood his silence.

“Stupid, stupid,” she was saying. “Too early! Too early! Why did I say that?”

Harry put a finger up to her lips, silencing her. Hermione looked at him, wide-eyed and terrified, but there was nothing to be scared of.

“I love you, too,” he said, beaming.

Her face lit up, and she leaned in to softly press her lips to his again.

“How long?” she whispered once they’d pulled apart.

Harry immediately knew what she was asking. “At least a couple years, but I only realised it just now.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I’m an idiot.”

Hermione choked out a startled laugh. “I think it was the end of third year for me,” she said. “But I quickly figured out that you probably didn’t see me that way so I tried not to think about it for the longest time.” She paused. “Obviously, it didn’t work. The first hint of interest from you, and I went completely mental.”

“You’re not mental,” he protested.

She rolled her eyes, but she still seemed pleased with his instinctive defence of her sanity. “I definitely can be and you know it.”

Harry chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Okay, fine. You’re barmy – absolutely barking mad – but do you know what?”

“What?” she breathed.

“It’s adorable,” he murmured, before yelping as she spun around in his grip, tackled him into laying down on the couch, and started pressing kisses all over his face and neck.

She sat up suddenly. “You’re adorable!” she proclaimed, pointing straight at him. He went cross-eyed, staring at the offending digit hovering a few centimetres from his nose.

They sat unmoving for a few seconds before Harry reached forward and flipped her under him, grinning.

“Hi,” she squeaked, flushing a deep red.

His grin widened. “Hi.”

Hermione groaned and covered her face with her hands. “What are you doing to me?” she complained.

In lieu of a response, Harry leaned down and kissed her neck.

“Oh, Merlin,” she whispered. “I suppose I know exactly what you’re doing, Harry Potter.”

He drew back a bit to raise an eyebrow at her.

Hermione blushed. “Making my dreams come true.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s only right,” he told her. “You’ve done that for me time after time. I’m glad I can return the favor.”

She looked at him, visibly confused, as he dropped his head back down against her neck.

“You’re my best friend,” he said into her ear. “Well, even more now, but you were my best friend before, too. I always wanted one of those, and the way you supported me year after year… well, it’s easy to say you were already a dream come true.”

“I love you so much,” she whispered, curling her fingers through his hair.

“I love you, too.”

Their faces were mirrored, now – both of them were wearing the brightest smiles they’d ever seen on the other.

Harry had never really believed Dumbledore when he’d gone on about how ‘happiness could be found in the darkest of times, if only one remembered to turn on the light.’

But at that very moment, he could almost see it. Despite the looming shadow cast by the task they still had ahead of them, despite the unresolved mess that was their friendship with Ron, Harry truly believed that he hadn’t ever been happier.

Hermione picked at her dinner. She wasn’t quite frowning – their past half hour had been too wonderful for that – but there was a slight melancholic undercurrent to her expression.

Harry continued to eat silently, knowing that she’d share when she was ready.

“I don’t think I can be there when you talk to Ron,” she said quietly. “Especially after what just happened between you and me, I just… I can’t. I know I’ll blow up at him again if we spend any time together right now, and you’ll be back at square one.”

He put his hand on hers and squeezed gently. “It’s okay, Hermione. I can handle it.”

Hermione eyed him critically, but soon relented as she decided he was sincere. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Of course.” Harry checked his watch and grimaced; Ron was due any minute now. “Where will you wait?”

“First, the kitchens. Once I finish eating, the library. There are a few things I’d like to confirm before we enact our plan tonight.”

He chuckled. “Right. No surprise there,” he said, a note of teasing in his voice.

She smirked and rolled her eyes before standing up and grabbing her plate. “I think I’ll go now,” she told him. “I’d rather not be here when he arrives.”

Harry shrugged. “I’ll meet you there as soon as we’re done,” he promised. “Maybe I can even help a bit before we rest for a few hours.”

Hermione put down her plate with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Hermione?” he whispered, bringing a hand up to caress her cheek.

She blinked up at him, eyes wide, like she was on the verge of saying something. But then, it was like a dam had burst. She set her jaw and surged forward, kissing him passionately.

As Harry lost himself in her lips, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he’d done to deserve this treatment – not that he was complaining.

Before he knew it, Hermione was pulling back, looking exceedingly smug. “I’ll see you later,” she said as she practically floated away. “Dobby!”

Two pops later, and she was gone.

Harry couldn’t help it, he broke down into helpless laughter. “Merlin, that woman’s going to be the death of me,” he said to nobody.

He glanced at his watch again and cursed, sprinting towards the entrance of the room. Just before exiting, he paused to clean himself up. If Ron had any clue about what had just transpired between Hermione and himself, it would be difficult to get him to listen at all.

Harry stepped out into the hall, allowing the door to fade away into the wall behind him. Ron leaned against a pillar not too far away, and his head snapped up as Harry appeared.

“About time,” Ron said, frowning.

Harry gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry, got distracted eating dinner.”

Ron waved him off. “So, why this hallway?”

“Check this out.” Harry paced back and forth three times, concentrating on what he needed, and a door appeared on the wall again. He led Ron inside, and he gasped as he took in their surroundings.

It was an exact replica of Ron’s bedroom at the Burrow, complete with the camp bed that Harry had often slept on when he’d been staying there.

“How?” was all Ron could say.

“This is the Room of Requirement,” Harry explained. “Or, as the elves call it, the Come and Go Room. Basically, you pace back and forth in that particular spot three times, thinking about what you need, and the room produces it for you.”

“Bloody hell.”

“It is pretty crazy,” Harry agreed.

They each sat down on their own bed, and Ron looked over at Harry apprehensively. “Er, where’s Hermione?”

Harry sighed. “Still a bit pissed off. She decided that her presence wouldn’t do any good for this discussion, and that you two would just get into another argument.”

Ron nodded, but he still seemed anxious. “Yeah, alright, that’s a good point.”

They sat in silence as Harry struggled to decide where to begin.

Eventually, Ron was fed up. “Come on, Harry, just lay it on me. What’s going on?”

Harry’s posture slumped. “We died, and then came back in time. Riddle is mortal now, and we’re killing him for good tonight.”

Ron blinked. “Er— what?”

“Well, three years from now, all three of us were on the run hunting the objects making him immortal. We destroyed all of them but two.” Harry swallowed heavily. “In the process of destroying another, he personally killed Hermione and me at the same time. I’m still not certain exactly how it happened, but we somehow ended up back at the end of the third task – yesterday. Over the course of today, we hunted down each and every one of those objects keeping him alive. Look, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, but can you blame us? We’re on a time crunch, and there wasn’t any time to explain, not really. Even now, I’m not certain that we shouldn’t be out there, trying to kill him.”

Ron stared at him blankly. His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes darted around the room as if the furniture might, somehow, hold the key to understanding what he’d just heard. Then, he said, “Harry, what the fuck?”

Harry allowed himself to smile faintly. “It’s not like this is the first time we’ve been involved in some ridiculous bullshit.”

Ron nodded slowly. “True, I guess, but… Seriously? Time travel?”

“Hermione used a time-turner for our whole third year!” Harry said defensively.

“Yeah, but that’s different, innit?” Ron looked away and his fingers tightened on his jeans. “You said… you two died?”

Harry felt a weight settle into his stomach at the reminder, even though he’d been the one to bring it up in the first place. “Er, yeah.”

Ron seemed to be working something out in his head, and his complexion whitened considerably as he came to a conclusion. “Hermione said something before that I didn’t understand… something about me leaving you in a tent?” He paused, swallowing heavily. “You said we were all on the run for a year… she said I left… and you’re saying that the two of you died together.”

Harry paled as he realised where Ron was going with his tangent.

Ron’s voice was hollow. “Where was I, when you both died? Where the hell was I? Harry, I—” He cut himself off angrily, taking a few deep breaths. When he continued, his voice was low and intense. “After the first task, I promised myself that I’d never abandon you when you needed me again – I had been a right cowardly git, and I knew it. So… where the hell was I?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Harry was quick to protest. “We’d forgiven you months earlier for what happened in the tent. Or, at least I had. When Hermione and I died… well, it was just supposed to be me. I snuck away from the two of you to go sacrifice myself, and she figured out what I was doing somehow and followed me. I’m not sure exactly how it went since I wasn’t there, but don’t blame yourself for something that definitely wasn’t your fault.”

Ron’s head drooped.

Harry tried again. “Come on. You didn’t leave us to die. Besides, it’s not like any of this even really happened. We’re in the past. You haven’t done anything. You can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t do.”

“Fine,” Ron said shortly, clearly not convinced. “What’s this crap about you sacrificing yourself, then?”

Harry felt his temper stir but violently suppressed it. “I was one of the objects keeping him immortal,” he said, his voice completely toneless.

Harry had thought Ron couldn’t pale any further, but he was wrong. Each freckle on his shock-white face stood out like dots of ink splattered across parchment. “Shit, I’m sorry, Harry,” he said quietly, clutching the sheets under him with a white-knuckled grip.

Harry tried to lighten the mood. “What is it that Hermione says? You’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon?”

“She does?” Ron asked, confused.

Harry shut his eyes tightly. “Right, sorry, she didn’t say that for the first time until fifth year.”

They sat in stilted silence for a long time before Ron spoke up again. “This time travel business is real complicated, isn’t it?”

“You’ve got no idea.”

Ron exhaled and relaxed his grip on the sheets. “You’ll tell me about it, though, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I should probably apologise to Hermione.”

Harry shook his head. “Just give her some time, mate. What she’s mad over, it’s just not something you can really do much about. She’s got some stuff to work through.”

Ron ran a hand through his hair. “We’re okay, though? Me and you?”

“Yeah, Ron. We’re okay.”

And that was all that really needed to be said.

Chapter Text

The flames crackled merrily in the Room of Requirement’s fireplace.

Night had fallen – it would soon be time. And, when the sun rose the next morning, they would either be celebrating or dead.

The Elder Wand thrummed against Harry’s arm, its magic twisting with his and its intensity slowly building in anticipation of the coming crescendo.

The Resurrection Stone was cold and silent in its band on his finger, and yet it still exuded a quiet presence, both comforting and unsettling at once.

He wasn’t wearing the Invisibility Cloak, but he could still sense it many miles away, covering Dobby as he slunk around Malfoy Manor. The feeling he got from it was the strongest of the three: it was eager, and very, very protective.

It was a testament to Harry’s current state that he didn’t look up when Hermione settled down next to him on the couch.

“It’s eleven o’clock,” Hermione whispered as she snuck an arm around him and scooted closer.

Her affectionate touch broke him out of his haze, and he dipped down to briefly kiss her, grateful for her consistent presence now more than ever.

When he pulled back, she pouted. He grinned unreservedly at the sight – he’d only seen that expression on her face a few times in the seven years he’d known her. “You’re pouting,” he told her, smug.

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him. “Hmm…” She made a show of tapping her chin in a thoughtful manner. “And what, exactly, are you going to do about it?”

Harry rolled his eyes but obediently leaned back in to kiss her again.

“Better,” she breathed more than a minute later when they separated.

He laughed and pressed his forehead against hers. “Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?”

The only response he got was a shrug, but her pink cheeks belied the casual motion. “I’m just happy is all.”

“Me too.”

She beamed at him, and they settled into a comfortable silence, taking comfort in the warmth of both the fire and their embrace.

A faint pop disrupted the peace some time later, heralding the arrival of Dobby, who was quick to pull off the Invisibility Cloak and address them: “He Who Must Not Be Named is being asleep, Harry Potter.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a grave look before disentangling and getting to their feet. “It’s time, then,” he said.

They drew close to Dobby, each grabbing one of his hands, and Harry threw the Cloak over them all.

“Let’s go,” Hermione said.

The world twisted, the Room of Requirement blurring together in a swirling flood of colour. There was a fleeting sense of whistling air, like they were hurtling through the night sky, before existence snapped into place around them and solid ground met their feet.

Harry warily took stock of their surroundings.

They were huddled up just outside of Malfoy Manor. Looming over them was a thick stone wall, behind which neatly trimmed hedges were peeking just over the top. A huge, wrought-iron gate stood a dozen metres or so to their right.

With their proximity to the wall, the manor itself wasn’t visible, but Harry could practically taste the wards and protective enchantments used to keep the place hidden and safe.

“Okay…” He exhaled heavily and glanced over at Hermione. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

That was all the confirmation Dobby needed. The familiar sensation of house-elf Apparition enveloped him, and they soon found themselves in a dark corridor.

“We is being on the third floor of the manor,” Dobby whispered. “He Who Must Not Be Named is just down the hall – the third room on the right.”

Hermione pulled out the holly wand and waved it in the pattern of an identification charm, testing for any traps or alert charms. Voldemort was a paranoid individual, and they had no interest in alerting him to their presence before it was far, far too late.

“Anything?”

She shook her head.

Suddenly, a malevolent wave of detection magic swept over him, and he froze.

Hermione had stilled as well. “That wasn’t me…” she whispered.

Harry bit his cheek to prevent himself from swearing out loud and drew closer to her and Dobby. Hopefully, the Cloak had masked their presence, but if it hadn’t, making themselves a smaller target was an urgent necessity.

Just down the hall, the door Dobby had indicated swung open with a loud creak, and Voldemort strode out of it. He looked inhuman as he glided across the floor, flicking and twirling his wand in elaborate motions. In time with one of his motions, sconces all along the hall lit up, bathing the space in a dim, orange light.

“I know you’re there,” he murmured as he stalked past them. “I felt that charm. Show yourself, and I will make your death quick.”

Harry and Hermione stayed silent. Voldemort’s rapidly dwindling patience was like a physical presence – a weight in the air that pressed down heavily on their shoulders.

They didn’t have to wait long for his next move. Voldemort spun around, his red eyes glinting in the faint lights of the sconces, and cast a Bubble-Head charm before waving his wand in several precise arcs.

Hermione flinched, bringing the holly wand up to cast her own Bubble-Head charm, and Harry quickly realised why as he found himself having trouble breathing: Voldemort had done something to the air.

Unfortunately, that action seemed to be exactly what Voldemort had been waiting for; his head snapped towards their invisible forms, and Harry desperately squeezed Dobby’s bony shoulder, thinking: we need to get out of here!

Dobby seemed to understand his unspoken message. They popped back outside into the forests just beyond the manor grounds.

Harry took a deep breath, desperately trying to get as much oxygen into his lungs as possible. “Shit,” he said emphatically. “That didn’t go like we expected at all.”

Hermione clutched his shoulder with tears in her eyes as she dispelled her Bubble-Head charm. “I’m sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have cast that Bubbl—”

Before she could even finish her sentence, a booming crack split the air, and Voldemort appeared not ten feet from them, looking around wildly.

How had he followed them? Harry glanced over at Hermione again and winced when he saw her trembling as she stared down at the wand in her hand – Voldemort must have sensed her dispelling the charm.

“Ssshow yourssself!” Voldemort said as he stalked past them, his anger twisting his voice into something halfway between English and Parseltongue.

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione, and many things passed between them in that short moment: fear and love, but also obligation and determination. They had to do this now. There would be no running – they couldn’t risk him getting spooked and making any more Horcruxes. They could still enact their plan – it just wouldn’t be quite as simple as they had hoped.

Harry called the Elder Wand to his hand, nodded resolutely to Hermione, and stepped out from the Cloak. “Good evening, Tom,” he said pleasantly, walking around him in a slow circle, away from where Hermione was still hidden.

Voldemort spun around, and his face contorted into an unholy unity of rage and horrified understanding. “It was you! Not Lucius…”

With great effort, Harry managed to keep his surprise hidden. “Me?” he queried, fingers flexing around the Elder Wand’s rough handle.

A great magical maelstrom thrummed into existence around them in time with Voldemort’s pulsing fury. “I’ll kill you, Potter. I’ll kill you for daring to hunt my Horcruxes. And yet, you have failed. You thought you could destroy me, but none have gone farther than I in defying Death.” His mouth split into an unnaturally wide grin that stretched nearly up to his ears. “You may know part of my secret, but that knowledge will die with you. My diary and my locket were only two of my anchors. I remain tethered to this plane, despite your paltry efforts.”

At the very least, it was a relief to know that Voldemort didn’t suspect the truth, too secure in his chosen hiding places to even consider the idea that he’d truly been rendered mortal.

With the knowledge that the Dark Lord hadn’t even the slightest clue of the true danger he was in, Harry shrugged off the effects of Voldemort’s surging power and brought his own magic to bear. The Elder Wand vibrated eagerly in his hand, awaiting the coming bloodshed. “We’ll see about that.”

Voldemort whipped his wand forward. “Avada Kedavra!”

Sidestepping, Harry quickly began to fire back, though he deliberately underpowered his spells. “Expelliarmus! Expulso! Reducto! Confringo!”

Almost lazily, Voldemort brought up a golden shield that absorbed the curses with barely even a ripple. “Come now, Potter,” he said with a sneer. “Surely you can do better than that.”

The ground warped beneath their feet, and Harry found himself stumbling as a fifty-metre-wide cylindrical patch of the forest centered between them uprooted itself and started rising into the sky.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured even as he kept up his light barrage of curses, though it was difficult to concentrate on both casting and keeping his balance at the same time. As they ascended higher and higher, he fervently hoped that Dobby was keeping them hidden from the other occupants of the manor. It would be a disaster if reinforcements arrived.

Eventually, once the platform had risen about three hundred or so metres, it ground to a halt. With the earth beneath his feet still once more, held aloft solely by Voldemort’s magic, Harry fell into a rhythm: dodge a killing curse, cast a few simple offensive curses and hexes, and repeat until Hermione got into position.

On some level, he couldn’t help but wonder why Voldemort was limiting himself so much and only attacking with the killing curse. Perhaps he was simply pacing himself? Or just not taking Harry seriously?

But the thoughts were driven from his mind when he felt soft fabric brush against his left hand. Hermione was near.

“Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort tried again.

“Expelliarmus!”

Sickly green met vibrant red as Hermione’s disarming charm intersected Voldemort’s killing curse at an angle. It was fascinating to watch as the spells connected and straightened into a solid gold line, yanking the wands to point at each other, but there was no time to focus on the sight. With Voldemort occupied by the unexpected Priori Incantatem, it was time for Harry to let loose some precise destruction while he had the chance. And, indeed, the window of opportunity was rapidly closing. Unlike Harry’s own experience, the thick bead in the middle was steadily pushing towards Hermione, who was wearing an expression of fierce concentration with sweat beading across her forehead. She was fading quickly, and there were perhaps only a few seconds before Voldemort would break the connection and rejoin the fight with a vengeance.

Harry’s wand arm was a blur as he cast a torrent of piercing hexes and blasting curses. Voldemort’s legs were the first to go, riddled with large holes, before, eventually, enough shots landed near his waist that they were separated from the rest of his body entirely. Magic eviscerated his torso, gaping openings stretching across his stomach and chest. His left arm was separated gruesomely from the rest of his body with only one blasting curse doing the job. Unfortunately, something seemed to be protecting his head and wand arm, as any hexes directed towards those turned aside at the last moment, shooting out into the empty sky.

Somehow, despite the continuous assault and grievous damage to his body, Voldemort’s only reaction seemed to be screams of rage. Rather than fall to the ground with the loss of his legs, he remained floating in the air. Even a wide hole where his heart should have been seemed to be just an inconvenience.

Then, Hermione was screaming too – the golden bead had gotten to the holly wand. Harry’s blood went cold. Priori Incantatem was such an obscure form of magic, and Harry had only ever won using a disarming charm. What would happen if the spell that won was a killing curse? He had no desire to find out.

“Break the connection!” he bellowed, even as he continued casting curses at Voldemort. “Hermione!”

With an even louder scream of pain, Hermione suddenly twisted in place and vanished with a deafening crack. Despite her departure, the holly wand stayed behind, hanging suspended.

Without someone to anchor the connection, the golden beam hung for a split second in the air, and then—

The holly wand exploded. A sickly green flash tore through the night like a lightning strike, ripping across the floating platform in a wide arc.

His eyes widened and, just before the pulse of killing magic would have swept through his body, he twisted on the spot and apparated back to the ground, next to the pit where Voldemort had torn the platform out of the earth.

Dimly, Harry registered Hermione’s presence a few meters away, but there was no time to feel relieved. He looked up and paled as he watched the platform he’d just been standing on disintegrate in an eerie green explosion.

“Merlin…” he murmured. “Maybe that wasn’t such a great plan after all…”

From the crumbling wreckage in the sky, something descended like a spectre.

It wasn’t Voldemort anymore, not exactly.

Where his legs, his left arm, and the lower two-thirds of his torso had been, there was now only an oily distortion – like reality itself was refusing to accept that his body was mostly gone. Threads of sickly, crackling red magic bound the ragged, stumped remains of his severed left arm, and even the solid top third of his torso was a ruin of ash and spell-burnt flesh.

But his face, dark with ash and blood, was still sporting that horrific, wide grin, and, somehow, he was still moving under his own power.

Harry was reminded faintly of that malformed thing he’d seen after he’d died – that shriveled, wailing scrap of soul. Was that what he was looking at now? Not a man, not even a monster, just a refusal given shape. A ghost of rage clinging to a body made from dark magic and borrowed time.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harry breathed.

Hermione pulled her vine wand from her beaded bag. “Well, he is a magical construct, I suppose,” she said shakily.

There wasn’t time to respond. As Voldemort neared the ground, Harry lashed out with another blasting curse, pouring all of his not inconsiderable willpower into his intent.

The spell lanced out like a blue spear of pure, crystallised destruction, but the Dark Lord was too quick. A brilliant gold dome erupted around his ravaged form, so much brighter than the shield he’d used earlier, and an ear-shattering gong echoed through the forest.

Such was the strength of the spell that an intense burst of air pressure erupted from the point of impact, forcing Harry to stumble back a few paces as he worked to keep his balance.

“Can’t you see, Harry?” Voldemort’s whisper was eerie and echoing despite the open space they were standing in. “You can’t kill me. I admit, you’ve made quite the effort, but it’s clear, isn’t it? Even in this desolate form, I endure.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond; instead he darted to the side. His movement was just in time as, not a moment later, a green bolt of energy sliced through the air where he’d just been standing and exploded the dirt behind him.

Things devolved from there, but Harry and Hermione fell into a rhythm. She would focus on keeping them safe, which mostly meant general terrain transfiguration for cover and to keep them in a favourable position. He would focus on offense: curses, hexes, and conjuration.

For his part, Voldemort was like a force of nature, almost more magic than man. Even in his weakened state, it took their all just to stay alive. If Hermione made a wall for cover, it was blown apart with a lightning-quick blast of dark magic. Harry had tried banishing a set of spears at him, but the tables were just as quickly turned – Voldemort had transfigured them into a set of sharp needles and banished them right back, forcing them to fall into a defensive position to avoid getting skewered.

Harry held no illusions – it was only the fact that Voldemort was falling apart that enabled them to fight back at all. Even now, it still felt like he was toying with them.

But, through the madness, a plan slowly fell into place.

Over the course of the past few minutes, Harry had noticed that Voldemort was slowly becoming a bit more predictable. The effort of holding his body together was clearly wearing him down. One such trend was that he was fond of creating a towering metal shield whenever Harry threw a rapid series of bludgeoning hexes at him. The next time he fell behind a makeshift barricade with Hermione, he quickly muttered: “Fulmen.” The wall in front of them was destroyed not a moment later, but with the glint in her eye as they rolled away from each other and their splintered cover, he was sure she had heard.

There was no reason to wait, and so he struck as soon as they got to their feet. Ten rapid-fire bludgeoners flew towards Voldemort, who predictably conjured the same hunk of gleaming iron just a few centimetres from his body.

“Fulmen!”

A massive lightning bolt split the sky with a crack, striking the shield dead center, chaining to the floating remnants of Voldemort’s body and then jumping to the ground below him. For a heartbeat, he was frozen midair, arched backward, mouth wide in a silent scream. In his disorientation, he lost control of the shield, leaving it to fall to the grass below him with a heavy thump.

The moment Harry heard the incantation leave Hermione’s lips, his wand was in motion. A split-second later, the largest, most powerful piercing hex he’d ever cast blasted out of the Elder Wand.

Voldemort, in the middle of being electrocuted, had no chance to resist.

Harry watched numbly as the lance of destructive magic tore through his mortal enemy’s head and upper torso, completely eviscerating it. The shadowy remnants of his body promptly winked out of existence, and the wand arm and shoulder that remained fell to the ground with a faint plop.

Silence fell.

It felt a bit like the universe itself was holding its breath – Harry certainly was, eyes fixed on the limp arm.

Seconds ticked by, but a wraith never rose from the ground.

Harry exhaled, all of the tension rushing out of his body at once. He stared, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, hand still tightly gripping the Elder Wand.

Voldemort was gone.

Dead.

Vanquished.

Unbidden, he flashed back to the words that had driven his whole life even before he’d heard them for the first time, but he pushed them out of his mind; Trelawney’s prophecy had been fulfilled.

Hermione sidled up to him and laid her head against his shoulder, her soft, steady breathing grounding him. “We’ve done it,” she said, sounding vaguely awed as she snaked her arm around his waist.

“We have,” he agreed.

A faint rustling came from behind them as Dobby pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and stepped up to his other side, his wide eyes locked on the dead Dark Lord.

Harry blinked, suddenly realising he was still staring at Voldemort’s disembodied arm. He raised the Elder Wand. “Accio Voldemort’s wand.” The length of yew flew towards him, and he snatched it out of the air with the unerring accuracy of a Seeker.

Hermione raised her own wand. “Incendio.” Voldemort’s arm caught fire.

He slipped away both wands and leaned against her. “Thank you,” he murmured.

She merely nodded in response, and they quietly watched the last part of Voldemort’s body burn and disintegrate into nothingness.

It wasn’t until the embers faded away that he faintly smiled, revelling in the feeling of her pressed against his side. “It’s… over.”

“Let’s get out of here,” she said.

Nothing had ever sounded more appealing.

He looked over to Dobby, “Thank you, Dobby. We really couldn’t have done this without you. I’ll be grateful to you for the rest of my life. For now, though… Are you alright to go back to Hogwarts? I think we need some time to ourselves.”

“Dobby can be doing that, of course,” Dobby said.

“We’ll come and find you in the morning,” Hermione added.

Dobby smiled and vanished with a faint pop.

They stood, unmoving, for another minute before Harry shook his head. “I really can’t believe it.”

Hermione laughed softly. “I can’t either. Harry…”

He brought a hand up to her cheek and brushed his thumb across it. “I love you.”

She kissed his palm. “And I love you.”

Harry drew her close to his chest, and they left the moonlit clearing behind with an echoing crack, finally free.