Harry surveyed the battlefield, and felt quite…content, despite his misgivings.

The stragglers from the broken army of The Wolf were being captured by the remnants of Harry and Gertrude's combined army. Many of theirs had fallen, too.

Lord Black lay where he had fallen, shock still printed across his face. Lords Nott and Avery were unaccounted for and he didn't know if they were alive or not. Malfoy was cradling his wand arm, a bloody stump now, courtesy of the spellfight he had engaged in when he held the lines against the bulk of the Wolf's army as Greengrass and Nott had attacked it from behind.

Bodies strewn here and there. There was a curious lack of blood for a battlefield. Harry closed his eyes and sighed. It meant killing curses, and that meant the breaking apart of so, so, many souls.

It hadn't been a war that would stain their legacy. It had been a war that had stained their souls.

Tired and bearing quite a few bruises from where he had fought hand-to-hand as a surprise tactic against the wand-wielding enemy, Harry Potter(Or should we call him Slytherin instead) sat down tiredly and with troubled eyes, surveyed the landscape, even as his Great Ancestor fled, flanked by his bodyguards who were falling to the chasing skirmishers, more precisely, rather than a chasing army. None of the armies in both sides had really survived as in the true sense of the word, for there was no more discipline, even on the side of the victors.

And what a victory! Harry thought, as he sadly watched Gertrude Gryffindor kneel beside The Lion's decapitated body. She was shaking in disbelief and sorrow, anger and anguish, frustration and pride, joyful that there had been a member of the Gryffindor line that was so deserving of its blood, but also anguish that it had been her hand that had snuffed out that little spark that was still her only family in the world. She had fought an enemy and had hated him for his claim on the lordship of the family she considered hers. She had defeated him and killed him.

And in death, Garret Wilders had got what he had not got in life. He had destroyed the soul of Gertrude Gryffindor far more than he could ever have, with either a curse or a sword.

Their duel had resulted in Garret's death, but Gertrude's defeat.

How meaningless, worthless, the world must feel like to her, Harry thought. The natural duty and love of siblings had been twisted and turned so malevolent by forces beyond the control of human agency-and how that had resulted in a worthless war and the deaths of so many. None of them had won that duel, both of them had lost it, Harry sighed.

Even as he watched, Gertrude got up and with shaking fingers, lifted the decapitated head of Garret and shut her eyes, not willing herself to look into his open, glassy eyes. She trudged back to his body, and laid his head adjacent to the shoulder from which it had been severed. Concerned, Harry tried to make his way to her, but walking a few steps, fell down, the pain in his left leg growing beyond usual levels of tolerance. Something must've hit it. Helpless, he watched Gertrude extend a stray, ownerless wand which she had picked up and tap on the ghastly empty space between the head and shoulder, and whisper something. Nothing happened. Sobbing, she spoke it aloud. Harry couldn't hear it. Now, tears streaming down her face, she cried out, heart-wrenchingly, "reparo? Reparo! REPARO! REPARO! REPA….."

Harry couldn't bear to look any more, hear any more. He got up through sheer will, and limped away, tears running down in rivulets.

The screaming woman dissolved into sobbing eventually, lying her head on the lifeless body's chest.

(line break)

Dim, through the hazy sunset, the First Slytherin saw the last of his bodyguards fall, or flee, no longer seeing any point in guarding a man who was beyond saving. He didn't care either way. Even if they snapped his wand, or tortured his body, they couldn't truly kill him. He couldn't be killed. His descendant had proved himself worthy of the Line, and had destroyed him utterly; but kill him? That wasn't possible. Still, he had his wand, and he would not be taken prisoner.

From his tired hands, spells flew quick and true, and leaving a few bodies, that of a good-looking woman and a man well into his middle ages, his pursuers drew off. He tutted at the bodies. Such a waste.

Sitting down in the shade of the tree he found nearest, he extended his legs, and tried to heal his wounds. He could not. His vast reserves of magic had finally given up, exhausted. He heard rather than saw first the tired, limping footsteps towards him. He raised up his wand and willed a spell, but no spells flew from his wand anymore. It was just a useless piece of wood now.

Harry sat down by his side, and sighed.

"Well, you lost it finally, then. I did tell you that you couldn't win."

"I could not win because your lover murdered the only friend I ever had, Harold." The First Slytherin spoke in a voice aching with an ancient sadness.

"I was sad to see it happen, too. It shouldn't have happened that way. But are you really so sure he was your greatest friend?"

"He gave his life to save mine, Harold." Was the First Slytherin's simple reply.

"True." Harry said, watching the Wolf carefully, "But well, how could one expect you to know that Garret was also Gertrude's estranged brother, the one she had lost all those days back when her family's ship was attacked and destroyed at sea?"

The Wolf laughed, and laughed hard. "Telling a joke before coming to kill me, are you, Harold? This is definitely not your style."

"I assure you, it's no joke. Though I would agree that yeah, the truth often do sound like joke, but this case is a sure exception." Harry replied in a pensive voice.

The Wolf went quiet, and then said, "Then his blood is on my hands too. I don't want your belief, Harold, but I never manipulated or pressurized him into supporting me or opposing her. This truth might sound laughable to you though."

Harry shook his head sadly. "No. It's one of the only three truths that aren't laughable."

"Oh? And what's the last one, pray tell?"

"That Garret Wilders, or Gryffindor, was the greatest man of our times, who fought a meaningless war and died a cursed death for worthless reasons."

Both of them did not speak for a long time after that.

"Enough has passed. It's time for you to go. I'm not judge or jury, but the execution does fall to me." Harry stated tiredly.

"I would ask you to not have any progeny, Harold." The First Slytherin said in a voice full of an ancient tiredness. "You would weigh heavy the curse on me to cross the threshold of death to come back and take their lives."

"You can't." Harry simply said. "I never did speak one truth, which is, quite laughable, though. You see, for all this trouble, I'm not a Slytherin. I'm a person who just have the extraordinary ability to strike a deal with Death itself to come try a hand at setting up the future and remodelling it. Being of the House of Slytherin was an idea necessary to the plan all along."

The Wolf closed his eyes. "This destruction was all your plan?"

Harry stood up, walked around, and kneeled in front of him.

"Yes. There would be no more differences of opinion between Houses on racist ideas. There will be no Houses standing but those who can adapt with the changing ideals, times and philosophies. There will be no powers which will be powerful enough to act independent from a ruling assembly. The war had destroyed the Gryffindor line as well as the Slytherin line. Garret and Tom are both dead, though I never did envision the way their stories would end. It all worked out, I suppose. Gertrude…..I regret what has happened to her. But this carnage was necessary. People must see that it is not the Lords, or the Ministers or just the armies which enforce rule or government. They must see that it is they who rule over, and enforce government. That is why Tom needed to die in accordance with the prophecy of that poor, raped, dying young girl. That is why Garret had to lose his head, for his nobility was that which dragged its followers down in worship rather than lift them in inspiration. My compatriots, my fellow lords…they all needed to either die or prove themselves and come out not unscathed, so that the power would be reduced enough for the people themselves to come and say, Enough. We'll take it from here. That is why you were required, and that was your duty, to oppose me, for only in fighting you could the destruction be so immense. They will learn a lesson. They will learn not to let things come to such a point again. Sometimes, you do not need to be a destroyer angel to teach something to a wayward humanity. Sometimes, you need to be just a human, one among those wayward many, to look beyond their restricted vision and plan for a way to redemption. Tom is….dead. I now give up my identity as the Lord of Slytherin. The Slytherin House is no more! Dear First Slytherin, or should I call you Wolf? It's time for you to go, finally."

He placed a hand on the Wolf's heart, and said, "This is the End." Stuttering with his last breath, the First Slytherin choked, "Are you…Death?"

Harry shook his head almost wistfully. "No, I'm afraid I'm not. To cut a long story short, I'm its Master. Farewell."

He walked away, the Wolf's body reducing to dust.

(line break)

A long shadow fell across the prostrate, lifeless body of Thomas Slytherin. Harry leaned by the body, and ran a hand across Tom's bloodied cheeks. Though it had all been parts of his plans, he had really, really been fond of the boy and had often allowed himself to indulge in a fantasy of Tom turning out to be a really great man, who would do great things that were not terrible. He understood, as he looked at Tom, that Tom indeed had done a great thing, but a terrible one.

"You had to make a horcrux, didn't you, Tom?" He said sadly, petting the cheeks of the boy, and concentrated, spying the invisible threads of death that held Tom and the loopholes that the horcrux created in the threads. He traced the horcrux by that loophole and wrenched the fragment of the sixteen-year old soul from that thrice-cursed diary, and pulled it into the threads. Even as he watched, the threads absorbed the fragment and united it with the whole. Harry waited as the barrage of Tom's memories came to him. Then came the emotions, the dominant of which was regret. Harry felt a tiny shred of hope. If there was regret, there was….yes, some bit of that. Remorse.

Remorse Tom felt, for all that had happened, for all that had gone wrong, for all dreams of family and a happy life that had been shattered. Harry left some memories of Voldemort as he had been in the limbo he knew would undoubtedly wait Tom's soul just as it had done in his own case, but the only difference being, there would be no Dumbledore. Tom had himself and Harry's memories of Voldemort's creation. Self-realization would work, and as far as Harry could tell, it had worked, because Tom's soul no longer felt divided. He knew Tom would be offered the choice of boarding the train, or coming back, by Death. Somehow, he felt it would be an incredibly private choice, and petting Tom's cheeks and pressing a soft kiss of farewell to his forehead, he left.

(line break)

He kneeled by Gertrude and held her in her arms. He had told her everything. All of it.

She had not blamed him for the death of her brother at her hands, and that had hurt. Strangely so. Harry didn't know why.

She had only asked him why they were the ones who had been necessary to be the pawns in this grand plan. He had been at a loss to answer, and had ended up confessing that he took them as they came into his life and had never really marked them down.

"You'll have to go now." She simply said.

"You and Tom are my hopes for rebuilding the world, Gertrude." Harry gently said, spotting the rekindling of spirit in her eyes at the idea of Tom's coming back. It was surprising, yet not so very so, he noted, her lack of surprise at the news.

"Farewell. Build the world well for me, Gertrude. My work here is done, my end draws near. Even I'm not immortal, I was here for a purpose, and I can only hope I can leave a better world behind, than the one I came into. I'm sorry for everything, for it all….you cannot forgive me, I know. But remember me, and remember those who fell and gave their lives. Build the world anew, a better world than the last one. Farewell, Gertrude." He kissed her gently, and walked off, into the descending fog.

Even as his form slowly faded into nothingness, and he was no more visible through the fog, Gertrude suddenly lurched forward and vomited. Frowning at the strangeness of it, she cast an overall check-up spell on her, and saw it finally.

There was life, slow, yet steady, growing within her. Even in leaving, he had left her something, to help build the world with. To remember him, them, with.

Remember Me, he had said.

She looked up, tears running down her face, and could swear she saw rather than imagined the flash of mischievous emerald green eyes in the fog, but in the next second, there was only the grey swirls of fog to greet her. She raised a hand in farewell, even when she knew that he no longer existed, could no longer see her, and her other hand rubbed her abdomen.

For where there was life, there was hope, and hope, he had left to her.

(The End)

Thank you, my so so so so so patient readers for encouraging me and keeping up with this story for practically AGES! Thanks to all who reviewed and followed and favourited, even to those who gave humble views :P Without you, this would never have been possible. Thank you for this awesome journey. Watch out for the new story of mine that's ongoing, The Moon and The Master! Thank you all, again!