In the midst of it all, in the fear and uncertainty and quiet but frantic preparation, most people forgot it was Neville Longbottom's birthday.
In their little private oasis in the Gryffindor dorm, they didn't. In the morning, Harry took down the partition — after knocking first, of course — and revealed a little cupcake with a single candle sticking out of it, a quiet grin on his face.
Neville was bleary-eyed and shirtless, his hair sticking up all over the place and the most enormous hickey on his collarbone that Harry tried not to stare at too much. "Wha?" he murmured when Harry held out the cupcake. Beside him, also shirtless, wearing a pair of Gryffindor boxers that were probably Neville's, Ginny giggled.
"Happy birthday, Nev," Harry chirped. Neville blinked owlishly.
"Oh, yeah. Thanks, guys."
"Make a wish," Ginny pestered, plastering herself over his back as he stared at the cheerfully dancing candle flame.
Neville's gaze finally sharpened, and when he blew out the candle, Harry could make a pretty good guess what he'd wished for.
"What time do you come of age?" Draco asked, stretching out his arms and cracking his neck. Ginny giggled again, louder this time.
"D'you need a Nail Clipping charm, Harry?" she asked, apropos of nothing. Harry stared at her, bewildered.
"What?"
She nodded towards Draco, and Harry watched his boyfriend dig around the dresser for his clothes, admiring his arse in those bright green boxers — and then trailing his gaze up over the red scratch-marks still visible over his shoulders. Harry blushed, glaring at the redheaded girl.
"Shut up," he muttered petulantly. "Like you can talk; Nev looks like he's been mauled."
That just made Ginny look smug, running a hand over her boyfriend's chest. "He does, doesn't he?" she agreed proudly, patting Neville's cheek when he blushed.
"I need to go shower," Draco declared. "So put your tits away before I have to open the door, Weasley, in case your mother finds out how scandalous you are."
Ginny laughed, summoning a shirt from across the room. "If I must," she mock-sighed. "Although that reminds me — I was thinking about getting a nipple piercing, sometime before we go back to school. Pretty sure I can blackmail Charlie into taking me to his tattoo artist friend for it. What do you think?" She turned in Harry's direction, cupping her breasts and looking at them with a curious expression. Harry snickered, seeing Neville turn a vibrant shade of red.
"Pretty sure you're asking the wrong bloke, Gin," he said mildly. "But right before school is the best idea, less chance for your mum to find out. Also if you do go, let me know, I want a tattoo."
"Ooh, tattoo and piercing date," Ginny said delightedly, pulling her t-shirt over her head. "You're on, Potter."
It was such a normal morning. The easy movement between them, discussing their return to school like it was a sure thing, the teasing and the banter and Neville's eternal blush. Like it was any other day.
"You never answered my question, Neville," Draco reminded. "What time d'you come of age?"
Neville took a second to stop staring at Ginny's chest, even though it was covered by fabric, no doubt imagining a piercing there. "Oh, yeah. Quarter to midnight," he said, running a sheepish hand through his hair. "Barely today."
"As the seventh month dies," Harry murmured to himself, earning an odd look from the taller boy. "Nothing, nothing." Neville had never heard the Prophecy, didn't know how close he'd come to being in Harry's shoes. If Harry had his way, he never would.
A lithe form pressed against Harry's back, a hand pinching his arse. "Shower time," Draco said, eyes smouldering as he looked at Harry. "Coming?"
Harry summoned his clothes quickly, ignoring Ginny's cackling laughter as he followed Draco out.
It was going to be a difficult day; they had to take their joy where they could.
.-.-.
They knew what was coming when Snape disappeared.
The Potions Master had told them — the family, those who knew the truth — that the Dark Lord had asked Snape to be at his side when the battle came. Snape was one of the best duellists on the Dark side, after all. Voldemort had so few left these days,
So when, not long after dinner, Remus sidled into the Great Hall and over to Harry, jaw clenched and eyes faintly glowing, Harry knew what was coming.
The countdown had begun.
"Here we go, then," he said, releasing a deep breath. Remus nodded.
"Here we go," he echoed. He cupped the back of Harry's neck, pressing their foreheads together, scenting Harry's temple. "Look after yourself, cub."
"You too, Moony." It took everything Harry had to pull away, offering the man a tight smile.
"It's go time then, is it, chaps?" Fred asked briskly, watching the exchange. Harry nodded.
"Some time in the next few hours."
"Least we got a good meal in first," George commented. "I'd hate to go to war on an empty stomach." He winked, and Harry laughed, even as his own dinner turned to lead in his gut.
"I'm going to find the others." He looked at the twins, smirking. "Give 'em hell, boys."
The pair saluted, brown eyes bright.
The twins were Harry's seconds, as far as the HA were concerned. They were the ones to get everyone mobilised.
Harry had his own work to do.
He got to his feet, keeping his shoulders back and his head high as every head in the room swivelled in his direction, the whispers starting to spread. He would not look scared. He would not show a hint of the anxiety buzzing inside him.
At the doors, a hand slipped into his. He looked down, meeting Luna's smiling face. "Neville's coming," she assured. "The castle's letting him know."
Harry nodded, and they left, hand in hand. Sure enough, Neville met them at the stairs, dirt on the knees of his jeans from working in the greenhouses.
As they made their way upstairs, taking the long way for once, Harry noticed the signs of preparation. Underage students were being gently chivvied downstairs, ready to take refuge in the dungeons. People were walking that little bit faster, jaws set resolutely. They stepped aside for the three heirs, their eyes knowing.
They made it to the Hospital Wing, and Hannah took one look at them and grimaced. "How long have we got?" she asked simply. Harry glanced out the window, looking at the gates. There was no one there, yet.
He checked his watch. Quarter past eight. "I'd give it about two hours, maybe three. He won't want to show too early." He wanted to catch Harry at his weakest, at the moment of his birth. Seven minutes past two in the morning. Not truly as the seventh month was dying, but close enough to it.
"Oh, good." Hannah settled down in her bed. "I can let my food settle before I have to take a pain potion."
"Are you sure you're up for this, Hannah?" Neville fretted. She looked up with hard eyes.
"Do I have a choice?" she retorted pointedly. "I'll be fine, Nev. Sooner we get this out of the way, the sooner they can call in a specialist and sort me out."
Anyone who thought that Hufflepuffs were weak or spineless had never met a true Hufflepuff, Harry thought to himself. Here Hannah was, quite literally spineless, and she was still ready to go to war however she could.
"We won't have to hold it for as long as last time," Luna pointed out serenely, patting Neville's arm.
The door to Pomfrey's office opened, and the mediwitch walked out with Draco at her side. When he saw the four of them, he stopped in his tracks. "Oh, fuck," he declared emphatically. "So soon?"
"Not immediately," Harry assured. "Couple of hours. Sev's gone," he added as explanation, ignoring Neville's narrow-eyed look at the address. There would be time for those truths later.
"Well," Pomfrey said, running her hands over her apron. "That changes things. I'll send an elf to Horace, see if he can send up the last of those Blood Replenishing potions he's been brewing. I trust the headmistress has been alerted?"
Harry hadn't seen McGonagall in the Hall when he'd left, but he was sure someone had run to find her, so he nodded.
"Good. Mr Malfoy, would you ready Miss Abbott's evening potions, please?" Pomfrey requested. Draco jumped to work, and the three heirs perched on the edge of the bed beside Hannah, pressed shoulder to shoulder as she downed four potions, grimacing between each one.
"Thanks, Draco," she said when he passed her a glass of water.
It was torture, the waiting. Watching Pomfrey and Draco ready the Hospital Wing for whatever emergencies it may bring, watching the other healers and volunteer assistants file in with grim faces.
After an hour, Luna stiffened. "We should go," she declared. Harry and Neville shared a look.
"Okay, then."
Harry had an eye on Draco, watching as the blond sucked in a sharp breath as soon as he saw they had stood. He almost dropped the roll of bandages he was holding, but set it down on a tray instead, taking three long strides across the room to stand in front of Harry.
"Promise me, Potter," he whispered furiously, cupping Harry's cheeks with loving hands. "Promise me you'll find me, when you join the battle. Promise me we'll do this together."
"I will," he said, glad Draco hadn't asked for anything more, for a promise he couldn't make. "I love you."
"I love you," Draco said back to him, kissing his lips, then kissing the barely-there lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
Only then did he step back with a shaky breath, jaw clenched as he nodded to the other three. "Good luck. Here," he added, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a vial of Pain Reliever for Hannah. "You'll need this."
She smiled gratefully, then looked to her fellow heirs. "I'll meet you up there."
After that, there was no more stalling. Harry had to walk away, leave the love of his life behind knowing that the next time they saw each other they'd be fighting for their lives.
The bustle of the Hospital Wing didn't stop for them, but everyone was watching as they left.
Harry didn't want eyes on him, not now, not anymore, and he was fairly sure Neville and Luna felt the same. They didn't complain when he dragged a secret passage into existence behind a tapestry, leading them into a blessedly quiet stairwell.
He thought about all the people he hadn't seen yet, all the ones he hadn't said goodbye to. That was perhaps for the best — if he had to look anyone else he loved in the eye and then walk away, Harry didn't think he would make it.
Hogwarts was thrumming anxiously in the back of his mind. Or perhaps that was his own anxiety, projected onto a castle that was far too sentient for its own good sometimes.
The door to the Room of Requirement opened, and the Wardstone was revealed.
Now they were in position, Hannah could join them — Dobby brought her whole hospital bed with her in it, positioning it carefully at the West point, not obstructing any of the others but close enough that Hannah could get a hand on the crystal.
Then the little elf threw himself at Harry, hugging him around the knees. "Dobby will protect Hoggywarts, Harry Potter sir," he swore firmly. Harry patted the elf on the head with a fond smile.
"I know you will, Dobby."
The house elf disappeared, off to man whatever station he had decided was his for the fighting.
Harry stepped up to the Wardstone, in his usual spot. He looked to Hannah, who was positioned somewhat awkwardly, lying down on the bed with her arm outstretched. "You okay?"
"It'll do," she assured. "I'm gonna hurt regardless, this can't make it much worse."
Well, that was one way to look at it.
They were as ready as it got, now.
"After this is all over, I want a proper birthday party," Neville blurted suddenly, startling them all. "Like last year. A party for me and Harry, with everyone there, to celebrate us turning seventeen. This birthday has been shit."
Harry laughed, grinning at his friend, seeing the girls smile too. "We'll make it happen," he promised. "Proper party, for the two of us. We'll have it at my place; it's got a swimming pool." The Pottery's pool was bigger than the one at Seren Du, even.
"Perfect," Neville said with a satisfied nod. "Glad we got that sorted."
And then he put both hands on the Wardstone.
Harry did the same, sinking into the now-familiar liminal space between his magic and the castle's, bridging the gaps between them until every beat of his heart pulsed in the stones themselves. He bridged the gaps between the heirs, too, reaching for Hannah and Luna and Neville, his magic twining with theirs joyously.
There was no sudden flare of pain when the assault on the wards began. This time, they were ready. They softened the blow, drawing deep from the roots of the Forbidden Forest to press back against Voldemort's cloying darkness.
Once again, time ceased to exist. Except for one moment, at eleven forty-four PM, when the heir of Gryffindor came of age.
At that moment, Neville's full power rushed through the wards, bright as a flare, bursting through the tightly-woven net of magic and making the castle sing. The swirls of red in Harry's vision grew brighter, bolder — all the excess magic that usually poured off someone at the moment of their maturation, siphoned directly into the Hogwarts wards themselves.
He wondered if Voldemort was getting angry, yet. He wasn't trying nearly as hard to crack the wards as last time — he was waiting. Biding his time, with just enough pressure to let everyone know he was there. Practically knocking on the door.
Harry could envision it; Voldemort stood with his half-hearted attack on the wards, while all around him his followers gathered for their final fight. They would have trolls with them, most likely, and dementors. Perhaps even giants if the rumours were true. It wouldn't matter. They could handle it.
He didn't even question that Voldemort knew exactly the moment of Harry's birth. Snape would have told him. The only reason Harry himself knew was because Remus told him.
He could feel it, when it started to draw near. Not in his body — he was so deep into his magic he was barely aware of even having a body — but in his soul, in his magic, tiny crackles like static electricity before a huge lightning storm. It built, and built, and built.
And then it let go.
Neville's burst of power, impressive though it was, was nothing compared to Harry's. Four ancient lines converging within him, on top of an already incredibly powerful innate magical core. Every last drop of that surge, directed right into the wards, carefully restrained. Harry waited a beat, then two. Voldemort's magic rose in an enormous wave of power, crashing against the wards.
Harry pulled his hands off the Wardstone, and told the wards to drop.
The others had moved at the same time, reinforcing his decision. They could feel the wards 'fail', feel the influx of dark magic as it spilled onto the grounds.
Hannah couldn't stifle her gasp of pain as she moved her arm back down. Harry's eyes darted to her in alarm, and she shook her head ever so slightly, eyes squeezing shut. "It's fine. I'm fine. Go. Good luck, all of you."
It felt wrong, leaving her there. But there was no other option — Hannah could not fight, and they needed one of them there to protect the Wardstone, just in case.
So they exited the room, stepping back out into the castle.
The sounds of battle weren't immediately obvious. The castle gave them a shortcut down, and Harry's wand slid into his hand as he hurried down the steps. He felt strong. His magic was humming through his veins, eager to be used, more powerful than he had even begun to imagine.
At the bottom of the stairs, Harry paused, halting his two friends. "Be safe," he said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "I want to see you on the other side of this. Both of you."
They nodded, and stepped through the door.
Immediately, they were right in the midst of the action — people were hurrying through the Entrance Hall out to the grounds; they wouldn't let the fight get inside the castle, not if they could help it. Not with the students in there. To Harry's surprise, the suits of armour that usually lined the corridors had mobilised, marching outdoors with military precision. Where the hell had McGonagall been hiding that spell?
He didn't have time to think. He reached for the wards, reached for the magic he knew better than anyone's. Draco was outside, and Harry had to find him.
Neville and Luna stuck with him as they entered the fray — Harry didn't think, shooting spells as easy as breathing, his magic jumping to obey him without a second of hesitation.
He had to rein it in, had to at least appear to be struggling, for a little bit. Voldemort thought him weakened. Any surprise was Harry's advantage.
Neville and Luna knew the plan, so they covered for him when he pretended to have his magic fail. Harry ducked a jet of bright blue light, and Luna sent her own in return — a Blasting curse, which caught the black-cloaked figure in the chest, sending them flying backwards and sprawling to the ground. They didn't get up.
This was not the time to have mercy.
The night was lit up with spells, the half-moon shining high in the clear sky. His eyes adjusted remarkably quickly — after years in the cupboard, Harry had no problem seeing in the dark. He had the fleeting thought that they should have done more night-time training, should have planned for this eventuality. Hopefully the light shining from the castle was enough.
If it wasn't, the light from the Patroni keeping the swarm of dementors away would certainly help.
All around him, Harry could see familiar faces. Students he'd grown up with and teachers he'd learned from and people who had become family to him in just a few short years. He saw Oliver and Cassius, fighting side by side; the Patil twins, bracketing Lavender Brown, who seemed to have already amassed quite an impressive pile of broken wands at her feet. Tonks, hair a bright pink beacon in the midst of it all, standing guard over a downed figure — Harry couldn't see who. His heart jolted in alarm, but in moments a house elf appeared, grabbing the prone form and vanishing it from the battlefield.
Good. That was good.
He looked around, following the pull of magic, eyes straining for a head of silver blond hair. At last, he spotted him — Draco was alone, duelling two Death Eaters at once, and the sight of it made Harry's lungs sieze. He sprinted over, shielding as he ran, Neville and Luna right on his heel. Without hesitation, he fired a Cutting curse at one of the Death Eaters duelling Draco. With his maturation still buzzing through his veins, the curse came out so powerful it sliced the man clean in half at the waist. "Whoops," Harry remarked, throwing a shield up as Draco turned around, sheer relief filling those mercury eyes, just for a moment before Draco's attention turned back to the battle.
"Happy birthday, darling," he called airily, dodging a nasty-looking hex and firing back. "You'll have to wait for your present."
Harry laughed, shoulder pressing briefly against Draco's, slotting into the space at the blond's side as he'd trained to do for the last year.
"Nev, Luna, go!" he urged to the pair. "We're going to find him. Go help whoever you can."
Neville looked like he might protest, but Luna just grabbed him by the arm and tugged him away, the pair running to give assistance to Cho Chang.
Draco hit his opponent with a spell that had them falling to the ground, and they kept moving.
It was easy, looking for Voldemort — he just had to feel in the wards for the magic that felt like a complete blight on humanity. Everything about the man felt wrong, twisted, broken.
Actually getting to him, however, wasn't quite as easy. The Death Eaters had spotted Harry, and were gathering to try and slow him down, determined to make him work for the privilege of duelling their master. Harry thought it was quite bold of many of them, in all honesty — they thought themselves safe enough to risk trying to kill him, stealing Voldemort's vengeance from him? What idiots.
But Harry wasn't alone; he had Draco, yes, but there were others, appearing once they realised the group were converging around Harry. Doing their best to distract and disrupt the Death Eaters. As they drew closer to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Harry was both amused and deeply disturbed to see acromantula scuttling out from the cover of the trees, grabbing humans between their pincers and dragging them back to the forest. Harry doubted they had been asked to do so — and indeed, they didn't seem to be discriminating between Death Eaters and not, though Hagrid managed to reclaim the student who almost met a very grizzly end. Some of the acromantula were just grabbing fresh corpses and going to town right there.
Harry shook his head; whatever. If it saved them the clean up, he hardly cared.
They were edging closer, making it through the Death Eater ranks. Harry knew he was almost at his destination when he came up against Rabastan Lestrange, his sleeve ripped and his clockwork arm gleaming with every flash of spellfire.
"You want me to take your other arm?" Draco taunted, watching Lestrange's face screw up in fury, his mask abandoned long ago.
"I'll kill you!" the man roared, so focused on Draco that he neglected to see the other head of blonde hair approaching.
"You will do no such thing!" Narcissa slashed her wand down in a firm arc, and all of a sudden Lestrange's eyes began to bulge as he gasped for air, choking on nothing, drowning on dry land. He dropped to his knees, and Narcissa didn't release the spell until he'd stopped moving entirely. Then she sniffed delicately. "I never did like him," she declared, as if she had merely escorted the man from a tea party rather than choked him to death.
But there was no time to stand and admire her handiwork; with Lestrange down, there were plenty more willing to take his place.
And then Harry pushed forward, through a break in the line, and found himself stood face to face with Lord Voldemort himself.
Harry's first thought was that the man had aged; his strangely smooth, pale face was weathered like peeling paint, dark circles below his luminous red eyes. He didn't hold himself quite so elegantly as he had before.
"Hello, Tom!" Harry greeted cheerfully, taking a few more steps forward. His heart lurched at leaving Draco behind, but this was the plan.
Everyone else would take care of the crowd, and Harry would deal with their leader.
Stood at Voldemort's side, ramrod straight and face entirely impassive, was Severus Snape. He looked almost bored by it all, his wand held in his hand but lax at his side. As if that made him any less dangerous.
And on Voldemort's other side, curled up in the grass, was Nagini.
The final horcrux.
"Potter," Voldemort hissed, in English but with such venom it almost sounded Parseltongue. "Facing your death like a true Gryffindor, I see."
"Oh, but haven't you heard?" Harry replied, still in that same cheerful tone, "I'm the heir of Slytherin now!"
Voldemort's face twisted in fury, and a bolt of green light shot from his wand. Harry ducked, hoping those behind him were still paying attention. "You make a mockery of the name of Salazar Slytherin!" the Dark Lord crowed. "I shall destroy you, and claim my rightful place as Slytherin's true heir."
Harry continued to duck and dodge and shield as they talked, keeping half an eye on Snape. The man was edging ever closer to Nagini, behind Voldemort while the man was distracted.
"Yeah, see, if you had the ability to do that, you would've done it by now," Harry jibed. "But the family magic doesn't want you. You fail to meet the requirements." He had to conjure a shield to block another Killing curse, and apparently the first thing on his mind do to so was an entire wooden door, which shattered on impact. A chunk of it came flying back at him, cutting deep into his left arm, and he winced. Not doing that again, then.
"You lie!" Voldemort roared. "It is you who is falling short, Harry Potter — I felt your wards fail, felt your magic weaken as you came of age. How did it feel, Potter, to know that the headmaster you trusted had betrayed you so? Continued to damage you, even now? How did it feel, to have your maturation stunted?" There was a mocking sneer on his thin lips, but Harry just laughed, shooting a dark curse he'd learned from Remus that would turn someone's elbow joints backwards. It didn't hit, but he hadn't expected it to; he just needed to keep all the attention focused on him. Find your moment, and take it, Salazar had told him. But Harry couldn't find his moment until Snape had taken care of the last loose end.
"Actually, Tom, I feel pretty fucking fantastic," he drawled, ducking low and coming up with a spell already glowing on his wand. He put the full force of his magic into it, and though it hit Voldemort's shield it was still strong enough to send the man skidding backwards. Snape was forced to quickly sidestep out of the way — right behind Nagini. Perfect.
"You didn't actually believe that whole thing about Dumbledore's blocks fucking up my magic, did you?" Harry asked incredulously, seeing Snape raise his wand. "Honestly, Tom, you're so easy to fool. I got those blocks removed when I was thirteen, they haven't troubled me for years." He smiled sweetly at the astonished Dark Lord. "I just wanted to get you here so we could do this."
At once, Severus' wand moved in a complicated spiral and flick pattern. "Fiendfyre!" he said clearly, and flames leapt from his wand, instantly swallowing up the enormous snake on the grass. A horrifying scream rent the air — not from Nagini, but from the horcrux within her, dying in the cursed flames.
It was a risky move, using something as quick to anger as Fiendfyre, something that could so easily burn the entire place to cinders under the wrong hand — but this was Severus Snape, the man of an iron will and such firm Occlumency shields that he had managed to fool both Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore for years. Fiendfyre would not dare break loose from his control.
The flames lasted just long enough for the scream to fade, and then they faded too, sucking back into Snape's wand like a vacuum and leaving nothing but a pile of ash.
"Severus!" Voldemort exclaimed, turning his wand on his follower. "What— you traitor! I should have known all along you were Dumbledore's man!"
"You're wrong," Snape spat, dark eyes flashing. "I am no more Dumbledore's man than yours — I did this for Lily, and for Harry. I helped destroy your horcruxes, every last one of them. I let you believe you could trust me, and now I have brought you to your end!"
Voldemort raised his wand, the tip already glowing green, and Harry moved his at the same time.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A figure dropped to the ground, dead.
And Severus Snape smirked.
"Quickly, Potter," he ordered, gesturing to the body of Lord Voldemort, crumpled and lifeless on the grass. "Clean up your mess."
The next words from Harry's mouth were Parseltongue, his wand moving in sharp jabbing motions over the corpse. "Cleanse this body, destroy this soul, banish it from this mortal plane. Let no harm come from this magic any longer."
Magic, stronger than anything Harry had felt so far, flooded through him, pouring into the body in front of him. He could feel every atom of his existence powering the ritual — the castle, boosting his magic with its own, with Hannah's, still pushing so hard to help the fight even from her hospital bed. He forced it all forward, praying the ritual would work. He was sure they had got all the horcruxes, but just in case there was anything else Voldemort might have done in the search for immortality, Salazar had assured him this would prevent anyone from resurrecting him again.
Voldemort's body glowed a searing white, as Salazar had said it would. Then, it dissolved, becoming nothing but tiny white particles, like a pile of sand next to Nagini's ashes.
Harry sucked in a deep breath, meeting Snape's gaze. It was done.
But the battle wasn't over.
Harry whirled around, wanting to see how things had gone while he'd been otherwise occupied. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon now, the pale golden glow illuminating the scenes of destruction. His friends were still fighting — Neville and Draco were back to back, Neville with blood running down his face and one eye swollen shut, not letting it slow him down for a moment. Beyond them, Ginny and Daphne fought together, and not far off Narcissa was holding her own — beside her was a familiar head of long dark hair and a rakish grin, wand moving with almost lazy grace. Sirius. He was still alive, still fighting. Thank Merlin for that.
Harry grinned viciously, and raised his wand to his throat. "LORD VOLDEMORT IS DEAD!" he announced, amplified by a Sonorous charm. "IF YOU SURRENDER NOW, YOU WILL BE TAKEN ALIVE."
Cheers went up, echoing back as far as the castle itself, but Harry didn't have time to celebrate. At the announcement, the Death Eaters began to panic. Many of them turned back towards the property line, but the heirs weren't having that — with no need to fake Harry's weakness, they locked the wards down tight, banishing the dementors and preventing any of the Death Eaters from getting away. They were not going to let them run and pretend they had never been part of this travesty.
Some took his words to heart, dropping their wands and raising their hands in surrender — those ones were Stunned and bound. Others went down fighting, raging at losing their master, trying to take down as many people as they could with them. Harry threw himself back into the midst of it all, Snape at his side this time. He was starting to flag, he could feel it, but he kept pushing just that little bit further, not wanting to lose a single person more now they were so close to the end.
And at last, Hogwarts was quiet.
Harry stood up straight, sucking in a deep breath — the air tasted of ash and ozone and blood. Or perhaps it was his mouth that tasted of blood, he wasn't sure.
"Harry!" He turned, just in time to catch the body that slammed into him, meet the mouth that pressed urgently to his. Draco tasted of blood, too, but Harry didn't care, letting all his relief out into that kiss. "You did it," Draco gasped when they parted, clutching his shoulders. "You're alive."
"So are you." Harry grinned, hugging him tight, feeling the tears sting at his eyes. If nothing else, he had Draco. All across the battlefield, similar reunions were happening. The quiet was broken; this time by shouts of joy and relieved sobbing, as loved ones found each other and relished in being alive.
More people converged on Harry. Sirius hugged him so tight his feet left the ground, babbling about how proud he was. Neville grinned at him despite his bloodied and beaten face, before being knocked to the ground by an enthusiastic Ginny who seemed to have lost half of her hair and possibly the tip of her ear in the battle.
Harry tried not to panic, at the faces he didn't see. The house elves had been fast in moving injured fighters off the battlefield; they could be up in the Hospital Wing, already healed. There was no need to panic.
He looked back, seeing Snape's eyes scanning the crowd, looking for the same head of greying tawny hair that Harry had noticed was missing. Harry reached out, grabbing Sirius by the shoulder. "Where's Remus?" he asked urgently. Sirius looked at him, then looked at Snape, who had whipped round at the name.
"Last I saw him, he was defending a couple of kids from a troll," the dog animagus said. "He was bleeding a bit, but still standing. Severus, I'm sure he's fine."
Snape's lips tightened, but he nodded.
Harry went light-headed all of a sudden, the spike of fear for his other godfather sending his pulse skyrocketing. He vaguely heard Draco call his name, before there was a sharp twist in his stomach, then he was bent double and expelling the contents of his stomach onto the grass. His head pounded, but strangely he felt a lot better, and he was grinning as he straightened up. "I'm fine," he insisted, seeing stars in his vision only for a moment or two. "I'm fine."
"Is this a bad time?" It was Kingsley, hurrying over — his battle robes looked a little charred in places, but he was otherwise unharmed. And behind him stood Amelia Bones.
"Oh, thank fuck you two made it," Harry blurted, "we'll finally have a competent government."
Kingsley blinked, while Amelia looked like she was fighting a smile. "That's the hope," she agreed wryly. "We came to tell you we're headed to the Ministry with a few others who are up for it — reclaiming the building, spreading the word. We have to move quickly."
Harry was impressed that they had the energy to jump straight in to such a thing. "That's good. With any luck, he'll have left it mostly empty." Harry couldn't see Voldemort leaving behind potential cannon fodder in his siege of Hogwarts. "That's what we're hoping. But we're going armed and ready all the same. If anyone feels up to joining us, we'd gladly take some extra wands," Amelia added, looking around the mismatched group.
"I'll go," Sirius volunteered. Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "I'll come back safe, I promise." He leaned in, kissing Harry's forehead. "Get some rest, pup. You've earned it." As he squared his shoulders, he winked at Snape. "Look after our boys 'til I get back, Severus."
Snape placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, nodding tersely, ignoring the many people staring incredulously at him for the exchange.
Kingsley, Amelia and Sirius all hurried off, and Harry and Neville shared a sheepish look as they both realised at once that they were still holding the wards too tight; no one would be able to get out. Harry eased his grip on the presence in his mind, feeling Hogwarts relax in turn.
That connection felt stronger, too, now that he was of age. Was that normal, or a side effect of being connected to the Wardstone during his maturation?
He and Neville would find out, he supposed.
"I have so many questions right now," Ginny said, staring at the long-fingered hand on Harry's shoulder. "But quite frankly I'm too tired to give a shit."
Harry snorted, swaying ever so slightly. "Tell me about it," he agreed. His mouth still tasted of bile, and he grimaced, shooting a Cleaning charm at it. His magic surged up happily, but his whole body ached with the force of it, surprising him with the flare of pain and vertigo. Draco's quick arm around his waist was the only thing that stopped him from falling flat on his face.
"Okay, that's it, inside time for you," the blond murmured. "I need to check you over — I can see you bleeding in at least four places, and I dread to think what else is wrong that you haven't even noticed yet."
Considering Harry could only feel two places he knew he was bleeding, that was probably a fair assessment.
The castle wasn't far off, but to Harry's exhausted body it felt like miles. Still, he'd had worse, so he kept on walking, leaning heavily against Draco's side.
He could sleep for a week, after this.
.-.-.
The work didn't end when the battle was won.
With many of the still-fit fighters off with Kingsley and Amelia to reclaim the Ministry and spread the word, those who remained did what they could. Those with any knowledge of healing magic tended to their own wounds and the minor wounds of those around them, all in unspoken agreement that the Hospital Wing should be saved for serious injuries. Anything not life threatening could wait a bit. Someone must have told those seeking refuge that it was over, because Harry could see students who were definitely not of age, and adults who had not been involved in the fighting — they were headed outside, helping those who needed assistance coming in, helping repair any damage done. Helping deal with the dead.
Harry sat on a bench in the corner of the Great Hall, leaning back against the table as Draco scanned him for injuries. The blond's familiar, soothing magic washed over him, knitting together the skin pierced by the shattered door, and the other bleeding wounds he wasn't sure how he'd acquired. He felt something pop in his chest and wondered at what point he'd broken a rib. Draco's expression was more exasperated than anything else.
"Drink this," he ordered, holding out a potion vial. Harry necked it back without even looking. "And this." The second one went down as easily as the first — that was a Pepper Up, he could feel it already, the steam gushing through his ears as the false energy raced through his system.
"I'm gonna crash so hard after this," Harry said, and Draco snorted.
"You won't be the only one. Your magical core is all over the place, so for my peace of mind, please try not to do anything excessive or ridiculous for the next twenty-four hours?"
"Yes, dear." Harry pecked him on the lips. "How are you? Do you need healing?" Green eyes narrowed in concern, but Draco waved him off.
"Nothing I haven't already dealt with." His lips pursed, and he turned. "For Salazar's sake, Neville, get over here and let me heal that, it hurts just to look at you."
Harry tiled his head back, grinning somewhat dazedly, seeing Neville approach sheepishly and sit beside Harry. Draco happily got to work, and Harry took the opportunity to look around the hall.
They weren't the only ones who had come inside to lick their wounds. The house tables had been pushed aside like they often were for training, but people were sat on the benches, or on the floor, or up at the staff table. Harry was relieved to see McGonagall up there, her hair having escaped from its usual tight bun but otherwise seemingly unscathed.
In the centre of the hall, things weren't so light. Through lack of other options, they had chosen to lay their dead out there, covered by conjured white sheets but with faces left visible so they could be identified by their loved ones. There were more than a few sobbing clusters around white sheets. Even more still being brought in on stretchers. "Charlie!" Ginny was off like a shot as her brother limped into the room, leaning very heavily against Viktor Krum. The Bulgarian seeker seemed to have a broken nose, dried blood sticking to his chin and all down the front of his robes. Between the two of them, they looked like they'd had a particularly bad quidditch accident.
Charlie's eyes filled with relief at the sight of his little sister. "Ginny, thank Merlin!" He let her hug him gently — his arm that wasn't around Viktor was hanging at an unnatural angle.
Harry caught Viktor's eye, beckoning the man over. Draco was already up on his feet, finished with Neville's face, and he laid Charlie out on the tabletop with confident movements. Looking at him, Harry couldn't help but smile faintly — he could certainly see the blond a few years from now, wearing those awful lime green robes, working that firm-but-efficient bedside manner on patients.
"Harry," Charlie sighed out, wincing when Draco reset his shoulder in place. "Have you seen Sirius?"
"He went with Kings and Amelia to go retake the Ministry. He promised he'd come back in one piece."
Charlie scowled, though that might have been the pain of having several broken fingers reset. "He'd fucking better," he muttered.
"What the hell happened to you, anyway?" Harry asked.
"Edward Parkinson. Thought he'd torture me a little before killing me," Charlie explained hollowly. "Viktor here saved my life."
Harry took that to mean Parkinson was dead. Pansy would be pleased.
Ginny burst into tears, hugging Viktor tightly around the waist. "Thank you," she rasped. Viktor pat her on the back awkwardly.
"I am glad I made it in time," he said simply, making Harry wonder just how close a call Charlie had had. His stomach squirmed just thinking about it.
His gaze shifted back to the mourners in the middle of the hall. More and more bodies had been brought in, but it seemed like the flow had stopped now. Dare he hope that was it?
Other than those in the Hospital Wing who couldn't be saved, of course.
An urge rose within him. He didn't want to, felt panic claw its way around his heart, but at the same time he had to. He had led them into this mess. He had to lead them through the hard parts, too. He stood up, ignoring his friends' concerned calls, walking on shaky legs towards the middle of the hall.
The first few faces he saw, lax in death, were strangers. He moved slowly down the row, reluctantly dragging his eyes from one to the next, waiting to see a face that utterly floored him.
He recognised Emmeline Vance, one of the Order members. Then, further down the line, a girl he knew to be a Ravenclaw seventh year, though he wasn't sure of her name.
But beside that girl was a body that hit Harry like a punch to the gut. "No," he gasped, staring down at Colin Creevey's still, lifeless form. The boy's blue eyes, usually so bright and full of joy, stared blankly up at the ceiling.
Harry staggered — and the body that caught him was surprisingly strong, for its frailty. "You did everything you could, Potter," McGonagall whispered, holding him by the shoulders, her voice firm. "You gave him the best chance you could. Sometimes, even that isn't enough."
"He was sixteen," Harry croaked, and McGonagall's lips thinned.
"He was. But he died taking a curse for his younger brother, and I cannot imagine a nobler death."
Harry's eyes widened. "Dennis." Their youngest fighter by far, a boy who never should have been on the battlefield to begin with. All of them had lost their arguments in convincing the kid to stay in the castle. Harry had hoped a house elf would grab him and put him safely in Hufflepuff, but clearly that was not the case. "Where is he?"
"Sleeping off a concussion, as far as I'm aware. A troll knocked him on the head."
Harry winced. Straightening up, he turned back to the sheet-covered bodies, but McGonagall didn't let him go. "Don't torture yourself, Potter," she urged. He shook her off.
"I need to know." He needed to check that his family was not there, lying dead on the stone tiles.
McGonagall pursed her lips once more, but walked by his side all the same.
It seemed Colin was the first of many familiar faces. Padma Patil, Wayne Hopkins. Two seventh year Hufflepuffs. Professor Sinistra. Seamus Finnegan.
But for a battle mainly fought by students, most of the casualties seemed to be adults. Then again, Harry had been preparing his students for this far longer than any of the adults even realised. Finally, he reached the end of the double row of bodies. Not nearly as many as he had feared. He hoped that meant they had done well for numbers, and not just that the Hospital Wing was overrun. He had to get up there, look for the rest of his family…
He looked up at McGonagall, seeing the deep furrows in her brow and around her mouth, her age made worse by her grief. She had probably taught every single one of those bodies, at some time or another. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked. McGonagall smiled sadly, her eyes softening more than Harry had ever seen from her.
"I quite think you've done enough, for now, don't you?" she murmured. She squeezed his shoulders. "You should be proud of all you have done, Mr Potter. Not just today, but everything it took you to get here. Everything I missed right under my nose — like the reason Severus Snape is watching you like a mother duck with a wayward duckling," she added, raising an eyebrow. Harry flushed. "I should very much like to hear how all this came to pass, one day. But not now. Now, you should get some rest. You've done your part, let us old hands do ours, hmm?"
There was a weariness in her gaze that made Harry wonder how many times she had done something like this; cleaned up the aftermath of death and destruction, looked at the dead bodies of her former or current students.
Never again. Harry would make sure of it.
"Okay," he agreed — he was exhausted, after all. "But, if I'm needed…"
"Word will be sent," McGonagall assured, though by the look on her face Harry doubted anything short of the castle collapsing would be enough of an emergency to warrant her calling for him.
She sent him on his way with a gentle push, and Harry went back towards Snape and the rest.
"Who?" Ginny asked simply, looking at his face. She was leaning against Neville, his hand clutched in both of hers.
"Seamus," he said, watching pain fill both their eyes. "Padma. And… and Colin."
Ginny sucked in a sharp breath. "No."
"I'm sorry, Gin." Harry knew they were friends; year mates, bonding first over a mild obsession with Harry Potter and then through other things, the HA only strengthening that bond.
"Does Dennis know?" she asked, tears filling her eyes. Harry nodded.
"McGonagall said Colin took a curse for him. That's how… that's how it happened."
Ginny blinked furiously, clenching her jaw, throat bobbing as she swallowed thickly. "Then it's how he would have wanted," she croaked. Neville put an arm around her, kissing her half-shorn hair.
"I'm so sorry, Gin."
"Harry." Draco's quiet, solemn voice made him turn. "We should go upstairs," he said, and at first Harry thought he was suggesting sleep, but then the blond continued. "I haven't seen Mother since… she went down from a Bone-Breaker at the very end of the battle, someone getting one last shot at Lucius Malfoy's wife," he snarled. "I need to know she's okay."
"Of course. You should have said sooner." He looked back at their cluster at the table; Charlie looked better now, sat up and rolling out his sore shoulder. "We're going to the Hospital Wing. Seeing who we can find."
"Sounds good," Neville said. "I think we're gonna sit here for a bit."
Ginny didn't look in any state to move, still reeling from the news of Colin's death.
Harry and Draco headed for the doors, and Snape moved into step beside them. He was taking Sirius' instruction very seriously, it seemed.
The whole way up to the Hospital Wing, Harry was mentally convincing himself that even if he didn't see people, there was no reason to panic. There was plenty of activity still going on — people cleaning up outside, or off at the Ministry, or just taking a private moment for themselves to decompress. Harry could understand that urge.
And yet, the flurry of red hair that he saw upon entering the Hospital Wing almost made him faint with relief.
They didn't even seem to be patients — Mrs Weasley was bustling from bed to bed, handing out cups of tea, while Fred and George appeared to be working on healing some people. Ron was sat beside a bed that held Hermione, a bandage creeping up her neck and shoulder. That was still a few Weasleys short. Thinking over the group, Harry was sure they had to be with the Ministry lot — Percy, and Arthur, and Bill and Fleur. They would want to be involved in that.
"Mother!" Draco half-dragged Harry over to a bed, where Narcissa Malfoy was sat up and drinking tea, her leg propped up on a pillow.
"Oh, my darling boys," she greeted happily. "All three of you! I'm so glad to see you."
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape's face turn quietly disgruntled at being referred to as one of her 'darling boys'.
And then the man seemed to drain of colour entirely.
Harry followed his gaze to a bed in the corner, in which lay a worryingly still Remus Lupin.
"Severus!" Narcissa's sharp voice wrenched the man from his daze. "He's alright," she assured, gentler this time. "He was awake earlier. He got mildly crushed by a dead troll, so I'm told, but managed to hold it up so a student was not flattened to death. It all sounds rather heroic indeed." Her lips curled at the corners. "Strains, bruises and a broken collarbone; nothing Madame Delacour could not fix. I believe he's only out from exhaustion — you could go and wake him, if you like."
Snape stayed put, fists clenched at his sides, torn between going to Remus and sticking with the boys he'd sworn to protect. Harry reached out, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "Go to him," he urged. "I promise, Draco and I are just going up to the dorm after this. Shower and sleep, nothing dangerous. We'll be fine. He needs you more than we do, Sirius will understand."
After a beat of indecision, Snape nodded, and strode off to go and sit beside Remus' bed, carefully shaking his un-bandaged shoulder. Harry held his breath until he saw the werewolf's eyes flicker open, saw him smile broadly at the sight of Snape unharmed.
They didn't embrace, or kiss, or even hold hands. But that didn't mean a thing compared to the love and relief on Remus' face, or the small but genuine smile on Snape's.
It was a good thing no one was paying attention but Harry.
"Word has been sent to St Mungo's." Narcissa's voice drew him back to the conversation. "There should be more healers coming through as soon as the floo is back up and running."
"That's good." Poor Madam Pomfrey looked rushed off her feet. "I… have you seen Hannah?" He couldn't see the Hufflepuff heir anywhere in the ward. Perhaps she was behind one of the curtained-off beds?
"Dobby moved her to a private room, once she was done at the Wardstone," Narcissa assured. "Madam Pomfrey checked on her a little while ago; she's sleeping. Which is exactly what you two should be doing," she added sternly.
"I had to see you were alright," Draco protested. Narcissa patted his hand.
"And now you have, so you can go to bed."
"If you insist, Mother." Draco leaned down, kissing her cheek. "We'll see you later."
Harry was starting to lose his already tentative hold on his awareness, dazedly saying goodbye to Narcissa and letting Draco lead him away. He was mentally cognisant enough to pull up a shortcut to Gryffindor — though how much of that was him and how much was the castle, he couldn't be sure. The Fat Lady tutted sympathetically, swinging open to let them in, and Harry stumbled through the portrait hole on clumsy legs. Draco chuckled, arm sliding around his waist.
"Come on, love. Let's go try not to drown you in the shower, yeah?"
Getting up the stairs was a battle in itself, and Harry very much wanted to just collapse in bed, but Draco cajoled him through to the bathroom, vanishing Harry's tattered robes with a spell. Harry blinked, suddenly naked, and began to shiver violently. "Oh, and there's the shock; I've been waiting for that," Draco murmured, more to himself than Harry. He turned on the shower and stripped himself with another spell, nudging Harry under the spray.
He couldn't feel the heat of the water. Could barely feel Draco gently scrubbing the blood off his skin, trailing worried fingers over his bruises and brand new scars. Knew enough to tip his head back to rinse the suds from his hair when Draco lathered it up. Latched onto the blond like an octopus while Draco washed his own hair and body efficiently.
Once the shower was off, Harry was wrapped in a fluffy red towel, and a spell dried his hair and body. "'S gonna look ridiculous tomorrow," he complained, brain stuttering over putting one foot in front of the other but somehow remembering how frizzy his hair went when dried magically.
Draco snorted. "Of course that's your priority. Daft lion." He led Harry back out, still completely naked himself, long past the point of caring about modesty.
A near-feral sounding groan ripped from Harry's lungs at the sight of his bed, and Draco barely managed to jerk the duvet back with a twitch of his fingers before Harry was face-planting straight into it. The towel was removed, which made him whine, but then Draco slipped in beside him, tugging the duvet up to their shoulders. Harry burrowed into his side, clinging tightly. Over Draco's shoulder, he caught sight of the alarm clock on his night stand.
It was ten past nine in the morning.
Only seven hours since the moment they had dropped the wards. Seven hours, and so many lives lost.
The dam broke, the first sob escaping him — a raw, painful thing, shaking his shoulders and making his whole head ache, tearing through him worse than any spell he'd taken that morning. Once he started, he couldn't stop, sobbing hideously into Draco's chest, tears and snot and the whole shebang, blubbering his apologies; to Draco for making a mess, and to Colin and Padma and everyone else for not being fast enough, not being strong enough, just not being enough.
Draco stroked his hair, and hugged him tight, and didn't make a single comment about the snot. He just kept holding him, his own tears coming more quietly, a release of all the fears he'd ever had in his entire life. The fear of losing his mother, the fear of losing Harry, the fear of having to bow to Lord Voldemort and act like he meant it.
Those fears were a thing of the past.
It was this way that the two boys eventually fell asleep, tangled so close together it looked almost painful, their eyes puffy and their shredded hearts slowly beginning to piece themselves back together.
They had survived, and that was the important part.