King's Cross

A/N: Thanks to Lariope, as always.

Chapter 13 – King's Cross

He walked across stone and then grass, making his way towards the Forbidden Forest. Chaos was thick around him, spells of every colour colliding and crashing, showering the grounds in sparks. It was almost beautiful. People he didn't know, or barely recognised, were fighting in his wake. Lots of people; Hogwarts' call had been heard. He noted several people in the uniform of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Kingsley among them. He passed in silence, just as the dark wizard pulled up a silver shield in front of him to deflect a nasty-looking curse of dark purple. He saw Hermione, duelling Bellatrix Lestrange, watching her get the upper hand and then falter, hesitating a moment too long. The jet of red connected with her midsection, and she collapsed in the grass, twitching slightly before becoming very still. Bellatrix's maniacal laugh rang in the air for only seconds before she glowed green and fell, a smile still on her lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape...which was impossible because Snape was dead...fall to his knees, wrapping Hermione's body in pure golden mist that was emanating from the tip of his wand.

He walked on. A herd of Centaurs galloped passed at the very edge of the forest, bows held high in preparation for battle. From the lake, he could hear screaming...sounds of terror in the face of death as the Giant Squid lifted his prey and pulled them with him into the depths of the Black Lake. He wondered where Ron was, if he was safe or fighting for his life somewhere in the darkness. He let his heart swell and light surge through his body with the memory of him, and felt the pain lessen. It would be alright.

The temperature suddenly dropped, and the familiar sensation of paralysis started to grip him. Looking ahead, he saw an entire swarm of Dementors, gliding slowly towards him through the trees. He reached into his pocket for his wand, but felt something else touch his fingers. The Golden Snitch came into view, gleaming softly in the moonlight.

I open at the close.

The last piece fell into place and it all came together. With a trembling hand, he raised the small sphere to his lips and whispered, "I'm about to die." The metal was smooth and soothing against his bruised lips. He withdrew and watched as the shell peeled away, leaving a small, black stone in the palm of his hand. Without reflecting, just somehow knowing what must happen next, he closed his hand around it and turned, back and forth. Shadows rose from nearby trees and bushes, forming into lost loved ones, who came to stand before him proudly, like living shadows of their former selves. His mum was there, and his dad, and behind them came Sirius and Lupin, strolling down the path hand in hand. They approached him as well they could, letting him feel their love and their presence while staying short of actual touch.

"Don't be afraid, Harry," his mother whispered in his ear. "We're right behind you, and we'll stay with you through the end."

"Thank you," he whispered back, feeling his heart settle down a little. He wasn't alone. He turned to Sirius, who smiled at him, cracking little jokes and assuring him that death wasn't all that bad really. The younger...and certainly much more handsome...version of the man he'd known wrapped his arm around Lupin's waist as he said it, and Harry could have sworn that his godfather actually gave him a small wink. Bewildered, he turned to Lupin, who managed to look slightly embarrassed and blush faintly despite his incorporeal form.

"Remus, I'm sorry," Harry began. "I never wanted you to die. Just when you'd had your son and everything."

"Yes, I was sorry to leave Teddy," the other man replied, a glint of sadness in his eyes. "But, you know, time passes differently here. You're not bound to travel along the line in just one direction and at one speed. Here, on the other side, you can float through it, going backwards and forwards as you like. I wish I could have held my son again, but I'll be able to watch him, to follow his life, and if I miss him too much, I'll simply go forward in time to the day when he'll join me here. As for the rest..." He took Sirius hand and placed it firmly against his chest, directly over his heart. "It was probably for the best that I left. Better for Dora. My heart was already long gone when she tried to claim it, you see."

Harry nodded in understanding, even as something sharp sliced through his gut. Was this how it would be for them? The next time he saw Ron, would he be a father? Would he marry and bring a wife and children into the house he'd pictured for the two of them? Or would he do as he'd claimed, and join him here on the other side, where they could have forever...even if it was a different kind of forever than they would have had alive? Raising his hand to his mouth, he touched his lower lip briefly, feeling the small scar that was forming there. It was real, had been real, and as he watched Sirius run the back of his fingers softly along Remus's cheek, he knew. They would meet again, would find each other again, and there would still be love.

Finding the calm he had been looking for, he drew a deep breath and turned towards his path. His four companions flanked him on either side, acting as life-size Patroni as he walked through the corridor of Dementors and into the waiting darkness.

He woke up to glittering light. Dumbledore was beside him, smiling so exuberantly Harry wasn't sure if the light was coming from above or straight from the old wizard.

"Harry," he said simply, reaching out a hand to help him get to his feet, pulling him into a tight embrace. He whispered things in his ear as he held him, words of pride and joy, praising his courage and general character. He relaxed against the older man, feeling calm and happiness trickling into him, becoming part of the blinding light that surrounded them.

"Am I dead?" He asked at last, as Dumbledore loosened his grip. The older wizard smiled.

"Not entirely, I would say," he stated cryptically. "This is a world in between here and there. An ante chamber of sorts. Whether you move forward or turn back is up to you."

Harry pulled back, noting as he did so that the space he was in greatly resembled the magical platform at King's Cross, only... shinier.

"But Voldemort killed me," he protested. "He hit me with the Avada Kedavra, and I didn't fight back. How then..."

"Ah," Dumbledore said softly, cutting him off. "I believe there are two very good reasons for that. The first is your blood, Harry. Tom used it when he rebuilt himself, creating a bond between him and you as surely as he did the night he accidentally gave you part of his soul. The blood in him keeps you tethered to the living plane. Alone, it would not have been enough, I admit, but there was a second factor in place tonight. You see, Harry, Voldemort tried to kill you with my wand."

"Your wand?" he asked, bewildered. "Why would Voldemort have your wand?"

"Because he broke into my tomb and stole it," Dumbledore said simply. "Of course, it's not exactly my wand, I only got to borrow it for a few decades."

"So then whose wand is it?" Harry asked, still not sure how this tied in with his not being entirely dead...if there truly was such a thing.

"It belongs to Death," Dumbledore said. "I believe you've read The Tale of the Three Brothers that was in the book that I gave Miss Granger. The wand received by the oldest brother, the Elder Wand, or Deathstick as it has been called, was carried by me for little more than half a century."

He paused, and Harry nodded, waiting for him to carry on.

"The Elder Wand is unique," Dumbledore continued. "It doesn't choose its wizard or witch, as other wands do. It belongs to its master, and to that master only, and it always longs to go back to him. This is what makes the wand so special, Harry," the old wizard explained softly. "The Elder Wand only gives temporary allegiance, and only to those who carry a part of its master within themselves."

"I thought it passed over by killing the previous owner," Harry said, brow furrowing. "At least that's what the book said."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed, "that is a common misinterpretation. No, like all wands, the Elder Wand works in harmony with a chosen soul, magnifying its power by vibrating alongside it in perfect symmetry, helping it to channel the magic around us."

"Death has a soul?" Harry blurted, having been unable to get past that particular notion to hear the rest of Dumbledore's speech.

"Yes," the other wizard said, smiling. "Everything has a soul, we just call it by different names. Take love for example. Does love have a soul, or is love what makes up your soul? Are you created from it or it from you? Philosophers much wiser than I have pondered these questions for millennia, always reaching the same answers, and always reaching different ones."

"So what does it mean?" Harry asked. His head was starting to spin.

"It means, dear boy, that Death holds a certain note, or a certain melody I should say, in the great symphony of magic that makes up our world...and his wand is attuned to that melody. The Elder Wand only works together with wizards and witches whose souls have connected with Death, and who have overcome him. Once you meet Death, you see, Harry, you always carry a part of him with you, regardless of whether you brushed passed him in a narrow escape or met him face to face as you brought him a new flower for his gardens. For me, it meant meeting him to escape, creating the very elixir that could keep him at bay forever. For you, and more importantly, for Tom, it's directly connected to the state of your souls."

He broke off and gestured over to a bench at the far end of the station, under which a scaly, flayed-looking creature was writhing in agony. Thankfully, it didn't make any noise...Harry didn't think he could have stood to hear what it had sounded like, had it been capable of screaming. The scales seemed to cut through the damaged skin, going both into and out of the creature at once, as though the scales were somehow eating away at the flesh. He felt a wave of pity well through him at the sight and took a subconscious step forward.

"Don't, Harry," Dumbledore said, taking firm hold of his arm. "There's nothing you can do to help him."

"You mean that's..."

"Yes. That is the remaining part of Tom Riddle's soul, what he has reduced himself to in his quest for immortality. This is why the subject of Horcruxes is considered such an abomination. Killing people is bad enough, of course, but death is a natural part of life and can never create anything truly terrible in the long run. Chipping off your soul, on the other hand, severs your connection to life and death, to love and to the universe. It makes you... into nothing."

"And the Elder Wand?"

"The Elder Wand is meant to be with an entity that is all soul, for lack of a better term. Voldemort has nearly nothing of his left, and so when the wand came upon you, Harry, upon a being that was in possession of one whole soul...imbued with the essence of its master through the many times you have directly escaped death and through every piece of Voldemort's soul you have effectively killed...and one small fragment of the wizard who currently wielded it, it chose you. It chose you, and killed the small fragment of Tom in your mind, and since the curse was connected to Tom, and you are connected to Tom, the force of it pulled both of you into this place."

He broke off again, eyeing Harry seriously over the rim of his half-moon spectacles.

"You have another choice to make, Harry," he said softly. "If you choose to move on, Voldemort will have to follow, and you both will be dead on the mortal plane. If you choose to go back, however, he will come back too, but as a mortal man this time, possible to kill just like any other. You have been brave beyond belief, and you have made the ultimate sacrifice. I could never ask anything more of you than what you have already done. The choice is yours."

Harry swallowed, weighing the options in his mind. It didn't matter how many angles he looked at the problem from, though; his mind always came back to one thing, to one simple question. He cleared his throat.

"Could you tell me... I mean...is Ron...I mean, are Ron and Hermione...?" Dumbledore smiled, as though he knew exactly what he was asking.

"Both Mr Weasley and Miss Granger are still among the living," he confirmed. "Love is a gift, Harry," he said, "and a gift to be proud of. I will escort you back."

Looking up into the twinkling, blue eyes one last time, Harry took the white-robed arm he was offered and closed his eyes as the world began to spin.

He floated back into himself, back into his body that was lying face down in the soft dirt. Voldemort made quite a show before he took him back to the castle, quite clearly disturbed by the effect his last spell had had on himself. He couldn't open his eyes to watch the scene as it developed around him, but from the excited voices surrounding him, he gathered that the Dark Lord had slipped away for a moment, fallen to the ground and stopped breathing.

He was deposited on the ground and forced to keep himself still through a long, extravagant speech of purity of blood and how the opposition had fought valiantly, but since Harry was now dead, they had no further reason to fight. He was just contemplating how best to reach the wand in the pocket of his robes and attack, when a voice sounded through the others, causing his blood to simultaneously freeze and sing in his veins.

"No!"

The next second, Ron's hands were on him, burning through his skin as fingers grazed his face and wound themselves caressingly into his tangled, dark hair. Lying perfectly still at that moment was the hardest thing he had ever done, including walking to what he was sure would be his own death. He needed to tell Ron that he was alright, needed to stop the cries that seemed to tear from Ron's throat to pierce his heart like sharp-edged knives. And then Ron was gone, torn from him by a blast from Voldemort's wand, thrown into a heap in the grass a few feet away from him, like a ragdoll someone had tired of playing with.

"Love." Voldemort spit the word out, making it sound like something utterly despicable. "This is what love will get you! A boy, a young man...a pureblood of infinite potential...crawling in the dirt, like so much filth, grieving for the life of his traitorous lover!"

Harry forced himself to remain still, even though every instinct in his body told him to act, to fly off the ground and take on Voldemort with his bare hands, ripping him to pieces for the pain he was causing.

"Well, young Weasley," Voldemort continued, a softer, more deadly quality to his voice now. "There is still a chance for you to live, should you choose to accept it. I can fill you with power...your blood is worthy after all...with power beyond your wildest dreams, more than enough to make you forget this degrading infatuation with your fallen hero. Join me, and I will take away all the pain, as though your young lover never existed. Now, what do you say."

"Never!"

"Too bad then," Voldemort hissed. "Well, you will still serve a purpose as the wizard who showed the world what happens to people who defy me." Something came swooshing through the air, and Harry chanced opening the eye closest to the ground a tiny fraction, needing desperately to see what was going on around him. The Sorting Hat was flying through the air, landing neatly on Ron's head, where it sat for a couple of long, excruciating seconds and then burst into flame.

Every muscle in Harry's body tensed up, preparing for battle. If he was quick enough, he could push the hat from Ron's head and still get a decent shot at Voldemort. Opening his eyes fully, he scanned his surroundings, preparing to pounce, when suddenly, everything changed.

The flames that should have rendered Ron into a screaming, twisting mass of limbs seemed to only lick the outside of his body, as though prevented from touching him by a skin-tight shield. Then the hat fell to the ground, and a gleaming sword was in Ron's hand...the sword that hadn't made it out at their fiery escape from the Room of Requirement. Voldemort was still taunting his opponents as Ron attacked, coming at him at a furious speed and slicing the reptilian head clean off the skeletal body. Shock spread through both sides of the front as the head fell to the ground, rolling a few yards and then lying still. The body collapsed where it stood, spilling warm blood over soft earth. The world was frozen, wizards and witched staring at the fallen body, as though expecting it to melt, or knit together, or turn into smoke or something else worthy of a Dark Lord's demise. Recovering from his own astonishment, Harry leapt to his feet, pulling Ron away from the fallen body and firing Stunners as quickly as he could at the remaining people on Voldermort's side.

Chaos broke out and screams filled the air...screams of fear, and triumph and outrage. The following battle was brief but deadly; when the smoke settled, more than fifty bodies littered the ground. Fortunately, Kingsley and his men had been quick on the uptake, and less than ten of the dead bodies were casualties for their side. He watched as the Aurors rounded up the last remaining Death Eaters and then turned to Ron. Ron, who was still staring at him as though he'd just sprouted an extra head. He was looking quite dishevelled where he stood, dirt in his hair and on his clothes, splatters of blood on his face and most of his torso from the force of the blow that had severed Voldemort's head. The Sword of Gryffindor was still in his hand, tainted with red, just like the rest of him. Looking more closely, he also noted a long tear in the black robes, showing off a long, partially healed wound that spread across his left shoulder.

"You're hurt!"

"Greyback cornered me. Bill killed him."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

He found himself at loss for words. Around them, people were moving quickly, efficiently, Mediwizards popping in and out, collecting the injured and marking the dead. The grim feeling that seemed to spread through the grounds like a thick fog confused him; whenever he had allowed himself to imagine this moment, with Voldemort finally gone, he had imagined something happier than this. Victory cheers. Joy. Love and kisses all around. He hadn't imagined this. He hadn't thought he would be standing in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by missed opportunities and arrested potential, moulded into flesh by each and every fallen body. He had imagined that the sun would come out, bathing them in glorious light...not continued darkness, with almost a hint of rain in the air. The weight of his destiny was supposed to lift now that he had fulfilled it, not come crashing down with thoughts of 'what now?' For a moment, he faltered, his mind suddenly blank. He looked at Ron, who seemed to mirror some of the same confusion. His whole life had been about fighting, about beating Voldemort. What was his place in the world now, if he even had one?

"I can't believe you're alive," Ron whispered, wonder in his voice. "When I walked away, I was so sure... It was like everything inside me knew I would never see you again."

Ron's hand was on his face, feeling the life of his skin with his fingers, as though he couldn't quite trust that he was actually real. He raised a hand and put it over Ron's, mapping the features of his own face together with him. If he was honest with himself, he didn't quite believe he was alive either.

Ron's hand moved across his hair and continued down the neck, trailing past his collarbone, and settled in the spot above his heart. He could feel it now, beating in a steady rhythm beneath their joined hands, pumping life through his body. I'm alive. He looked at Ron and felt something connect inside him. He still had no idea what the world wanted from him, or what place he wanted to occupy in it now. But he knew this. He knew Ron, and he knew what he wanted in the world that was just the two of them. He immediately grasped it...felt it somehow...the moment when Ron understood, when he realised the same thing about his own existence. He felt their breathing speed up, falling into sync as they drew closer, passing from one to the other and moving in soft caresses over half-parted lips. Their foreheads connected, and then the side of their faces, rolling intimately together, skin on skin. He felt Ron's fingers on his throat, felt them move upwards in slow, trembling circles across his jaw line. One of them angled his face a little...it was impossible for him to tell who had moved first...and then Ron's lips were on his. And the world made sense.

Letting his instincts take over, he grabbed the back of Ron's head and pulled him to him, pouring all of the fear and adrenalin and relief of the last hours into his mouth, throwing himself into the ecstasy of being alive, of being there, in a world of two that made utter, perfect sense. Ron moaned against him and wrapped his arms tightly around his neck, kissing him back for all he was worth. Blood rushed through his heart, pumping to every vessel in his body. It was painful and glorious, and somehow entirely new...as though he had needed to die to know just how wonderful it felt to truly be among the living.

They stayed there, on the grass in the middle of Hogwarts' grounds, until Fred and George appeared, pulling them apart with laughter and lewd comments about doing it in public places. Harry took Ron's hand in his, pulling him towards the gates, towards the closest Apparition point. He could have taken off right there...the wards still appeared to be open, judging by the amount of people popping in and out of the grounds...but he wanted to walk, wanted to run across the grass with Ron close on his heels, their hands firmly clasped together. They arrived at the gates, quite out of breath, and Harry smiled as he grabbed Ron's shoulder and pulled him into his arms. Shell Cottage, he thought, picturing the small grove of trees clearly in his mind as he spun. They landed on soft, dewy grass; dawn was slowly creeping across the horizon, transforming the sky and ocean into a shimmering grey. Breaking apart with bouts of laughter and playful struggle, the two men turned and raced towards the house.

A/N: I just had to rewrite this scene and make some sense of the Elder Wand. It bugged me to no end in canon. :-) Hope you enjoyed, please review! Only the epilogue left. Stay tuned.