Chapter Text
It ended with a boy.
The next weeks went by slowly. Beside Harry, Remus was a constant presence in Grimmauld Place, as were Mr and Mrs Malfoy. Tonks often visited and brought one day her mother with her. Harry left the room as soon as possible when both, Mrs Tonks and Mrs Malfoy started to tear up. Mrs Weasley brought food every other day, as if she was afraid, they would starve.
Dumbledore came in at least once a week. But he hardly brought any news Harry hadn’t already read in the daily prophet or Remus and Mr Malfoy discussed over breakfast. Their living together went surprisingly well, and Harry often found himself sitting with Mrs Malfoy down for a cup of tea. She mostly told him stories of Draco as a boy and Harry couldn’t wait to see what face the boy would make, when he told him that he knew he still slept in his favourite pyjamas with cute little dragons on it.
When Draco came back for the summer holidays and Harry asked after his pyjamas the blond went impossible red and sputtered and glared at his mother, but he also tried to hide a small smile. The holidays were surprisingly pleasant with Draco in Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione often visited, as well as the rest of the Weasley family and they brought with them their familiar chaos and Harry loved every second if it. Even when Ron and Hermione nagged him to talk, when all Harry wanted to do was sit quietly in the gardens, treasuring the feeling of the sun in his face.
He knew that they only meant well, but he also realized that he wasn’t the Harry from before. Imprisoned in his own body had changed him. He knew he was quieter, prone to stay in his own head and not voice his thoughts and he knew it was difficult for his friends. He understood it, understood that they just wanted to help him, because a small block of ice, which represented his fear and the terror when he thought about the last year, was still there. But the constant nagging and asking how he was feeling made him unsettled, sometimes even angry and it led to him not speaking for hours.
Another difference to the Harry from before, who would have exploded with anger - louldy - instead of retreating into his own head.
So, he wasn’t even feeling guilty of the small sigh of relief escaping him when September came, and Grimmauld Place was quiet again.
Harry had, after a helpful talk with Remus, decided not to go back to Hogwarts. He didn’t like the thought of being a year behind his best friends, couldn’t bear the thought of being starred at and whispered about. Remus and even the Malfoys volunteered to tutor him and once in a week he would floo to Hogwarts and have a practical lesson with Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick. They even found an old Potions lab in the basement of Grimmauld Place, where Harry and Remus laughed themselves silly about their attempts on the potions for sixth year. He would need to go to Hogwarts at the end of the school year to sit the exams, but that was okay.
A few weeks into the new school year, a huge package from Neville brought him to tears. It was filled with notes after notes about the Herbology curriculum in sixth year, with lots of pictures of plants taken by Colin Creevey. It took Harry hours till he felt stable enough to send a long thank-you letter to both of them. It was good to know that he wasn’t completely forgotten by his former yearmates.
Sometimes Harry missed Hogwarts and with it the chaos and noises of being a student there, but then he tried to imagine himself there now and shuddered.
Life at Grimmauld Place felt safe and peaceful and Harry loved that he had Remus with him all the time and teased him merciless when Tonks visited. He even grew fond of the Malfoys - Mrs Malfoy more than Mr Malfoy - but the later was always available for a game of chess, even if Harry was abysmal at it.
The only thing really happening in Grimmauld Place were the Order meetings, but Harry didn’t even ask to attend. He had the feeling he had done enough, had endured enough. He never ever wanted to see Voldemort again.
That peace that Harry had found, was disturbed when Dumbledore sat down with him and told him the prophecy.
Harry just starred for a moment at the Headmaster and then left the room. He wasn’t sure what he should think, wasn’t sure what he was feeling.
Why him?
Why was it always him? Just… why?
Harry found himself in the gardens and sat down on a bench, facing the crater from the destruction of the Horcruxes. He didn’t know how long he sat there.
He thought about his parents and if he had known a year ago what he knew now that he would have given himself the fault for their death. But it wasn’t his fault that Voldemort had believed in a prophecy. It wasn’t the Death Eater’s fault who had overheard it and told Voldemort. It wasn’t Trelawney’s fault, who had spoken the prophecy. It simply was what it was.
He thought about Sirius and what he would think about the prophecy and Harry’s role in the war. Would he be disappointed if Harry didn’t jump into action, still didn’t think that it was his job to end it?
Yes, there was a prophecy about a boy who could vanquish Voldemort. And Dumbledore believed Harry to be that boy. Hell, even people not knowing about the prophecy believed that Harry was the one who should do something about Voldemort.
But why should he? He was only sixteen, nearly seventeen. He had completely missed his sixth year in school, he didn’t have even one percent of the experience Voldemort had. He was just a boy, to whom things happened.
He was just a boy who was in the middle of everything, every time.
Did Dumbledore really think he could do something against Voldemort? Yes, he had broken free of the dark wizard’s control. But that hadn’t been a grand gesture of magical strength or whatever was needed.
Or was that the prophecy meant with the power Voldemort didn’t know about? Yes, Harry had used the fact that Voldemort didn’t understand emotions which were linked to love. And the way Dumbledore had looked when he had told that part, made Harry believe that the Headmaster also thought love was the power the Dark Lord didn’t know about.
But how could he fight with love?
Yes, it was a powerful emotion and despite his childhood Harry seemed to have the ability to love deeply. But how could he use it? He didn’t know.
And the Horcruxes? As long as Voldemort had at least one, he couldn’t die. And Harry had been one of them.
How could he fight Voldemort, if he was one of the things making him unable to die? Or had Dumbledore simply thought Harry would die in one of the fights with Voldemort?
Was that what the prophecy meant?
Harry didn’t think so. It spoke of the boy vanquishing the Dark Lord. Dying, so that Voldemort could be destroyed was not actively vanquishing. Dying by stepping before Voldemort to be killed by his own hands, was passive.
Had Dumbledore planned for him to do that? Simply walk up to Voldemort and let himself be killed? He would have done it. Harry was sure of it.
He would have walked to his own death.
What was one life weighed against the whole magical population of Britain. His life wasn’t worth more than theirs. It wasn’t worth less, but also not more. So, he would have done it. He would have hated Dumbledore for asking it of him, but he would have done it.
At one point the sun had gone down and someone sat beside him.
It was Remus. Remus, who had lost all of his best friends, and was one of the kindest people Harry knew. Harry leaned against him and let his head rest on Remus' shoulder.
They sat for a while, quiet, just feeling the moment.
“Albus told be about the prophecy.” Remus spoke softly, as if he didn’t want to disturb the mild evening. Harry only hummed in acknowledgement.
“He also told me his interpretation, and what he believed to be your role. I told him what I thought of it. Utterly bollocks all of it.”
Harry lifted his head and looked at Remus, who grimaced shortly.
“Yes, Harry, I don’t agree with Dumbledore and I don’t believe in prophecies. They are too fickle, too open for any interpretation you want them to be. It is stupid to put all our faith into it. And I definitely will not stand by and let Dumbledore push you into whatever he thinks you should do. You did enough, you endured enough. You are just a boy, not some hero, or villain slayer or the second Merlin. Nor are you a sacrificial lamb or a weapon. You sole purpose doesn’t revolve around Voldemort and a prophecy doesn’t define what and who you are.”
Remus thumb brushed his cheek gently, his face was soft, but his eyes were intense. This was the man who was his honorary uncle, who had given him the Marauder’s map. This was the man who gave him chocolate, who helped him master the Patronus charm. This was the man who told him about his parents, who loved them as Harry loved them. This was the man who took Snape’s snide remarks and only smiled, forgiving him even after losing his job because of him.
But this was also the man who went undercover into the werewolf camps. Who had come to his rescue in the Ministry and came out of the fight unscathed. Who had experienced prejudice and fought against the beast in himself his whole life. This was the man who would have killed to avenge the death of Harry’s parents. This was the man who, despite his kind, peaceful and compassionate nature had fought in the last war, was fighting in this and had been part of the Marauders.
“You are just a boy, Harry. You are just Harry, and that is more than enough.”
And Harry believed him.
It ended with a monster.
In the end it wasn’t Harry who defeated Voldemort. It wasn’t even Dumbledore. It was Snape, who dealt the last blow, who cast the curse and killed the monster once and for all.
Harry had just sat his last exam with the sixth-year students and knew his friends were waiting for him outside. The seventh years had their exams a week earlier and now were waiting for their results and the graduation ceremony.
It was a beautiful sunny day, with a light breeze, warm but not hot. Harry could see Ron and Hermione together with Neville, some Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and even some Slytherins sitting near the lake. Draco’s white-blond head was unmistakable, as well as the dark bob of Pansy Parkinson. The rest, Harry wasn’t sure. It was now nearly two years that he had seen these people the last time. He had been in contact with Neville via post and he had seen Ron and Hermione regularly over the last year, but the rest of them...
Standing in the shadow of the doorway, Harry was reluctant to join them. They looked like normal teenager, laughing, joking, making plans for their future.
He didn’t feel like he was a part of that. Didn’t feel like he could be part of this.
Sometimes he didn’t speak for hours, sometimes he was afraid to go asleep because of the nightmares still haunting him. Often, he jumped at loud noises and startled when people touched him.
What would these people, who only knew the Harry from before, think of that? Most of them teenager with their typical teenage sorrows. Yes, some of them had traumatic experiences themselves, there was still a war going on. But Dumbledore had prevented that Hogwarts was in the centre of it.
It seemed he still had a few spies left, so he was informed about every step Voldemort wanted to make against the school or Dumbledore himself. With the Malfoys on their side, even if they had to hide most of the time in Grimmauld Place, and the aftermath of Harry’s rescue a year ago, which led to a lot of Death Eaters disappearing or coming to Dumbledore seeking shelter, Voldemort was not in a good place to move against them.
It seemed even monsters knew when to back down.
Harry observed the scene before him for a few more minutes, before braving himself and stepping out into the sunshine, when movements from the gates caught his eyes. People were streaming onto the grounds of Hogwarts, Rosmerta and a man who looked eerily like Dumbledore, a strange unkept Dumbledore without his colourful robes, at the front.
“Students, please move back into the castle and assemble in the Great Hall.” Dumbledore’s voice rang over the grounds and Harry saw McGonagall greet the newcomers. He turned around and followed the streams of students into the Great Hall. Several Order members were already present, and Harry saw Remus and the Malfoys slip into the hall shortly before Dumbledore addressed everyone.
Apparently, Voldemort had gathered his whole army of Death Eaters, giants, werewolves and whoever and whatever was on his side, had invaded Hogsmeade and was now on his way to Hogwarts. All the students would be evacuated through the floo. That lead to an outcry from several people, mostly from the ones who had been part of Dumbledore’s Army in Harry’s fifth year and the teacher unwillingly conceded that they couldn’t force students of age to vacate the school.
Harry stood at the back of the hall and tried to decide what to do. Should he stay and fight? Remus had said it would be enough to be just Harry, not the child of the prophecy and he shouldn’t feel obligated to fight. But then, if he was just Harry, didn’t that meant that he should fight? Looking around, sawing who was staying, who was willing to fight, made him want to stay.
All of his yearmates and some of the sixth years from Gryffindor, most of Ravenclaw’s and Hufflepuff’s seventh years, and even some Slytherins, stayed where they were.
It loosened something in Harry, if these students were willing to fight, without a prophecy over their head, some who had reasons, like Neville, some who feared for their future, like the Muggleborns and the Slytherins, and some who simply thought it was the right thing to do, then Harry, even just Harry was allowed to want to fight.
But, as he watched Neville grip his wand a little tighter despite shaking, and Seamus’ freckles stand out in sharp contrast of his white face and latching unto Dean’s hand to steady himself, he was also allowed to be afraid and perhaps – with what he had experienced – a little traumatised, too.
The fear which he never had shaken completely, which had led to nightmares and sleepless nights and flinching at loud noises, melted a little more. Gripping his wand, Harry walked to the Gryffindor table and sat between Ron and Hermione, which both gave him a fierce glance and then squeezed his hand while concentrating on Dumbledore.
When the Headmaster saw him, his eyes shone for a moment with pride and he nodded. Harry nodded back.
They both knew that Voldemort would concentrate on them. He hated them both too much, they had stopped his plans too many times, stood between him and his goals too many times, had defied him too often to count by now. They had destroyed his Horcruxes and they were sure he had realized it, especially after the link between him and Harry had been completely cut. The only one left was Nagini. Somehow, they had to get to her today. They couldn’t slay the monster without taking the snake out, too.
Harry found himself with his best friends, and several Order members, Remus and Dumbledore himself standing in the courtyard, as a strange welcome committee for Voldemort and the Death Eaters.
The first glance of the monster with his huge snake at his side, the monster who had stolen a year of his life, who had killed his parents and so many other people, who was responsible for his awful childhood and nearly everything bad that had happened to Harry, who had turned himself into something hideous by splitting his soul, made him take a sharp breath of air.
He was exactly as he remembered him. For a moment, Harry froze.
And then the image of Voldemort, as he had looked the last time Harry had seen him, slumped over in his throne like chair as if he was stoned, made him snort.
The rest of the fear in him melted away. Why should he fear this monster? He had already done everything to Harry, despite killing him. And Harry wasn’t afraid of dying. Dying was easy.
Then Voldemort lifted his wand. moved it in short but complicated pattern and the wards around Hogwarts fell. The moment the wards were destroyed, the Death Eater charged forward, and chaos erupted.
Later Harry couldn’t say what exactly happened at the battle of Hogwarts. Everything was a blur of movements, flying curses, screaming, more curses, running and ducking, defending and attacking. Harry registered Remus going down after being hit with a curse, he didn’t even see who had cast it, but he hoped – fervently hoped – that Remus wasn’t dead.
He saw Fred and George fighting back-to-back, throwing what seems a series of their products at the enemy, he wasn’t even sure if they could be called joke products anymore, if the glimpses he got from the people affected by them, were an indication. He saw Moody going down after being hit with three curses of different colour. Hopefully the old Auror was still breathing. Harry didn’t – couldn’t – think of the people dying.
At some point he lost Ron and Hermione, who had been fighting beside him the whole time. One moment there were there, and in the next he was alone.
Harry quelled the upcoming panic, believing that his friends were more than capable, and concentrated on keeping Voldemort in his view.
He and Dumbledore had walked up to each other at the beginning and were now engaging in throwing whatever they could at each other. The area where their battle took place was clear of everyone else and compared to the battle in the Ministry two years ago, that had looked like child’s play.
This was fierce, and nothing of the normally so peaceful and benevolent Headmaster was recognizable in Dumbledore. This was the Dumbledore who had fought against Grindelwald, this was the Dumbledore, Voldemort was afraid of. This was one of the most powerful wizards since Merlin and the founders.
The air smelled of ozon and smoke and sizzled with heat around them.
It looked like they were evenly matched, but Harry could see that the fact that the body Voldemort had constructed only a few years ago, which was so much younger and stronger than Dumbledore’s, was an advantage. Harry took out three Death Eaters standing in his way and slipped through the legs of a giant to get there in time.
The moment Dumbledore needed a second to breath, Harry jumped between the two wizards and blocked a curse from Voldemort.
This was the first time the two of them stood face to face since Harry had escaped. Harry just stared into the blood red eyes of the monster before him, who looked first shocked and then snarled.
“You should have kept it.” The voice hunting his nightmares hissed at him. “You should have just accepted that you were mine. You shouldn’t have destroyed it. Now, you will pay for it.” The anger, the unhinged rage was visible in those inhuman features.
Harry ducked to avoid the curse flying at him and then him and Dumbledore started pushing Voldemort back. They kept him busy, hoping that somebody would take out Nagini, hoping that keeping Voldemort out of the actual battle was enough for the people to overpower the Death Eaters.
Harry didn’t know how long they actually fought, at one point his muscle began to burn from exhaustion and his voice grew horse from yelling curses after his concentration had been too sloppy for doing anymore non-verbal casting. But Voldemort looked as exhausted as both of them and Harry registered in grim satisfaction the growing fear in the wizard.
An uproar somewhere left from Harry, startled all three of them.
Neville stood not even five feet away, the sword of Gryffindor in his hands and the twitching body of Nagini before him, her head rolling a few steps away from him. Voldemort’s face was contorted in fury, but Harry saw the fear of death in his eyes.
The monster lifted his wand, completely forgetting about Harry and Dumbledore, and pointed it at Neville.
“Avada-”
“Sectumsempra.” A cold, familiar voice interrupted.
Instantly blood spread from the deep cuts appearing around Voldemort’s neck. He looked behind him, his eyes went wide at the sight of his attacker. But whatever he wanted to say came only out as a gurgle, before he choked on his own blood. There was so much it, it ran down his body, soaking his robes and then – Voldemort – the darkest wizards of their time - the monster fell down, face first into the dirt and lay still.
Snape stood behind him, his wand still lifted. His face hard, but his eyes shone - in what Harry could only interpret as - vengeful satisfaction.
Silence fell over the grounds of Hogwarts, everyone frozen by the sight of this monster of a wizard laying there in his own blood, in the dirt, dead.
The cheering nearly nocked Harry flat on the ground, too.
It was over.
And Harry… he felt like he could breathe for the first time in forever.
He knew not everything would be instantly better. There was still so much to do in the wizarding world, there was so much he wanted to do, so much life to live. And finally, he had the feeling he could. He didn’t know how many they lost; how many were wounded. There would be families grieving today, in between the overall cheering.
But it was over.
A hand settled on his shoulder. Remus was standing there, bloody and on the verge of collapsing, but he was alive. And there were Ron and Hermione, hand in hand, walking towards him, and George keeping his twin upright, and more and more people helping the wounded stand up if they could. There was Draco hugging his parents and Bill kissing Fleur, and Mrs and Mrs Weasley hugging.
Harry hugged Remus tight, who – despite his grunt of pain – returned the hug. All was well for now. For this moment what counted was, that finally he could be just a boy, just Harry.
For this moment it was enough that the monster was dead.
The End.