Pg. 578

Harry glanced again at the raw-looking thing that trembled and choked in the shadow beneath the distant chair. He felt a fresh surge of pity for the creature—it looked too innocent to be a part of the monster called Voldemort, even with the flayed skin. In fact, it reminded Harry of his years as a tiny, neglected child in the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys'.

"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love."

Harry looked up at Dumbledore and considered him for a moment, then looked back at the creature. "He's not quite dead, though, is he?" he murmured, standing and walking over to the thing. He was speaking more to himself than to Dumbledore, but the old wizard stood and followed him anyway. "And, I don't think it's ever really too late for anybody. Not if there's enough love involved."

"Harry, I don't—" Dumbledore began, but Harry continued as though he hadn't heard.

"Do you think I could? Give enough love, I mean. To change death into…" He turned abruptly to face Dumbledore. "I have to go now. Give my love to my parents, yeah?"

Dumbledore searched his face for a moment, then smiled sadly. "You always were a better man than I," he said softly. "Even at eleven…even at seventeen." Harry opened his mouth to defend his mentor, but Dumbledore held up a hand to silence him. "Of course I will give your love to your parents. They will be very happy with your choice, I think."

Harry smiled, then said, "Tell me one thing before I go. Is this real? Or is it all just happening inside my head?"

Dumbledore's smile brightened, and his voice sounded loud and clear in Harry's ears, even as the mist began to obscure his surroundings again.

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?"

Pg. 596

And Harry, with the unerring skill of a Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell back, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upwards. But Harry wasn't finished yet. He switched the wands in his hands quickly, and, pointing the all-powerful Elder Wand at the dying body in front of him, uttered a spell so old that it preceded human tongues, so powerful that it hurt the ears of all who listened, so utterly love that only those who knew the true meaning of the word could even make sense of the spell at all. It didn't sound the same to any two people who heard it. It sounded like a declaration of warmth and intimacy, of fondness and endearment, of compassion and unconditionality in all ways. And in a bright flash of light so primal that it predated color, Voldemort disappeared, screaming.

When the light vanished, and the temporary blindness had passed from the eyes of the onlookers, they stared frantically around the room. Their beloved hero had collapsed, exhausted after guiding so much power though the wand. They rushed as one to him, but were stopped by some unseen hand. No one could get within ten feet of Harry, or the place where Voldemort had stood.

Suddenly, a piercing wail rose up from the pile of robes that had once been the most evil wizard in the world. It took a few moments, but finally Molly Weasley whispered, unbelieving, "It's a...it's a baby!" Soon, the knowledge had spread to the entire crowd.

"A baby!"

"But, how could that be?"

"He's dead, the curse—"

"He must be dead, Potter would never have let him live!"

"But a baby! What else could be making that noise?"

The crowd was hushed abruptly as Harry began to stir. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, keeping his eyes shut tight against the noise and too-bright lights. He felt very much like he was experiencing a particularly nasty hangover, from the furry taste in his mouth to the pounding headache, and the overwhelming urge to throw up. He choked it down, though, as he recognized the source of the unceasing noise that grated against his tender brain.

His head jerked up, and he stared at the heap of robes in front of him. Could it be? Could his plan really have worked? He jerked to his feet and stumbled over the robes, falling to his knees beside them and pulling them apart. At first, he couldn't find anything, because the robes were too voluminous, but finally his hand fell on a pair of flailing, kicking feet, and he quickly pulled the rest of the fabric off to reveal a squalling baby boy. Falling back onto his heels, Harry smiled as he picked the baby up and cradled him in his arms, making soothing noises at the quieting child. Soon, the crying had stopped, and the baby looked curiously up at this new person, who beamed down at him and cooed inanely.

At last, Harry noticed the crowd around him. He blinked at them a few times, not understanding why they were pounding at the air and shouting at him to let them in. Then it dawned on him that he must've thrown up a barrier unconsciously, and he smiled sheepishly and waved a hand at the invisible wall, muttering, "Finite."

To his relief, most of the crowd stopped short a few feet from him, unsure of the child in his arms. That didn't stop Hermione, Ron, Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall from crowding around him and babbling on about how they'd thought he was dead, and was he okay, and who the hell was the baby in his arms? Harry smile faintly at them, though their chattering was not helping his splitting headache in the slightest, and asked if he could just see Madam Pomfrey for a headache potion and then maybe get some sleep, as he was very, very tired.

"Yes, yes, of course," Professor McGonagall said. "But the baby—"

"Tom," Harry said, smiling down at the quiet baby. "His name is Tom. He's a squib. I think...I think we can find him a good Muggle home, do you think? Somewhere he is loved. Somewhere...he'll never know what happened."

Hermione gasped. "That's--"

"He was. Not anymore. Now he's just Tom."

It was six days later, after the burials and memorials for all those who had died defending Hogwarts and the Light, before Hermione broached a subject that had been haunting her.

"Harry, the prophesy--didn't it say something…'Neither can live while the other survives,' wasn't that it?"

"Yeah."

"Then, if…if Tom's still alive, what about the prophesy? It said one of you had to die."

Harry stared out the window at the fading evening light for a few moments before he answered. "I don't put much store in fate any more." He turned to smile at her, and Hermione couldn't help but smile back. "No offense to Firenze, but unless the stars are changeable, I don't think Divination can really show you what's going to happen. Give you a possible future, yes, but an unchangeable one?" He shook his head. "Impossible."