• The fog hung low over the fields, making it impossible for Harry to see beyond his own outstretched hand. He didn’t want to be here. Yet he couldn’t leave because his lover was around here somewhere.

    “Lumos.” He whispered. A small bulb of light appeared at the tip of his wand. It didn’t help much. The light wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the fog’s gas like state.

    The tip of his shoe connected with something and he didn’t need to point his wand at it to see what it was. It was no doubt a corpse. It was impossible to take one step without hitting one. It was after all a battlefield. The battlefield of the biggest war in ages. Light versus dark, Harry versus Voldemort.

    The war had been raging for days, even weeks. Harry didn’t know how long it had been since the beginning and didn’t care. Since that moment, the moment Death Eaters went on their killing spree, the world had turned dark and cold.

    The sun still rose like it did everyday; still gave its warmth but Harry didn’t feel it anymore. So many people had died, so many good people. Ron, Ginny, Neville, Minerva, Seamus, Dean, Cho… All dead. His friends, his loved ones, dead. It was unfair. None of them had deserved to die. It were just a few of thousands lives that had been lost in such a short amount of time.

    His pace was hesitant as he tried to hear in the darkness for signs of people nearby. He heard nothing but the wild beating of his heart. He was alone, had wandered away from their camp to find his lover. He couldn’t leave him here, not when he didn’t know whether he was dead or not. It was foolish to be here. He was the saviour of the world and here he was, alone, unprotected.

    He kept his eyes firmly fixed in front of him. He didn’t want to look at the corpses, afraid he might recognize one of them. He wouldn’t be able to handle that. He’d seen too many die already. He’d seen how a Death eater took Ron’s life. He’d been there when Ginny blew out her last breath after having been tortured severely. He’d tripped over Neville’s body, had seen the empty expression in his eyes.

    The smell however was present. It smelt like rotting fish, only ten times worse. He’d gotten used to it. It no longer made him vomit. He knew he shouldn’t be used to it, knew it was wrong but after spending all that time here, it was impossible not to be used to it. It would be a smell he’d never forget, just like the smell of his mother.

    He carefully put one foot in front of the other, trying not to slip on the blood covered rocks. Before him the forest doomed up. He had no clue which part of England he was in. They had moved so fast, had started fighting at once, trying to control the situation but they couldn’t. They weren’t strong enough.

    He didn’t remember where he had last seen Hermione, didn’t know if she was alive, didn’t know anything. The uncertainty was almost worse than knowing she was dead, almost. Now there still was a chance. Perhaps they would meet again in this life, perhaps they would meet again in heaven.

    He’d never believed in heaven, until now. He needed to know there was something out there, needed to know he would see his friends again. He couldn’t live with the feeling of guilt; couldn’t live with that little voice in his head that said he should’ve protected them. He knew he couldn’t have, he knew it would’ve been impossible but the guilt remained.

    He didn’t know whether he would survive the war or not. He didn’t know if he wanted to survive the war. The two things that kept him going were his lover and the fact that he had to kill Voldemort, had to make sure the world was a save place for future generations. He was keeping busy now, couldn’t let his thoughts wander which was good. He didn’t want to think about happier times, didn’t want to remember. Not now, not when he knew those happy times were gone forever, now that he knew he would never see them again. His friends, his loved ones… gone.

    His heart had turned into a stone. He could not allow himself to feel the loss, the grief because if he did, he’d be done. He would kill himself or get killed. He’d lose focus. He didn’t know he’d ever be able to feel again.

    The difference between him and Voldemort was that he was capable of loving but he had lost love, had lost his strength. He had however gained the need to kill the person responsible for all the people dying. For the death of his friends.

    He stepped over another body. The fog was thick, it was nearly morning. He continued to walk. He was nearing the place he’d last seen his lover, he knew that much. He’d lost track of him here, had been dragged back to the camp by Remus who’d said there was nothing he could do. He’d left as soon as he’d had his back turned.

    He pointed his wand to the ground, knowing he had to see the corpses now. Had to see if his lover’s face was among the dead people.

    Faces… So many faces. Young men and young women. Death Eaters as well as Order members. So many innocents and one man to blame for it all.

    He passed a young female with brown hair. Her eyes and mouth were open. There was no expression in her eyes, nothing. His eyes left her face, trailing down her body. She had no visible injuries. Yet another victim of the Avada Kedarva cusre. The green beam of light was something he saw daily, was something he saw when he closed his eyes and in his dreams. He saw her lying there and felt nothing, nothing at all.

    He walked further. Dead, he’s dead. Said that voice. He refused to believe it. He wasn’t, he was alive. He’d promised him he wouldn’t die, promised him they’d be together after it was all over. He couldn’t break that promise, he shouldn’t. Many people had broken their promises, he wouldn’t.

    There, blond hair. He stopped breathing, walked closer. It wasn’t him. A sigh of relief escaped him. Not him, not him.

    Trees surrounded him. He saw their forms. The fog was slowly starting to clear. He could see further now. He could see half destroyed trees and bodies, so many bodies.

    “Nox,” he whispered but kept his wand pointed, still on alert, still being careful. He crept further, looking at all the faces, feeling nothing, nothing at all. They had all given his life for the goal.

    It was silent, so silent. No singing birds, no nothing.

    He rested his head against a tree and closed his eyes. He saw his lover, saw a scene from not too long ago although now it seemed like ages. He saw his perfect blond hair, clear grey eyes and trademark smirk. He was bare-chested, wearing swimming trunks and standing in their garden. It had been a beautiful summer’s day. They’d made love that night, sweet and tender, yet desperate. They had known what was coming because it had been due. It had been well over time and bound to happen. It was the last time they made love, last happy memory he had of his lover.

    He felt something, had to swallow to keep it back. Tears. Tears were rising. He’d thought he’d been out of tears. He was relieved to know he could still feel.

    He walked on, making a way through the mess.

    Shouts. He heard shouts in the distance, the fight had broken loose again. He couldn’t go help. Had to find his boyfriend.

    “Where are you?” he whispered, looking around. He knew he had to go back but he couldn’t, not yet. His eyes wandered over all the faces, looking for that one face he knew better than his own.

    There! He recognized the blond hair, even if it was dirty. He broke out in a run, skidding to a halt next to the boy. He sat down and watched him. His grey eyes were open, unfocused and empty. His skin was more pale than ever. There was no sign of any injury, no blood. Nothing.

    He placed two fingers against the boy’s throat, feeling for a pulse. There was none. He wasn’t surprised. He lifted the boy’s hand and took the bracelet he had once given to him. He put it around his own wrist. He ran a hand through the boy’s hair and kissed his ice cold lips.

    “I love you,” he whispered. He stood up, determination clear in his eyes. He was going to kill Voldemort. He was going to destroy him, “Somewhere, someday, we’ll meet another day,” he chanted softly. It was a muggle song he knew by heart, one he had sung a lot when he had thought things between him and his now dead boyfriend would never work out.

    He Apparated to the battle field. His camp was under attack. Death Eaters everywhere. People fell like flies, all because of one beam of green light.

    He walked around, aimlessly yet determined. He could feel his presence, knew he was here. It was the final showdown and he was going to win. Vengeance was a nasty thing. Voldemort just gave him the strongest power of all: revenge. Nothing could beat that.

    Everything was a blur. The shouting seemed to come from far, his own voice shouting the death curse didn’t seem to come from him and the people falling seemed to come from a movie. It didn’t seem real.

    The pain in his scar became worse. He paid little attention to the pain. An almost insane grin spread across his face. He was close, so close.

    Then he saw him, clothed in black. He stood there, watching, waiting.

    “Well, well, if it isn’t Harry Potter,” he heard the cold voice say.

    “Voldemort,” he said with a cold smile and a sneer on his face. His wand was raised as was Voldemort’s. Both were ready.

    He realized he was supposed to feel nervous now. It was him or the Dark Lord and he knew who it was going to be so there was no need to be nervous. Voldemort had taken the one thing from him he loved more than life itself and he was going to pay for that, he was going to suffer.

    “Expelliarmus!” he shouted as Voldemort shouted the death curse. He’d counted on that. He remembered what had happened at the graveyard four years ago. It was time for him to take his revenge and to deal with the man who was responsible for the death of his parents, friends and lover.

    Their wands connected and a silver line shot out of their wands, forming a sort of dome around then. No one could get in. The fight outside the dome continued.

    “How does it feel to be alone, Harry?” Voldemort asked, sneering as he broke the connection, “Crucio!”

    Harry’s body merely twitched and Voldemort looked surprised. One advantage of feeling nothing at all was that he felt nothing at all, especially no pain.

    “That’s were you’re wrong. I am not alone. You may have killed the people I loved but they are still with me in my heart and in my soul. They are me. I carry a piece of all of them, carry their anger with me.” He lifted his hand with his wand. Draco Malfoy’s silver bracelet shone around his wrist.

    “Avada Kedarva,” They both shouted at the exact same time. Their green beams hit each other in the middle.

    Harry didn’t need love to win. No, he had revenge. A more powerful weapon than love. It was the ultimate weapon and Voldemort had given it to him, had caused his own downfall.

    “No!” Voldemort shouted, eyes wide with fear, with realisation about where his new found power came from. The beam slowly but surely etched closer to the dark wizard.

    “Say goodbye, Voldemort.” He sneered.

    “You will not live much longer, Harry because you no longer have something to live for. You may kill me but I have killed you too!” Voldemort shouted before the beam connected with his body. Within a second, he was dead. The greatest wizard of them all fell on the ground. The dome disappeared and the Dark Mark rose high in the sky.

    Cries of victory arose as well as cries of pain. They all knew it was over. They all knew who had won.

    Harry just stood there, feeling nothing, feeling numb. He had done it, he had killed Voldemort. Yet he didn’t feel pride, nor joy. He still felt that hatred inside of him, that hatred that had burned in him throughout the war, the hatred that had consumed him and had taken him over. The hatred that had turned into nothing.

    Voldemort had been right. He had nothing, nothing at all. His parents, his friends, his lover… Dead.

    “Harry!” He knew that voice, “You did it..” Remus said. Yet there was no joy in his voice, just sadness. The cost had been so high. Too high.

    “Yeah, he’s gone. And so is everyone I care for.”

    “Not everyone,” Came a second voice, a female voice. Hermione, she was alive. He knew he should feel happy, relieved but he didn’t. Still nothing. He just stared at them both.

    The next thing he knew he was sitting on a bench in the ministry of magic, still staring but not able to figure out how on earth he’d gotten there. One minute he’d been on the battle field, now he was here.

    He stood up, looked around. People brushed past him. Aurors with Death Eaters, people of the ministry, witches and wizards. No one noticed him, no one seemed to care. He vaguely heard the noises and the chatter but the words didn’t register.

    In the crowd, he saw bushy brown hair coming towards him. Hermione. Tears ran down her beautiful face. She came up to him and hugged him, sobbing in his arms.

    “He promised me, Harry, promised he’d be back,” she said.

    “I know he did. So did Draco,” he said. The numbness slowly faded. Ron, Draco, their boyfriends, dead. The numbness made place for an immense, soul shattering pain and a fury he had never felt before. His eyes fell on the bracelet and he pulled away from Hermione.

    He wanted to tear the bracelet off, wanted to destroy it, throw it away but he couldn’t. It symbolised their love. He could not get rid of it. It was wrong.

    Tears stung and he had trouble blinking them back. He didn’t want to blink them back either. One tear fell, then another and another until he was crying soundlessly, body shaking with sadness or anger. He didn’t know.

    “He promised me he would be fine,” Harry said, fists clenched, “He promised we would survive the war and that we would be together again. He told me not to worry. He told me he wouldn’t leave me. He’s nothing more than a liar.”

    “Harry, no,” Hermione answered, moaning, “No! They took them from us! It’s not his fault , not Ron’s either!”

    “He promised me, Hermione!” Harry yelled, pain clear in his voice, “He broke his promise!”

    “You can’t blame him for that! It wasn’t t-their choice t-to die,” she said, fresh tears running down her cheeks.

    “He promised he wouldn’t leave, that we’d be together forever.” He said, voice soft now, “He promised.”

    He sat back on the bench and cried. Hermione sat next to him, taking his hand and resting her head against his shoulder.

    “I know,” she said crying, “I know.”

    Harry felt so much pain, so much sadness. It was overwhelming, taking control of him. A scream echoed through the ministry. It was only after he looked at the people staring at him that he realized it had come from him. The sound rang in his ears. He heard his own pain, own sadness, heard Draco’s voice promising him he would never leave, heard the whispered ‘I love you’; heard his moans while making love, heard his voice, saw his face. His heart filled with love, a love he had never felt before.

    He stood up, knowing what he had to do.

    “I’m going home. Goodbye, Hermione.” He said and walked away.

    Hermione stood up, watched him go with tears in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself. She knew she would never see him again. The pain in his scream, the emotionless tone of his voice told her that much. She didn’t try to stop him. Why would she? What did he have to live for? What did she have to live for? He walked away, shoulders sagged. It was in that moment she herself came to a decision.

    She ran after him and took his hand. She smiled at him and he smiled back. They did not try to talk to each other, did not try to even pretend their lives would get better again. Around them the noises continued. They had no clue, they had no idea.

    And it was then that the Boy-who-lived became the Boy-who-died. It was all over the news the next day, both muggle and magical.

    The muggle news spoke about two people being found dead in the boy’s apartment. The cause of death was unknown but it was suicide. A blank paper had been found with two names: Ron and Draco.

    The magical news spoke about Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, both killed by the Death curse. Murder had been ruled out because a note had been found. A note had been found with a spell cast upon it so that only magical people could read it. The note had told about their sadness and grief, about their anger, about their love and the reason for their deaths. They said how the war had taken everything from them and how they could not deal with the loss and pain. They told how they could not go on and how they wanted to be rejoiced with their lovers and friend. There was only one way to do it. It was obvious they had taken each other’s lives with one curse. One curse that had claimed so many lives already.

    But the legend of Harry Potter lived on. Generations learned about how he had defeated the Dark Lord and about how he had saved the world but had not been able to save himself. The legend told that he had killed himself because of the loss of his lover who had once been his enemy.

    Yes, the legend of Harry Potter, who would remain eighteen forever, lived on.

    The end