𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟕 - 𝟏𝟓

The Great Hall was a haze of smoke and debris. It smelled too much like sorrow and ash, so Hermione, Weasley and I all stepped out and waited on the main staircase for Potter.

Once we had gotten back to the castle he'd wasted no time running up to Dumbledore's office to put Snape's tears in the Pensive. Every time I thought of Snape I saw his slumped, blood-stained body, and I felt a sharp pang. It wasn't sadness, exactly, because it wasn't like we'd ever really gotten along. But I'd known him since long before I came to Hogwarts, and his death still managed to strike something deep within me.

I was starting to get nervous about Potter. We'd all been in a constant state of anxiousness since the war began, and probably even before that, but it was heightened now that he was separated from us. Anything could have happened to him. The Death Eaters had disappeared after Voldemort's orders, but that didn't mean that the castle still wasn't dangerous, especially for him.

When finally we heard his footsteps the three of us stood and spun around to face him. He was walking slowly, heavily, like whatever he had seen in the Pensive had aged him decades. There was a strange look on his face as well, and he wouldn't meet any of our eyes.

"What did you see?" Hermione asked immediately, but he just kept walking until he was passed us, and then on the landing in front of us.

"I'm going," Potter said emotionlessly, back still facing us.

"Going where?" Weasley asked obliviously.

"The Forbidden Forest. I'm going there now."

I couldn't breath. He didn't mean it.

"Are you mad?" Weasley shouted, at the same time Hermione exclaimed "No! You can't give yourself up to him!"

My mind was going blank. All I could think was Potter and the Forbidden Forest and Voldemort and Potter Potter Potter. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to cry. I wanted to blast him into a million pieces because that would still be better then letting him walk into his own death at the hands of the man he'd been fighting for his entire life.

"What is it?" I eventually whispered. I could barely even hear myself, but I knew he could. "What did you see?"

Finally Potter turned around, but honestly it just made everything worse. I felt like I was seeing him again for the first time. Bright green eyes, forever messy jet-black hair, all sharp edges and crinkly smile lines that looked out of place on his devastated face.

I couldn't do this.

He took a ragged breath before saying softly, "There's a reason I can hear them... the Horcruxes. And him. I think I've known for a while." He looked at Hermione now. "And I think you have too."

Then it all clicked, like everything we had been trying to figure out this entire year all came together in a discovery so impossible that I was dizzy with it. But I knew in my heart it was true. 

Potter was a Horcrux.

A sob escaped Hermione, and then tears were running too quickly down her face to count. "I'll come with you," she cried.

"No," Potter said firmly, but every word was another punch in the gut. "Kill the snake. Kill the snake, and then it's just him."

Hermione let out another sob, and then she hugged him like she was never going to again. That's when I realized she actually truly wasn't. Weasley wordlessly ran up to him and hugged him too, but did the opposite. I stumbled back a few steps, nearly tripping over myself, completely disbelieving. I couldn't. I wouldn't. It wasn't true, it wasn't fair, it wasn't right.

Potter was the Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. The little baby that had ended the first Wizarding War and then started the second. Knowing now that when he left this school he was never coming back made me sick and light headed and numb. 

All my feelings were so overwhelming and all at once that the only thing I could possibly feel was nothing.

My vision blurred as Hermione and Weasley pulled away from him and he locked eyes with me. Those eyes that I had first seen waiting exactly where we were right now to get Sorted. Those eyes that managed to take my breath away every single time he looked at me without fail. Those eyes that I had fallen so incredibly in love with it hurt.

And those eyes that were about to close forever.

I think I was crying now too, but I was completely silent. If I made one sound, everything would shatter. I was walking, and then I was running, and then I was in his arms. And for a split second I almost forgot everything and it was all okay because he was holding me.

I sobbed endlessly into his shoulder and he was trembling like a child and I knew that no matter how much of a hero front he put on, Harry Potter was terrified to die. 

For my entire life, I had never feared death, only wasting life. Now my greatest fear was coming true, because life meant nothing if he wasn't in it.

I don't know how long we stood there. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, it could have been days. The Earth could have revolved around the Sun a million times before we broke away and it still wouldn't have been long enough.

Slowly, carefully, I pulled back and rested my forehead against his. I couldn't even bring myself to open my eyes. It was too much. Lighter than he had ever touched me, he wiped a single tear from my cheek with his thumb. Then he brushed his lips against mine, barely more than a whisper of a kiss, and left me standing there with a broken heart.

But it was worse than a broken heart, because he hadn't even left me with enough pieces to put myself back together again.

When I heard the first scream, I knew with my entire being that Harry Potter was dead.

Everyone raced outside. Every single student, professor, and Order member followed the sound of cries and shouts until they were in the courtyard.

I stumbled blindly after Hermione and Weasley.

Then Draco was next to me, like he had been there the entire time. Half-carrying half-dragging me, he helped me the rest of the way outside.

There were Death Eaters—hundreds of them. There was Voldemort, with a twisted grin on his face. He was practically glowing with power. And then there was Hagrid, chained up and being held in place by magic, holding a limp, dangling body in his arms. His sobs echoed across the grounds.

As if I was underwater, I heard the muffled shouts and wails of everyone in the world. But none of that mattered, because my world was falling apart so fast I could hardly realize what was happening.

The skyline turned red as the sun disappeared and the ground beneath me shook and the thread that held it all together was unraveling before I could even try to catch it.

I was slipping. I was falling. I was crumbling.

I think I said his name.

Not Potter, just Harry.

I imagined his face if he could have heard me say his first name. A pain shot so deep and sharp through my failing heart that I would have cried and fallen to my knees and ripped out all my hair if I wasn't frozen, stock still, like a horrified image of a girl who knew nothing anymore.

It was my father's voice that brought me back.

"Draco," he rasped. My eyes snapped to him, on the other side of the courtyard with the rest of the Death Eaters, and then to my brother next to me. The pressure of Draco's hand on my arm was impossibly tight.

"Draco," my mother repeated, calmer and softer and lighter like Harry Potter wasn't dead. Like he was alive. Like everything was okay.

"Draco," I whispered, so only he could hear. He looked determinedly ahead. "I can't loose you too."

The words seemed to touch something inside him. A single tear rolled down his face.

"No," he breathed. Then he said it again, louder, choking over his word like is was acid in his throat. But he said it anyways. "No."

I rested my head on his shoulder. I loved Draco. I loved him so much. He was my twin brother, and he was exactly everything that I needed him to be in this moment. Grateful was a word too small and vague and irrelevant to use for what I was feeling right now.

My father's face contorted into something uglier then I might have ever seen it. My mother went pale, but she looked unsurprised. Like she'd been expecting this.

"No?" Voldemort breathed, and in that moment I didn't care that he was the darkest and most powerful wizard in all of history. He had killed Harry Potter, and I wanted to kill him more than I had ever wanted to hurt anyone in my entire life. I wanted to take everything from him. I wanted to ruin him. I wanted to destroy him.

For the first time since Potter had left us on the steps to the Great Hall, my heart was beating at full strength again, hot blood raging through me.

Before anyone could say another word, Longbottom limped forward, the Sorting Hat in his hand, dark sticky blood running down the side of his face, looking like he had lived a lifetime of loss in the span of a few hours.

"Well..." Voldemort began, with a hint of mocking amusement in his voice. "I have to admit I'd hoped for better."

The Death Eaters behind him laughed and hollered.

"And who might you be, young man?" Voldemort asked, haughtily stepping closer.

"Neville Longbottom," Neville said, loud and steady.

The Death Eaters all cackled again, Bellatrix the loudest.

"Well, Neville, I'm sure we can find a place for you in our ranks," Voldemort smiled maliciously.

"I'd like to say something," Longbottom announced instead to the grieving courtyard. The Death Eaters all went silent. Voldemort's expression dropped.

"Well, Neville, I'm sure we'd all be fascinated to hear what you have to say," Voldemort forced out coldly.

There was a moment's silence, and then Longbottom finally spoke, in a voice that carried to everyone's ears effortlessly. It was so strong, despite how lined it was with pain, that it gave me a sliver of something bright in all the unfeeling blank that had surrounded me.

"It doesn't matter that Harry's gone," Longbottom said plainly. "People die every day! Friends, family." I held tighter to Draco. "Yeah, we lost Harry tonight. But he's still here. He's still with us. No one that died tonight died in vain." Longbottom turned his now furious gaze on Voldemort. "But you will! Because you're wrong! Harry's heart did beat for us—for all of us! And it's not over!"

With the Sorting Hat in one hand, Longbottom used the other to pull the Sword of Gryffindor out of it. Behind my eyelids, I saw a flash of Potter doing the same thing in the Chamber of Secrets at twelve years old.

When I came back to the scene in front of me again, I had to slap both hands over my mouth to stop the scream that almost escaped me. And I wasn't the only one.

Standing in front of us all, wand arm thrown out, eyes burning into Voldemort, was Harry.

I was going mad. I was seeing things. I was so overcome with grief that I was completely imagining that Harry was standing, very much alive, casting spells at Voldemort and the shocked Death Eaters behind him.

But I wasn't. It was real. He was real.

I would have stood there staring with tears pouring from my eyes if Draco hadn't pulled me back with everyone else.

Potter ran, and Voldemort cast explosion after explosion after him, blowing up an entire wall of Hogwarts in the process.

I still couldn't understand it. There was absolutely no way in heaven or hell that Harry Potter had died and come back to life. For a bizarre second all I could think was, No kidding. He's magic.

Now Death Eaters were Disapparating, one after another, as Bellatrix screeched at them to stay and fight. Every one with a wand was leaving, and any who had lost their wand during the battle hung on and Apparated with someone else.

Voldemort Disapparated as well, taking Nagini with him, but I knew he hadn't left like his followers.

With everyone that had stumbled back into the Great Hall and the scarce few Death Eaters that remained, the war returned in full force. Spells shot past my head, green and red and blue. Everything was roaring and too bright and too loud all at once, but it was also fuzzy around the edges, like I was about to loose consciousness.

The one thing that I did know was real was Draco's hand in mine, and I let that and that only guide me through the chaos. 

He pulled me away, further and further, until we were in a corner covered with fallen stone and debris.

Immediately he cupped my face with his hands and looked straight into me. "Are you alright?" He demanded.

"I-" I choked out. "What- he was.. and then he wasn't... but Voldemort—"

Draco shushed me and hugged me to his chest like if he let go I would vanish into thin air. He took a great, shuddering breath and then let me step back. I didn't want to, but I did, because I couldn't be held by my older brother forever. 

Sometimes you just have to accept that there are certain things you need to be strong on your own for. This moment, this war, this life, was exact proof.

"We can't stay here," Draco said.

I shared one last look with him that said everything I could possibly say, and then we ran into the heart of the war.

I saw Ginny battling two Death Eaters at once, Mrs. Weasley hitting Bellatrix with a curse that sent her flying back across the Hall, and so many students that I had grown up with fighting for our school.

And when Longbottom ran in, sword held high, I knew the snake was dead. And that could only mean one thing... there were no Horcruxes left. Voldemort was as mortal as every other person in this room. In this country. On this planet.

Watching everyone, for just a moment, a flame of white hot pride burst inside me.

Then everyone sort of stopped. It was gradual at first, like people had suddenly forgotten their spells, but then it spread. Whispers and hushed voices as everyone stepped away from the middle of the Hall.

In a cloud of black smoke and horrified screams, Potter and Voldemort shot through the high-ceilinged windows and both rolled across to opposite sides of the cavernous room. Every face in the entire castle turned towards them as they stood, grabbing their wands and not daring to take their eyes off each other for a single second.

Slowly they circled each other, always staying the exact distance apart. In the end it was always going to come down to the two of them, completely alone, facing each other with the same common weakness that every man shares—mortality.

"You were right," Potter finally said, voice ringing through the room to reach every ear. I couldn't stop staring. He was alive. "When you told Snape that wand was failing you. It will always fail you."

Voldemort spat his words out in frustration. "I killed Snape!"

"But what if the wand never belonged to Snape?" Potter asked, sounding calmer then he had since the war began. "What if its allegiance was always to someone else?"

"That's impossible," Voldemort hissed. "Snape killed Dumbledore, the trusting old fool, and I killed Snape. The Elder Wand serves only me."

"But Snape killing Dumbledore has nothing to do with it, Tom," Potter continued easily.

Voldemort's face turned livid. "You dare—"

"Yes I dare. And the only reason Snape killed Dumbledore was because Dumbledore told him to," Potter said. "Your double-agent was working against you since you killed my mother seventeen years ago."

I saw it connect plain on Voldemort's face, but he quickly brushed the realization away. "It matters not, because in the end I still got the wand."

"But did you?" Potter asked, still walking in a cautious circle. "Snape only killed Dumbledore. Draco Malfoy was the one who Disarmed him."

My whole body went cold. I automatically reached for Draco next to me, but he wasn't there. I looked around. He was nowhere.

Voldemort grinned. "Again, Harry Potter, this means nothing to me. Draco's wand was lost, and so the Elder Wand continues to serve for me."

"And again, Tom, you've made another misjudgment. At Malfoy Manor, I took Draco's wand from him," Potter's voice dropped, like he was waiting for Voldemort to realize.

And he certainly did. Voldemort's face went paler then it already was, if that was possible, and his mouth twisted into a thin, furious line. For a second his eyes flashed red.

"Which means that the Elder Wand's true owner..." Potter finally announced. "...is me. So, come on, Tom. Let's finish this the way we started it. Together."

I didn't even realize it had happened until it was happening. Voldemort shouted "Avada Kedavra!" and Potter casted "Expelliarmus!" at the top of his lungs, and both green and red strings of sizzling light collided together in the middle with a bang that shook the already unsteady walls surrounding us.

With a scream of effort from Potter and a scream of frustration from Voldemort, the red slowly overpowered the green, until a burst of burning hot scarlet light touched the tip of Voldemort's wand. It blasted everyone backwards, and I could see nothing but bright, popping white for a split second as I blinked back my vision.

When I could see again, what I saw filled my chest with so much ecstatic joy I could hardly breath. I felt like if I jumped I would float.

Potter was standing, beaming, both his wand and the Elder Wand raised over his head in triumph. And there, just in front of him, was Voldemort, laying dead on the ground.

All at once, everyone surged forward towards The Boy Who Lived. They all wanted to hug, to speak to, to touch the boy who, for the second time, had ended the war and saved the Wizarding World.

I tried to push through everyone to get to him, to make sure he was really there and real and breathing, but there were too many bodies and too much noise and too little space.

Finally I gave up and ran over to the side, where I saw Hermione's big bushy hair next to Weasley's vivid red. I tackled them both in a hug that nearly knocked them over, and we all jumped up and down and held onto each other and laughed and cried and finally just let ourselves smile.

The castle appeared eerily silent after the deafening sounds of war, but really it was just back to normal. Well, as normal as it could be while half-falling apart.

Hermione, Weasley and I walked past it all, only willing to stop when we found Potter. Everywhere we looked either someone was getting treated for a magical injury or friends and family were crying over lost loved ones. Even people who weren't harmed in the slightest stood, dirty and bloody, most with ashen faces once again. The high of our win had worn off a bit, and already the steady rebuilding of the school was in process.

I had some of my own losses to carry too. All the Weasleys were okay, but Remus, Tonks, Snape, Lavender Brown, and even little Colin Creevey had all passed. Each one of them sent a shot straight through my heart.

Remus and Tonks had just had their baby. Who was going to take care of him? Who was going to tell him what his parents died for and why? Then I remembered Potter and I were little Teddy's godparents. I would worry about that later. The grief from the both of them was still too strong. I could still remember Remus's DADA lessons from third year, and how he always smelled like chocolate.

Snape had never liked me, or anyone for that matter, and I had never liked him, but he'd always been a part of my life since I was a child. He was a Death Eater with my father, and of course a professor at this school. Even before my first year, father told Draco and I that we could always go to Snape for whatever we needed. Then I was sorted into Gryffindor, and I was terrified that anything I said to him would be carried directly to my father. Still, no matter how many mistakes Snape had made, he was human. He didn't deserve to die.

Lavender Brown was a different type of pain, because she was a fellow student. Hermione and I had shared a dorm with her every year since our first night in the castle, and I was sure I would never forget the few months in sixth year when her and Weasley had been in an extremely close relationship. I'd heard Greyback had gotten to her, and I didn't even want to think about it.

And Colin Creevey, who shouldn't have even been fighting in the first place. The only students that had been allowed to stay were seventh years, but Creevey must have snuck back in to help the famous Harry Potter. I remembered the way he'd followed Potter around with his camera all second year. He was too young to have died. 

Everyone in this war was too young to have died. The other fifty or so deaths of people fighting for Hogwarts were all unfair and heart-wrenchingly my fault, at least partly. I was helping Potter hunt for Horcruxes. I was next to him through everything he'd ever said to change the Wizarding World. I was a Malfoy, and for once I wasn't ashamed. I was only sad.

Completely lost in my thoughts, I startled when Hermione elbowed me in the side. We had made it outside, past the courtyard and onto the huge stone bridge that eventually led to Hogsmeade.

And there was Potter.

His back was facing us, but I could tell in less than a heartbeat that it was him. His silhouette was outlined against the pale pink sky, and I could just tell that his hair was as messy as always. He had his hands in his pockets, just looking out into the horizon like he needed to take it all in.

In wordless agreement the three of us started running as fast as we could towards him.

But when we were only a few feet away from him he finally turned around with the biggest smile on his face, and even though my feet didn't stop  my heart did. I vaguely heard Hermione stop Weasley and say "Give them a minute," but I wasn't focused on her, or them, or anything else in the entire world except for him.

Because he was right there in front of me, alive, and I was never letting him go again.

I ran straight into him and threw my arms around his neck, but I only let him hug me for a second before I took his face in my hands and kissed him. I wanted to keep kissing him until I couldn't stand anymore and my legs gave out from under me, but there were more important things to do.

Like slap him in the face. I hit him, maybe a little harder then I meant too, but it shocked him all the same and that was beyond worth it. I could practically see Hermione and Weasley's mouths hanging open behind me.

"What was that for?" Potter demanded, still slightly dazed from the kiss, and I almost laughed.

"If you ever die again I'll personally make sure you don't come back," I said, and I swore I heard Weasley snort behind me.

"It was all part of my master plan." He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, but his mouth quirked up on one side.

I shot a glare at him, but I was grinning and I couldn't help it. I looked back over my shoulder at Hermione and Weasley and said, "Okay, we had our moment, you can come over now."

Immediately they ran over, and we were all wrapped in one of the best hugs of my life. We stayed like that for a long time, too, like we'd all realized that the second we let go reality would come crashing back down on us. I knew I wasn't ready for the real world again yet, and neither were they.

When we all reluctantly separated, I interlocked my intensely shaking fingers with Potter's and knew that I wasn't letting go again for a long time. They were the only thing betraying how terrified I still was that Potter would suddenly disappear into thin air, and I would realize that it was all an illusion and Voldemort had really won.

But he hadn't.

Potter had won. We had won. Hogwarts had won.

So many things had changed since that first day that I got on the Hogwarts Express as a trembling eleven year old, but one thing had stayed the same since the beginning.

I loved Harry Potter, and I would continue to love Harry Potter. And no matter what my last words will always be his name, and his voice will always be my favorite color, and I will be drawn to him like the sea is drawn to the land in every single lifetime.

He has been mine since before angels could sing, and he will be mine long after the stars burn out and the Sun disappears and the world stops spinning.

And I will be his.