AN: Here it is, the final chapter. Obviously, it's not up to the same standard as the book, but I've given it my best effort.

Chapter Fourteen

Harry sat on the castle steps. Astaroth lay in the grass nearby, a reassuring presence. The rest of the students were inside having dinner, but Harry had made sure no one would notice his absence.

He hadn't been able to talk to Astaroth at first, after removing the horcrux from his forehead, but with a little concentration Parseltongue was once again one of Harry's many gifts.

"Are you sure you can do it?" asked Astaroth. "Not that you don't have a lot of power, but, well, power isn't everything. Old age and treachery will always beat youth and exuberance, and so on."

"I know," said Harry. "But they're not very imaginative, either. And imagination and cunning can beat out a lot."

"As long as you're sure," said Astaroth. "I'd rather not be here if you turn out to be wrong."

"I thought you were supposed to be loyal to me?" Harry asked.

"Hey, I'm loyal – I said nothing about suicidal," the snake retorted. "But don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. I just hope you're right."

"So do I," Harry muttered, staring out into the distance. He could see the castle gates from here, and four people – if you could call them that – had just entered the castle grounds.

At this point they were humanoid only in the loosest sense of the word, their true natures breaking through. Their presence called to Harry like a siren's song, but he stayed where he was.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were here, and if Harry wasn't careful, Armageddon would be starting up any moment now. There was a voice in Harry's head, growing stronger with every passing moment, telling him that all he had to do was join the Horsemen, and lead them out across the world – a world that was his for the taking.

Harry closed his eyes, but that didn't help. Visions of death and destruction danced behind them.

"I think," said Harry, "that I'm going to need a little help."

And just like that, Harry and Astaroth were no longer alone.

Aziraphale looked up, saw the Horsemen on their way up to the castle, and went, "Oh dear."

Crowley's language, on the other hand, was rather stronger than that. Harry listened to him curse for a moment, before giving him a look.

Crowley faltered as he got a good look at Harry, whose eyes glowed with otherworldly knowledge. All of eternity was in his gaze, and even an ethereal being like Crowley found it difficult to withstand.

Harry could feel the planet turning beneath his feet, and the life-force of five billion people going about their business, unaware of what was about to happen. Harry felt ghostly wings at his back, and the outline of a sword in his hand, itching to materialise. A heavy crown almost rested against his brow, waiting only for Harry's will to bring it into existence.

Somehow, Harry held out, and both the sword and the crown remained figments of his imagination – shadows of what might be, and nothing more. His wings remained insubstantial, not yet called into physical form.

Harry turned desperate eyes on Aziraphale and Crowley.

"Help me," he said, and there were strange harmonics in his voice, and a note of command that even the angel and demon had no hope of resisting.

They didn't try.

"Of course, my dear," said Aziraphale, putting gentle hand on Harry's shoulder.

"You can do it," said Crowley, who looked pale, but who was, at heart, an optimist. He gripped Harry's other shoulder. "Just hold out, and everything will be alright. This is your turf, remember? No one can make you do anything you don't want to. It's your choice."

Harry tried to hold onto Crowley's words, but they were being steadily drowned out by the voice in his head.

This is it, the voice seemed to say, implacable and irresistible. This is what it's all about, you have to follow the Plan, because you're part of it –

Harry shook his head, barely feeling it where Crowley's fingers were digging into his shoulder, and stepped forward out of the angel and the demon's grasp to meet the Horsemen.

IT IS TIME, said Death – a tall, skeletal figure in a dark robe, with blue light glinting where his eyes should be. Out of the four, his form was the least frightening; a skeleton was at least human in nature, more or less. The other Horsemen weren't even that.

"I don't care," said Harry, who was fighting the dark, dreadful voice in his head as hard as he could. "I don't want it done. I never asked for this. I won't do it, and you can't make me."

War stepped forward, and her voice was like the quiet gurgle of a dying breath.

"We don't need you," said War.

"We can do it ourselves," added Famine.

"All we need," said Pollution, oozing where he stood, "is destiny. And we have that."

WHETHER YOU JOIN US IS IMMATERIAL AT THIS POINT, said Death. ONLY YOUR EXISTENCE WAS REQUIRED.

For a moment, Harry said nothing, because he knew it was true. The moment was right; the time was now; and that wouldn't change, even if Harry refused to lead the Horsemen. And there was nothing, said the voice in his head triumphantly, that he could do about it.

"Harry?" asked Aziraphale, in a worried voice.

STAY OUT OF THIS, said Death, turning glinting eye-sockets on Aziraphale.

But the sound of Aziraphale's voice was a lifeline to Harry, reminding him of Aziraphale and Crowley's presence... and in the distance, Harry could hear laughter and voices coming from the Great Hall, drifting on the slight breeze. Harry knew that his friends were in there, enjoying their dinner, with no notion that the world was about to end.

And Harry said, "No."

THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP US, said Death. IT HAS ALREADY BEGIN.

"You're forgetting," said Harry. His thoughts were beginning to override the voice in his head, its poisonous words growing fainter as Harry's conviction swelled. "I'm the Antichrist. All of this world is my domain, and that means you are subject to me. And I say no. Not now. Not ever, as long as I'm alive."

I DON'T UNDERSTAND, said Death, who seemed to be spokesperson for the four Horsemen. YOUR VERY EXISTENCE DEMANDS THE END OF THE WORLD. IT IS WRITTEN."

"Oh yeah?" asked Harry. "Well I have a healthy respect for books, but even the most well-researched book can be wrong. And whoever wrote this one clearly didn't do his homework."

"You are the Antichrist–" began War, her words falling like bullets, but Harry was having none of it.

"My name is Harry Potter," he said, and the suggestion of wings at his back vanished, leaving him looking like nothing more than an ordinary eleven year old boy. Except for the eyes, that was. "And I don't want you here. So go away."

The light in Harry's eyes flared, and suddenly, something was happening to the Horsemen – to War, to Famine, to Pollution. Their forms were wavering around the edges, like a mirage in the heat of the desert, and slowly, as Harry and Crowley and Aziraphale watched, they began breaking up...

"What's going on?" asked Crowley, who was seeing, but didn't understand.

"I'm sending them back," said Harry, his brow wrinkled with determination.

"Back where?" asked Crowley –

– and the three Horsemen were suddenly gone, as though they had never been.

Only Death remained, unaffected by what Harry had done.

WHERE THEY BELONG, said Death, answering Crowley's question, although his eyes – such as they were – remained locked with Harry's. WHERE THEY HAVE ALWAYS BEEN. BACK IN THE MINDS OF MAN.

There was a long, fraught moment, where Death and Harry sized one another up; and then Harry relaxed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes.

YOU CANNOT DESTROY ME, said Death, FOR I AM AZRAEL, CREATED TO BE CREATION'S SHADOW. TO DESTROY ME WOULD BE TO DESTROY CREATION.

"I don't need to destroy you," said Harry. "Without them, it's already stopping. Isn't it?"

And Death said, YES. BUT THIS ISN'T OVER.

"But of course it is," said Aziraphale. "Why wouldn't it be over?"

But Crowley's eyes were on the sky, where the clouds were boiling.

"Oh bugger," he said. Aziraphale and Harry followed his gaze.

Lightning flashed, and stayed in place, a blazing column of light, crackling and filling the air with the smell of ozone; and when it did finally fade, a young man made out of golden fire stood where the lightning had been. His face was beautiful, but utterly expressionless. The blank gaze turned to Harry, before alighting on Aziraphale.

Aziraphale gulped a bit, but stayed defiantly where he was – on Harry's side.

The ground began to shake, and all five of them – Harry, Aziraphale, Crowley, Death, and the man made of golden fire – turned to look, as a figure made of blood-red flames rose up from the ground, not far from the man made of golden fire. The new figure looked at Crowley, who shrank back a bit from the baleful gaze.

Harry looked at both figures, one golden, one blood-red, and knew that Death was right. It wasn't over.

"Metatron, Beelzebub," he said politely, because Harry believed in being polite whenever possible. "What brings you here?"

"Armageddon," said Beelzebub, and his voice was like a thousand buzzing flies.

"Much as I hate to agree with a demon," said Metatron, in a voice like trumpets, "the Apocalypse must take place now. Certainly there may be some inconvenience, but that should hardly stand in the way of the ultimate good."

Harry's eyes turned flinty and hard.

"Uh-oh," Crowley muttered to Aziraphale. "That's done it."

" 'Some inconvenience?' That's how you refer to the suffering of every soul on Earth, is it?" asked Harry, standing a little taller than before. "And here I thought angels were supposed to be good and compassionate. So much for that. As far as I'm concerned, you're just as bad as that one." And he nodded at Beelzebub.

Metatron's blank expression cracked, just enough to show deep offence.

"As to what it stands in the way of, that is yet to be decided," buzzed Beelzebub, but with a smug look at his counterpart that suggested he was enjoying Metatron's insulted state. "But it must be decided now, boy. That is thy destiny. It is written."

"Well, I'm rewriting things," Harry said matter-of-factly. "I don't see why everyone has to suffer and die just because you lot have a Plan. Seems to me that any plan that involves inevitable suffering and death is a bad plan that needs revision, understand? Besides, it's not even for anything important, really – just to decide which one of you comes out on top. And it won't even stop there. It'll start all over again, only on a different battleground. Hell, maybe, or perhaps even another war in Heaven. Is that what you want? Open warfare in your own home?"

"It doesn't matter!" snapped Metatron, who seemed precariously close to losing his temper. Clearly, he wasn't used to people arguing with him, or telling him that he was just as bad as the side he opposed. "The whole point of the creation of the Earth and Good and Evil–"

"Is that people make a choice," Harry interrupted severely. "But you lot, you don't understand that – both of you," he added, his gaze including Beelzebub as well as Metatron. "You mess people around, trying to take away their free will, when free will is the whole point. It's why this one," he gestured at Crowley, who didn't look like he appreciated having Beelzebub and Metatron reminded of his presence, "was sent to tempt them into eating the apple of knowledge of good and evil, way back when. I don't see what's the point of creating people, and then getting upset when they act like people. Infinite potential for both good and evil, you see?"

Metatron wore what could only be described as a mulish expression, while Beelzebub didn't look like he was willing to listen, either. Harry sighed.

"Anyway," he said, "I refuse to destroy the world, or let anyone else do it, either. So you can just both pack up and go home." He folded his arms, and glared steadily at both of them.

"You can't just refuse to be who you are," said Metatron. "Your destiny is all part of the Great Plan. All the choices have been made."

"Except for mine," said Harry. "And I'm making it now."

"Rebellion is a fine thing–" Beelzebub began.

"Who's rebelling?" said Harry reasonably. "I'm not rebelling against anything. With great power comes great responsibility, you know," he added, because he'd read some of Dudley's old comics once Dudley was finished with them. "I'm not about to turn my back on the people who need me."

"A noble sentiment," said Metatron, "but a trifle misplaced–"

"Misplaced?" asked Harry. "I don't think so. I think you're the ones that are misplaced. And I think," he added, "that you should go home. Both of you."

Harry reached out with his mind. Neither Metatron nor Beelzebub wanted to go, but this was, as Crowley had reminded Harry earlier, Harry's own turf – and destiny had given Harry exactly the right amount of power to do what he was doing now.

There was a faint popping noise, like a cork out of a bottle, and both Metatron and Beelzbub vanished. Harry sagged, trembling a little bit – that last use of power had taken a lot out of him.

"Harry!"Crowley was there to steady him within an instant. Aziraphale was there too, tutting over Harry, and between them they helped Harry back over to the castle steps. where he sank down, feeling utterly spent.

WE WILL BE BACK. NOT EVEN YOU MAY STOP US FOREVER, said Death, and vanished.

"Are they gone?" asked Astaroth, from where he lay in the grass. Harry had almost forgotten that the snake was there.

"I think so," said Harry cautiously. He looked around. The clouds from earlier were gone, leaving a darkening sky as the world slipped into twilight, and there was no sign of any angels or demons except Aziraphale and Crowley.

Crowley joined Harry on the steps.

"All's well that ends well," said Aziraphale.

"I don't mind telling you," said Crowley, "I was right worried there for a minute or two–"

He stopped. The ground was shaking.

"Oh shit," said Crowley, as cracks began to appear in the earth. "That's not Beelzebub. That's Him! This isn't Armageddon, this is personal!"

For a moment, he looked like he was going to flee, but Aziraphale put a hand on his arm.

"Crowley," he said quietly, "we can't leave Harry."

"Bollocks we can't–" Crowley started, but he looked at Harry. Harry looked up at him, tired and worn out, and utterly helpless against what was to come.

Crowley sagged for a moment, then straightened again, with new determination in his eyes.

"Right, then," he said, and turned to face the oncoming trouble.

The ground was moving, and yellow smoke was boiling upwards from the cracks.

"I'd just like to say," said Aziraphale, "that if we don't get out of this... Harry, it was lovely to have known you. And Crowley..."

"Yes?"

"I just want to say that I'll have known, deep down inside, there was a spark of goodness inside you."

Crowley glanced at Harry, who was looking up at them with worried eyes.

"Whatever happens, kid, it wasn't your fault," said Crowley. "And Aziraphale... just remember, I'll have known that, deep down inside, you were just enough of a bastard to be worth liking."

The ground was bubbling now, yellow smoke everywhere, and the noise was incredible.

"Brace yourselves–" said Crowley, as one last, enormous tremor hit. He and Aziraphale grabbed onto each other to brace themselves.

A moment later, everything was still.

When the smoke dispersed, Harry, Crowley, Aziraphale and Astaroth found that they had been joined by a new figure, standing a short distance away. He was tall, and looked to be about thirty at the oldest. He had very blonde hair, and his eyes were exactly the same shade of green as Harry's were.

Harry stared at him. The new arrival stared back.

"What's all this about refusing to bring the apocalypse, then?" asked the Devil. He didn't sound angry – his tone of voice sounded quite reasonable, even – but Crowley turned a horrible greenish-white colour, which was probably a bad sign.

Harry gazed up at his father, and glared.

"I won't do it," he said. "And I won't let anyone else do it, either."

"So I understand," said Lucifer. His expression was curious. "But why?"

"Because people don't deserve it," said Harry simply. "And because this is my home, and I'm not about to let anyone else destroy it. I don't care who I have to fight."

"You're willing to stand against both Hell and Heaven, just to protect the Earth?" mused the Devil. "That's brave of you."

"Well, I am a Gryffindor," said Harry. "We're supposed to be brave and chivalrous and everything. The Sorting Hat said so."

The Devil stared down at Harry with a look of bemusement.

"You realise you're sending a lot of plans into disarray," said Lucifer.

"Don't care," Harry retorted.

The Devil's eyes wandered over to Crowley, who twitched, but stood his ground, despite his evident terror. After all, running wouldn't do any good.

"What exactly did you have to do with this, Crowley?" asked Lucifer, and for the first time, there was the slightest suggestion of a threat in his voice.

"He didn't have anything to do with it, and if you try and hurt him, I'll stop you," said Harry, surging to his feet.

This was a mistake; Harry wobbled and almost fell over, and had to be grabbed by Crowley and Aziraphale, who caught him under the arms and held him upright.

Lucifer's eyes stayed on Crowley, thoughtfulness in their gaze.

"Hmm," was all Lucifer said.

"I mean it!" Harry said fiercely.

"Oh, I can see that you do," the Devil agreed. "Don't worry. He's far too valuable to harm, at present. He's looking after you, after all."

"Erk," said Crowley, who didn't like the sound of at present. It suggested bad things for his future.

Harry gave the Devil a suspicious glance; but Lucifer's expression was perfectly sincere.

"Well, I can't say I expected this," the Devil remarked. "But perhaps I should have. You seem to be a chip off the old block."

Harry stared, because right then, Lucifer looked almost proud. Harry blinked.

"I suppose we can postpone things for a few generations," said Lucifer. "Hopefully my next offspring won't be quite so strong-minded."

"Don't bet on it," said Crowley, and shut his mouth abruptly as Lucifer gave him a musing kind of look.

"Very well. I'll leave you to your kingdom," said Lucifer, and the last Harry saw of him, his expression was considering as he vanished in a cloud of yellow smoke.

Harry didn't go back into the castle to eat dinner with the other students. Instead, he had dinner at the Ritz with Crowley and Aziraphale, who felt he'd earned it. Even Astaroth had been allowed to come, and sat coiled under the table, miraculously invisible to all the wait staff.

"I think that went quite well," said Aziraphale, once they'd finished eating, and Crowley and Aziraphale were contemplating everything that had happened, in addition to contemplating a rather nice champagne. Harry was drinking a glass of lemonade. The staff had seemed quite surprised to see him: they were used to Crowley and Aziraphale turning up, it seemed, but not with small boys in tow. Harry had just smiled wearily at them as one of the staff had shown him and Crowley and Aziraphale to a table.

Harry still felt very tired, but eating a large dinner had helped.

"For you, maybe," said Crowley, who hadn't forgotten Lucifer's words. "Give it a few decades, and today's events are going to catch up with me in a big way."

Aziraphale patted his hand sympathetically.

"Perhaps Harry can do something?" he asked, and both the demon and the angel turned to look at Harry.

Harry shrugged.

"Maybe I can talk him around," said Harry. "Convince him not to punish you."

"If anyone can, it's probably you," said Crowley. "But he's not really the kind who gets talked around, if you know what I mean."

Harry was too tired to tell Crowley that he was going to look out for him, no matter what it took. Instead Harry only went, "Mmm."

"I'm sure things will work out," said Aziraphale.

"Perhaps," said Crowley. He frowned at Harry, who was listing in his seat. "You alright there, kid?"

"I have a name, you know," Harry grumbled, although secretly he rather liked the fact that Crowley always called him 'kid.'

"That doesn't answer my question," said Crowley.

"Oh, my dear, I'm sure he'll be fine after a little rest," said Aziraphale.

"Should be," said Harry. "The power's all still there; using it tired me out, is all."

"Well, if you fall asleep, I'm not carrying you," said Crowley, which was such a patent lie that Harry grinned at him fondly. Aziraphale smiled at him as well.

"Really, Crowley, we both know you will."

"Rub it in, why don't you," muttered Crowley, but when Harry smiled at him, he couldn't seem to help smiling reluctantly back.

"Did I tell you I destroyed Voldemort earlier?" asked Harry. "Horcruxes and everything."

"Thank heavens for that," said Aziraphale. "He wasn't a very good person."

"You think?" Crowley asked sarcastically. He reached over to ruffle Harry's hair, which made it stick up in all directions.

Harry didn't care. He smiled tiredly at his unofficial guardians, and raised his glass of lemonade.

"To the Earth, and everyone on it," he said. "Let's hope it lasts a long time yet."

"Hear, hear," said Aziraphale, while Crowley downed the rest of the champagne in his glass.

Harry closed his eyes, and slowly drifted off, content in the knowledge that right now, everything was just fine.