A/N: Once again, thank you all for taking this journey with me. I truly appreciate all the encouraging comments, follows, and favorites. HP is a great fandom. Until next time.

Before the pale creature could turn, Harry's spell hit him. The wand burst from Voldemort's hand and struck the fireplace, end first, splitting down its length. The glimmering feather inside frayed into broken wisps of light, disappearing with a far-off, but familiar, cry. Without a word, Harry moved his wand in a complicated rhythm, creating a path of red and gold beads of light that swirled around Voldemort, falling towards the shrunken wizard to lay like a shimmering cloth along his skin. He'd learned the spell from Ischel at the lake, the web of light sustained by his own magic, deep and strong, available to Harry for the first time in his life. This wasn't a net of healing or of protection. Harry smiled at the sensation of a hand on his shoulder, a soft cheek pressed against his. His net was fueled by Harry's mother's love. It lay across Voldemort's being like a burning caul, absorbing any of the wizard's attempts at magic.

To Harry's left, Severus lunged for Pettigrew, grappling with the shorter man, each one wrestling the other's wand-arm up and away. Severus was taller and stronger, but the rat was desperate, his rodent-like squeal and frantic scuttling to and fro keeping Severus occupied for the moment.

On his right, Sirius unsheathed the sword, flames dancing up and down its length. He held it in a two-handed grip, using the tip to herd the swaying snake away from her master. The snake hissed, venom dripping from her fangs to steam on the flagstone floor as Sirius menaced her into the room's far corner.

Harry faced Voldemort alone. Or, what was left of Voldemort. The misshapen, hairless thing crouching in the chair gripped the padded arms with bony hands, its narrow chest heaving. Thin shoulders shaking, it poured hexes and curses into the air. The magic it expended fueled Harry's net, its glow bright and clean against the backdrop of stagnant evil.

"Harry Potter," the thing snarled. "And I see you've brought both your faithful dog and my faithless snake." Voldemort spat. "It will do you no good, I'm afraid. You cannot kill me, you stupid, stupid boy, no more than I could kill you. Not even sweet Lily's love could accomplish that. Or has your lying, manipulating headmaster convinced you otherwise?" Voldemort clucked his tongue. "I don't see him here, of course. He's got you dancing on his strings so beautifully, tossed out before me like a sacrifice. Well," he sat back against the chair, pretending to be at ease, in control. He set one hand on his chest and tilted his head, "I accept."

The wand in Harry's grip grew warm, comforting. He felt Sirius' grip on the back of his neck, heard Severus' rueful comment, smelled the scent of fresh bread he always associated with Ron's mum, and the chamomile tea Professor McGonagall had offered him in her office. A whisper of sound made him grin.

'Honestly,' Hermione sighed, 'does it ever stop talking?'

No - Harry straightened. He wasn't alone after all. He'd never be alone. Just as they'd promised.

"My brothers and I haven't come on Dumbledore's order, but at the command of someone far greater, Tom. Someone you, yourself, have pretended to revere." Harry raised the wand. "He's given us everything we'll need to –"

"To kill me, Harry? Are you going to use an Unforgiveable? A cutting curse across my throat and leave me to bleed my life out on this floor?" Voldemort gestured with one arm. "Will you break my bones with your fists like a muggle or have your dog tear me apart?" Voldemort pursed his thin lips, red eyes flashing. "Is the young Saviour of the Wizarding World about to become a murderer? To embrace his inner darkness?"

Images rose up in Harry's mind – images of torture from Severus' hell-place. He nodded. Voldemort couldn't imagine any other way to deal with an enemy. Pain. Fear. Torture. Blood and broken bones and pleas for death. Harry knew that Voldemort's words were meant to stay his hand, to make him question himself, a young boy thrust into a battle too horrible for him. To make him hesitate one moment too long. Before Harry had been healed, before Merlin had completed what Sirius and Ischel had started in him, before he'd witnessed Severus' hell, it might have worked.

"No, Tom. We're not going to kill you. In fact, we're going to make sure you live as long as you can, live with the single piece of a wrecked and damaged soul you've left yourself. You think you've chosen immortality, deathlessness. But what you've really chosen is an unnatural prison. The prison of this deformed flesh, twisted by hate, by fear –"

"I do not fear –" Voldemort snarled, leaning forward.

"You do. You fear death. You are so afraid of it that you would rather crawl through the world, stealing sips and tastes of life from others, from unicorns, from weak wizards and witches, from children like Ginny Weasley to sustain you. You coat yourself with ice so that you don't feel anything – no love, no affection, no hope, no single moment of doubt is allowed to bubble up inside before you freeze it over. That isn't life, Tom." Regret – sorrow – filled Harry. Sorrow that there truly was no hope for what was left of Tom Riddle. "Life is hard and joyous and surprising," he whispered. "It's drudgery one day and soaring excitement the next. It's studying for OWLs and flying on a broom. It's dealing with all kinds of people and creatures, muggles and magical, on their own terms, not trying to force them into some strangled reality you've created in your own mind. It's the bravery of Gryffindor and the discipline of Ravenclaw, it's the cunning of Slytherin and the loyalty of Hufflepuff, all mixed together. It's love and fear, friends, family, narrow souls like Filch and great, larger-than-life characters like Hagrid, all thrown into the potions' cauldron into a messy, wonderful stew." Harry shook his head. "I'm only sorry you tore yourself apart and refused to experience it."

The others were with him, each one helping Harry put all the truth that he'd learned into words. Every one of the adults who'd been drawn by Merlin's command and so many more attached to them. He felt the numbed sorrow of Dumbledore. The fierce loyalty of Ron. Charley Weasley stood at a dragon's shoulder with Professor Flitwick beside him. Madame Pomfrey had her arm around the shoulders of Colin Creevey. Neville, in the Gryffindor Common Room, spoke quiet encouragement to the students gathered there. Luna, her blond hair like a beacon around her head, read children's stories to young students in Ravenclaw. Through all of them Harry felt more and more wizards and witches, all connected to him through the Light. Through family oaths and long histories and complicated genealogies, personal struggles and deep-seated longings for truth and justice. The magical world was coming together for healing.

Harry raised his eyes to find Sirius'. To share a glance with Severus. 'It's time.'

With a nod, Sirius stepped left, giving the snake an opening. As she launched herself forward, mouth open, eager for his blood, Sirius swung the sword. The fiery blade sliced through the thick scales like paper and the snake's head landed with a thump before bouncing to rest at Voldemort's feet.

In the same instant, Charley Weasley asked Norbert to flame the objects gathered on the rocky plateau. A cup. A diadem. A locket. A ring.

Voldemort screamed.

Severus threw Pettigrew into a full-body bind, forcing him to stand erect, his backbone creaking. Spittle splashed across the rat's cheeks as he cursed, his voice turning to inarticulate squeaks as the black ropes tightened around his neck. Severus waved his wand and Pettigrew's left arm was released. Severus ripped the sleeve from wrist to elbow to reveal the ink-black Dark Mark. He plunged the tip of his wand deep into the skin and Pettigrew shook his head back and forth in fear and denial.

More connections rose up through the silver circlet. Mrs. Weasley, Professor McGonagall, and Hermione held hands in the Wizengamot Chamber, its upper seats filled with witches and wizards in dark red robes. The Dark Mark overhead writhed. At the three witches' command, Death Eaters appeared within the charmed wards, filling the floor of the chamber from side to side and end to end.

Igor Karkaroff shouted denials. Blond head bowed, teeth clenched, Lucius Malfoy slowly raised his eyes to glare at the witches and wizards before him. On his left, in the only open cell, Peter Pettigrew appeared, his bonds falling away as the wards took over.

"We can trust the goddess with these," Severus stated, breathing hard from his struggles.

Harry blinked and released his hold on the image of the Wizengamot Chamber, lingering for just a second to touch Hermione's mind. "Almost done," he assured her. Still focused intently on the dangerous criminals held in the witches' wards, she sent a single spear of pride and joy back at Harry.

The sons of Merlin waited through Voldemort's tortured writhing. Sirius sheathed his sword and turned Severus towards him with a frown, his wand moving slowly across the bleeding slash across Severus' brow just beneath the circlet, closing the wound from Pettigrew's claws and cleaning up the blood.

What was left of Voldemort curled up into itself, arms that were more bone than flesh gripping its knees to its chest. It whimpered, eyes closed, rocking in the chair, small and shriveled. The bright membrane Harry had laid across it solidified into a thick covering, stained red as if suffused with blood.

"Can it survive like that?" Harry whispered. Perhaps it would have been kinder to kill it after all.

"For a time," Severus answered. "It is a mere sliver of soul housed in Riddle's manufactured, decaying flesh, with less awareness of itself than an infant."

"Will it grow, can it –" Harry swallowed hard, "can it grow to be a man again? To threaten our world again?"

Sirius' smile was grim. "No. There can be no growth without a soul, neither physical nor magical. That was one of Tom's problems – as soon as he began tearing apart his soul, he stopped growing. His mind could not take in any wisdom, any new knowledge. New thoughts were dismissed out of hand, not because he believed he had achieved perfect intelligence, but because he simply could not open his mind – or his heart – to embrace them."

"Darkness stifles growth," Severus added. "Whether in the greenhouse or in human and wizard life." He turned to meet Harry's gaze. "Hiding in the darkness can never lead us to life."

"Nor can hiding in the light," Harry reminded the potions' master. "If there's anything I've learned this year is that we need both. Light and dark. Flame and shadow. Fire and ice."

"We do," Severus agreed with a slow nod of his head. "But Light prevails, Harry. Light must always prevail. Shining into all the dark corners we keep hidden, warming the soul. It is all that allows us to greet each new morning with the hope of the better day."

"So philosophical." Sirius chuckled. "Practical matters come first, my friends. First, we deposit this … creature … with its new caretakers. Then," he spun, grabbing Harry and Severus around the shoulders, "I believe a celebration is in order. What do you say?"

Epilogue

The Great Hall was lit with a million hovering candles, gold and black streamers and banners hanging from every column and wall, with Cedric's embarrassed face beaming from some of the larger ones. The entire school was celebrating Cedric's victory, every House stomping and cheering and waving homemade signs and wearing Hufflepuff colors. At the head table, the Diggory family were, in turns, blushing, waving their arms to direct cheers and songs, and grinning at everyone around them. Professor Sprout looked like she might burst at any moment.

It had taken a few months, but Sirius was finally getting his celebration. Harry couldn't help a smile as he watched his godfather slip another splash of firewhiskey into Severus' goblet. Remus and Sirius might never get over James Potters' death, but they sure had someone in mind to fill the missing Marauder's shoes. And, strangely, Severus was only putting up a token resistance.

He caught Professor McGonagall's eyeroll and shared a sad shake of his head. "I'm too old for this," was the clear message she was trying to send him. Sometimes Harry missed the internal communication he'd had with so many of the adult witches and wizards, but, then again – he rubbed at the fading scar on his forehead – having his mind, his spirit, and his magic all to himself felt good. Really good. The circlet and sword had vanished when Voldemort had finally died, just before the third task. The wand – Harry brushed his fingers against the holster he'd bound to his wrist – the wand was his forever.

"Harry – Harry –"

He turned back to Ron.

Ron pointed with a dripping slice of beef towards the podium where the TriWizard Cup stood in all its glory. "Skeeter's trying to get your attention."

The witch was gesturing frantically with one arm, the other hand gripped around Victor Krum's thick bicep.

"Trying to get one last photo of the Champions, probably," Hermione huffed into her cup of pumpkin juice. "Poor Victor – he's just too polite to tear himself away."

Harry pursed his lips, finding Fleur and her sister at the Ravenclaw table and raising one eyebrow. "I think we can help him out with that, don't you?"

Silent, wandless magic had come quickly to Harry since his healing. He sharpened his will and sent a stinging hex into Skeeter's buttocks just as Fleur stood, drawing the woman's attention. Skeeter yelped and spun on her heel, letting go of Victor in the process. Like a good Seeker, Victor used the move to his advantage and darted away to slide in between Fleur and her sister.

The Slytherin table was crowded again, Draco, Blaise and Theo sitting at one end with a few others, not quite reintegrated with the students whose parents had never embraced Voldemort. At least they were all back in school. The last sentence had been carried out a month ago – the last Dementor's Kiss. It would take time for true forgiveness, for true changes of nature to result in changes in how the Death Eater children were treated by their classmates. It was a start.

"And to think it could have been your picture up there, Harry." Seamus clucked his tongue, a look of sheer exasperation on his face. "I will never understand why you didn't even try. I mean, with what we've seen you do in class since you took on You-Know-Who you could have won the tournament with one hand tied behind your back."

"I told you not to bet on him," Ron smirked around a mouthful of mashed spud. "Told you he wouldn't put his stupid name in that stupid goblet."

Harry's eyebrows rose at Ron's apparent amnesia about how he really felt about the Goblet spitting out Harry's name. Ron's anger hadn't lasted, of course – it never did. But the twins had told Harry about Ron's little fit in the Common Room before Hogwarts had woken up and the Order of Phoenix had told the school about Merlin and the end of the war.

"I'm happy Cedric won," Harry announced for what felt like the millionth time. "At least we have a Hogwarts Champion."

It had been the easiest decision Harry had ever made.

Harry and Sirius and Severus had left the broken infant Dark Lord with a nest of Dementors in the Black Forest where the other soul-broken beings accepted it as one of their own. Unspeaking, unseeing, the creatures recognized the corrupted soul, tucked it away in a warm corner with their own young, and cared for it until it took its last breath. When the three returned to Hogwarts, when the trials were over, the new prison built, and the executions performed, Harry had come back to Gryffindor changed. He couldn't refuse the tournament – not after Crouch, junior had tricked him into entering – but he could make sure he was never in the running for Champion.

He'd enjoyed the First Task, chasing around Hogwarts with the dragon. Flying free, Harry had kept the dragon chasing him all around the castle, Hogsmeade, and the forest until the thing had drooped with exhaustion. Finally, it had turned away, back to its fake egg. Most of the spectators had left the stands by then, hungry and bored, and Harry had accepted his last place finish with a grin. After that, he had joined forces with Cedric – once he'd convinced the Hufflepuff that, no, Harry really didn't want to win, thank you. The two, with Hermione's help, of course, had planned out a winning strategy for the other tasks and made sure Cedric was far ahead of the other two in points.

The funniest part of the whole ridiculous tournament had been when Severus Snape was stolen and hidden away beneath the lake as Harry's 'treasured belonging.' He didn't think his potions' professor would ever stop scowling. While Harry swam laps on the surface, the other three champions had rescued the hostages and, long after time had expired, Severus had bobbed to the surface, pruney skin, wet, bedraggled hair hanging in his face, and the entire school not daring to laugh. Well, not a lot, anyway. Not where Severus could hear them.

Harry shoved the half-eaten tart away, setting down his fork with bit too much force. The Ministry had 'adjusted' the final task after repeated attempts to coax, bribe, and finally demand that Harry make a real effort to win. Even with the huge point differences between Harry and the other champions, the idiots at the Ministry, Bagman in the lead, wouldn't leave him alone. They'd put off the final task for two weeks, changing the configuration of the maze until each champion had his or her own separate compartment, charmed with anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey wards. The creatures and traps set inside had been tuned to each champion's magical signature, making it impossible to help each other. The interfering, sadistic officials had made sure that each one faced 'boggarts' designed to set off deep-seated fears and challenge each student's weaknesses.

He admitted he might have lost his temper when the shade of Tom Riddle rose up before him, one hand around the throat of the image of his mother. Harry had claimed that his Patronus had simply gotten away from him, trampling the maze and menacing the magical creatures waiting to pounce until Harry's area lay flat and smoking, manticores and sphinxes fleeing in all directions.

Harry's stag Patronus had faced the crowd of silent spectators, antlers lowered, steam churning from its nostrils, its skin shivering in rage until a silvery doe and a tail-wagging phantom dog had appeared. They pressed close on either side, calming the stag, staring at the officials who had been ranged around the maze, daring them to speak one word in censure or reproach. The three Sons of Merlin, power billowing around them like coronas, had met before the three Patronuses, Harry walking across the flattened hedges, the ancient wizard's wand gripped in a white-knuckled hand. Sirius, Severus, and Harry had bowed to their Patronuses. The three manifestations of their souls, their magic, had quieted under their hands.

Harry had accepted his disqualification from the tournament with a regal nod. It was Ron's whoop of delight from the stands that had finally broken the tension and reduced Harry and his mentors to head-shaking laughter.

Dumbledore rose from the head table, lifting his hands to ask for the students' attention. After the last verse of 'Cedric is our King,' died away, the crowd grew quiet, expectant.

"He's changed."

Harry leaned into Hermione's shoulder. "Yeah." Dumbledore was no longer the spider at the center of the web of power, the great strategist hunched over his chessboard. Merlin had cut the headmaster's strings, freed all of his puppets – students, witches, wizards, ghosts, even the castle itself. Hogwarts' halls shone with magic, the portraits calmer, more constrained and less interfering in students' lives while the ghosts were brighter, more visible, more protective of their houses. Harry tilted his head, considering the grey-bearded wizard. "Honestly, Hermione, I think he looks better, somehow." He shook his head. He couldn't put his finger on it –

"Honest."

Harry turned towards Neville, sitting across from him.

Neville nodded at the headmaster. "Dumbledore. He looks like he's actually happy, not like he's putting on a front or pretending. That stupid twinkle in his eyes is gone – I think it was a mask he wore, Harry. Something to confuse people. Now?" He shrugged. "Looks like a great weight was lifted off his shoulders. Kind of like you, mate."

"Me?" Harry drew back. When the entire Gryffindor table erupted in great guffaws and choking laughter, he felt his cheeks heat. "Hey!"

"Come on, Harry." Ron wiped tears from his eyes. "You don't think you've changed? I mean, you only lost a nasty piece of Voldy's soul, got your childhood memories back, and finally have a hold on your magic for the first time."

"Not to mention gaining a couple of mentors and the confidence to tell Fudge and ministry to push off," Lee snorted.

"And, of course, not important at all, got rid of the psycho who had been trying to kill you for years." Hermione made a face. "Of course, you've changed."

At a pointed – and loud – clearing of the throat from the head table, Fred and George stood straight up and saluted. "Sorry, Professor Snape! Won't happen again, Professor Snape!"

"Oh, if I could only believe that," Snape drawled in reply before giving all of his attention to Dumbledore. "You were saying, Headmaster?"

"It has been an exciting year. Our friends and families are, for the first time in a very long time, safe and well. A great evil has been eliminated. Those who would have forced us into slavery and servitude have been dealt with. And Hogwarts has crowned a new TriWizard Champion!"

Applause, shouts, cheers erupted all over again from every corner of the Great Hall. Slytherin to Gryffindor, students and teachers roared, house elves peering in from the hallway and around the legs of the tables grinned, ghosts nodded in delight. From outside, hoots and calls of forest creatures joined in. Even Peeves – and Myrtle – whooped, darting amongst the floating candles – every part of Hogwarts was celebrating.

"Now," Dumbledore folded his hands across his belt, "there have been many, many changes. It will take more than a summer, I believe, to adjust, for our world to heal, for our broken families to learn what it means to live in a world where fear is not our constant, where our children are not forced to focus on battle, on defense. Hogwarts' Board of Governors will have quite a workload, along with her teachers, to update our curriculum. To bring new ideas of science and technology in from the muggle world, to embrace areas of study long neglected." He leaned towards the students. "You may find you have many more subjects to decide among when you plan your fall schedules."

Next to Harry, Hermione was vibrating with excitement.

"But, as you leave us for your homes, remember this." Dumbledore raised his wand and the Hufflepuff-centered decorations faded into the colors and designs of all the houses, scattered around the hall. "Here, at Hogwarts, all are welcome. To learn. To grow. This year, our castle has awoken and accepted her role as protector of the magical youth of these isles. All of them." He stared at the Slytherin table. "And while this has made for some, ah, uncomfortable changes," he adjusted his glasses, "for some of us, myself included, know this: Hogwarts shall always stand between its students and danger." With tears in his eyes, he continued, his voice trembling. "While I regret that it has not been true in the past, from now on, you are safe here. From now on, these teachers, this staff, from headmaster to smallest house elf, are vowed, first and foremost, to raise up strong, confident wizards and witches who are free to study and grow in peace and safety. All life comes with stress and moments of anxiety and trial, but no longer will the adults of Hogwarts turn a blind eye to real danger."

The response was tentative at first, hesitant clapping from a few tables. Harry caught his godfather's eye and rose to his feet, Severus also standing. The applause died away.

Harry raised his new wand and was joined by his mentors. "Students so pledge," he stated, a steady stream of red and gold bursting to arc over the hall.

"Parents and Guardians so pledge," Sirius added, his own rainbow-colored light joining Harry's, knitting both together into a net.

"Teachers and Staff so pledge." Green and silver, Severus' magic rushed out to join the other two.

Ghosts and house-elves joined in next, Firenze, from the head table adding the oath of all magical creatures; Professor Flitwick swirled out black and grey magic for the goblins. Remus and his younger cousin rose, the werewolf boy's hand on Remus' wand, blue and white magic marking him as Ravenclaw. Amos Diggory and Amelia Bones added Hufflepuff yellow and made their vows for the ministry.

Dumbledore spread his hands, his white light spreading out to join all the magics into an impenetrable shield that spread and lifted, encompassing all of Hogwarts, the forest, the grounds, the dungeons, and on into Hogsmeade.

Every student and teacher and parent rose in a surge of answering magic. "So mote it be."

HP HP HP HP HP

Harry leaned against the headboard in his room at Sirius' home in Hogsmeade. His wand lay across his lap. Oak, eleven-and-a-half inches, strong yet pliable. Its core was made of three strands, braided into one – dragon heartstring, thestral hair, and Cerberus tail. Mister Ollivander had raised both eyebrows at the combination and immediately handed the wand back to Harry when he'd sought out the man's insights.

"I have a feeling you already know more about this wand than I do, Mister Potter."

He'd been right. Harry had known as soon as the wand appeared in his hand, knew it reflected his new life, his soul freed from evil and tied for all time to Sirius and Severus. He didn't know what happened to his old wand, but he didn't miss it. He didn't miss much at all from his former life as Voldemort's vessel. Not the Dursleys – Obliviated of all memories of Harry since he'd moved in with Sirius. He didn't miss the nasty, petulant relationship he'd had with Severus or the doubts that had swirled in his heart about himself, his father, and his abilities. He didn't miss speaking Parseltongue or the nightmares. He sighed. He didn't miss the secrecy and manipulation of Dumbledore or being the target of Draco Malfoy and his pet Slytherins.

The knock at his door made his lips curl up in a smile. What he did not miss most of all was the loneliness. The certain knowledge that Harry was on his own – to live or die or exist somehow in between. Alone behind the ice. He would never, ever yearn for those days, not even if, every minute of every day Harry was now bound to two others so tightly he sometimes forgot where they left off and he started.

"Come in, Severus."

Harry's mentor smiled more, now. Not frequently, not by any other person's measure, but, like Dumbledore, weights had been lifted. Weights of guilt and regret and self-doubt. He was still the Dungeon Bat, snarky and sarcastic to those who failed at Potions. But, even as Severus might lecture and snarl, his eyes were filled with light.

"What is it tonight?" Harry asked, sliding down under the covers, laying his wand close to hand on the side table.

"'Little Dorrit and the Crumple-Horned Snorkack,'" Severus answered, seating himself with a flurry of robes on the chair at Harry's bedside, the children's storybook open on his lap.

Harry eyed him with vexation. "You got that from Luna, didn't you?"

Severus tipped his head, eyes wide. "I have a limited library of children's books, Harry. Of course, I have asked for suggestions from your friends. Believe me, the Weasley twins' suggestions are even more … interesting."

Chuckling, Harry closed his eyes and settled himself to listen. After another moment of silence, he opened them again, catching Severus' fond, assessing stare. "You don't have to do this every night, you know."

Laying a hand on the page, Severus pursed his lips. "I believe 'bed-time stories' was one of your specific requests of me, Harry. Right before dating advice and learning to drive a muggle car which we will apply ourselves to this summer." He dropped his amused façade, a shadow curdling behind his eyes. "Please, Harry –" he began before Harry could cut him off.

"I'm looking forward to it," he whispered solemnly. "To the driving, not the dating advice," he added.

"You asked for it." Severus took a deep breath and began. "'Most little girls don't have best friends with horns and hoofs and long, forked tails. They don't play among giggling bluffberries and singing mushrooms. And they certainly don't live in windmills in the middle of dense, ancient forests. But Dorrit did.'"

Harry fell asleep, warm and comfortable, loved, cherished, and protected, eager for whatever came next. Someday, he told himself, Severus would let Harry forgive him.

He could wait.