Chapter One : Looking down the barrel.

May 2nd, 1998.

"Protego," Harry roared, and the shield charm expanded in the middle of the hall, Voldemort staring around for the source of the spell as Harry pulled off his invisibility cloak.

The yell of shock, the cheers, the screams on every side of "Harry!, He's alive!" were stifled almost at once. The crowd was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and began, at the same moment, to circle each other.

"I don't want anyone else to try and help," Harry said loudly, and in the total silence his voice carried like a trumpet call. "it's got to be this way, it's got to be me."

Voldemort hissed.

"Potter doesn't mean that." he said, his red eyes wide. "That isn't how it works is it, who are you going to sacrifice for you today, Potter?"

"Nobody," said Harry simply, "there are no more horcruxes. It's just you and me, neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good, both of us if needs be.

"One of us?" jeered Voldemort, his whole body taut, red eyes staring as if he was about to strike. "You think it will be you victorious do you? The boy who survived by accident and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?"

"Accident was it, when my mother died to save me?" asked Harry. They were still moving sideways, both of them in a perfect circle, maintaining the same distance from each other, and for Harry, no face existed but Voldemort's. "Accident, when I decided to fight in the graveyard, when I fought in the ministry? Accident, that I didn't defend myself tonight and still survived, returning to fight again? Accident, that I'm fully prepared to die to take you with me right now?"

"Accidents!" screamed Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and the watching crowd was frozen as if petrified, and of the hundreds in the hall, nobody seemed to breathe but the two in the centre. "Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and snivelled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you while you ran and hid!"

"You won't be killing anyone else here tonight," said Harry as they continued to circle and stare into each other's eyes, green into red, "you won't be killing any of them, ever again. Don't you get it, I was and am still ready to die to stop you from killing these people -"

"But you didn't!" cut in Voldemort.

"- but I meant to, and did, and would do it again. I have done what my mother did, they are all protected from you. Haven't you noticed that your spells aren't binding? You can't touch them any more, you didn't learn from you mistakes did you Riddle?"

"You dare -" started Voldemort.

"Yes! I dare," interrupted Harry, "I know things you don't know Tom Riddle, I know lots of important things that you don't, Dumbledore taught me well. And your making a big mistake."

Voldemort did not speak, but prowled in a circle, and Harry knew that he kept him temporarily mesmerised and at bay, held back by the faintest possibility that Harry might indeed know a final secret.

"Is it love again?" said Voldemort, his snake face jeering, "Dumbledore's favourite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop your mentor from falling from the tower and breaking like an old waxwork? Love, which did not stop me from stamping on your mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter. And nobody seems to love you enough to run forwards this time and take my curse for you. So what will stop you from dying now when I strike?"

"Just one thing." said Harry, and still they circled each other, wrapped in each other, held apart by nothing but the last secret.

"If it isn't love that will save you this time," said Voldemort, "you must believe that you have magic that I don't, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?"

"I believe both." said Harry, and saw shock flit across the snake-like face, though it disappeared almost instantly. Voldemort began to laugh, and the sound was more frightening than his screams, humourless and insane, it echoed around the silent hall.

"You think you know more magic than I do?" he said. "Than I, Lord Voldemort himself, who has performed more magic than Dumbledore ever dreamed of?"

"Oh, he dreamed of it," said Harry, "but he knew more than you, he knew not to do what you have done to yourself."

"You mean he was weak!" screamed Voldemort "Too weak to dare try, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine and never yours!"

"No, he was cleverer than you, and me." said Harry, "A better man, a better wizard. He taught me a lot of what he knew, and the morals to go along with it."

"I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!" roared Voldemort.

"You thought you did, but you were wrong," said Harry.

For the first time since he revealed himself, the watching crowd stirred as the hundreds of people lining the walls drew a breath as one.

"Dumbledore is dead!" Voldemort hurled the words at Harry as though they would cause him unendurable pain. The body of your mentor, your grandfather in spirit, decays in his marble tomb on the grounds of this very castle, I have seen it, Potter. He will not return!"

"Yes, Dumbledore's dead," said Harry, "but before he went he taught me everything I needed to know to beat you Tom, and its not some deep, dark magic, no complicated rituals or incantations, its just one simple thing."

"It matters not!" shrieked Voldemort, who had followed every word with rapt attention, but now let out a cackle of mad laughter. "It matter not what that old fool taught you, or what petty obstacles you throw in my path, I will crush them all, just like I did Dumbledore. You cannot stop me Potter, with two pathetic years of training under a man that fell to me!"

"I'd advise you to think about what you have done Tom," said Harry "think and try for some remorse."

"What is this?" asked Voldemort sneeringly.

Of all the things Harry had said to him this day, beyond any revelation of taunt, nothing had shocked Voldemort like this. Harry saw his pupils contract to thin slits, saw the skin around his eyes whiten.

"It's your last chance," said Harry, "it's all you have left, I've seen what will happen otherwise, be a man, try, try for some remorse."

"You dare -" Voldemort began again.

"Yes I dare," stated Harry, "because Dumbledore's last plan, his last lesson to me hasn't been lost. It's about to hit fruition."

Voldemort's hand was trembling on his wand and Harry gripped his tightly. The moment, he knew, was mere seconds away.

"It all comes down to this doesn't it?" whispered Harry.

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them, as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The bang was like a cannon-blast and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead centre of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort's green jet meet his own spell, power flaring as the two poured all they had into the final spell. He saw both the wands fly high into the air, his own and Voldemort's, spinning across the enchanted ceiling and as he tracked their progress he saw Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the red eyes blank. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse. A split second later Harry was struck by his own curse, which propelled him backward straight into the wall of spinning magical flames, made up of his own excess power and Voldemort's combined, bled from the overcharged spells.

One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended, and then the tumult broke as the screams and cheers and roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows and they thundered towards the scorched circle looking for their saviour, but no sign of him remained bar his wand, lying with Voldemort's in the centre. His body missing, disappeared as it touched the crackling wall of power.

Harry knew he was dying, he could feel it, blackness and all around him, silent, unfeeling. But he couldn't bring himself to care. He had done his duty, killed Voldemort, and now he could find his peace. And if that meant he had to die then so be it, he could be with his parents, his godfather and his friends that had fallen, as well as tell his mentor that it was all over.

He began to reminisce as he lay in the darkness, waiting, senses blind, about the last two years with Dumbledore, his whole life had changed the day that he was told the prophecy, the day that his Godfather, Sirius Black, died.

Flashback

June 25th, 1996.

Dumbledore lowered his hands and surveyed Harry through his half moon glasses.

"It is time," he said, For me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry. Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything. I only ask for a little patience. You will have your chance to rage at me, to do whatever you like, when I have finished. I will not stop you."

Harry glared at him for a moment before throwing himself down into the chair opposite the old man.

Dumbledore stared for a moment at the sunlit grounds outside the window, then looked back at Harry and said, "fifteen years ago, when I left you on the doorstep of your aunt and uncle's house, I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years. You may ask, and with good reason, why it had to be so, why didn't a wizard family take you in. The answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you."

"I don't -" began harry.

"While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched by Voldemort." explained Dumbledore.

"So that's why you force me to return there every year, even though you know how I feel about them, because it protects me from him?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"But why do I need so much protection from him, what does he want with me?"

"Do you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing at the end of your first year, why Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby?" Asked Dumbledore.

Harry nodded warily.

" I decided not to tell you then, I told myself that eleven was much too young of an age to deal with the knowledge. And that's when I fell into the trap. It seemed to me that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven to receive such information." Dumbledore sighed. "I cared about you too much, I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost."

Harry waited quietly, watching, but Dumbledore didn't continue. "I still don't understand." he said.

"Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made before you were born, even though he didn't know it's full contents. It caused his curse to backfire, ripping him from his body and this is the weapon he has been seeking, the knowledge of how to destroy you." explained Dumbledore.

"But the prophecy was destroyed." said Harry.

The sun had risen fully now, bathing Dumbledore's office in golden light.

"The orb that smashed was merely a recording of the original prophecy given to me on a cold, wet, night sixteen years ago in a room above the bar in the Hog's Head pub in Hogsmead by the applicant for the post of Divination professor -"

"Not Professor Trelawney!" exclaimed Harry, "she couldn't possibly -"

"She did." cut in Dumbledore, getting to his feet and walking past Harry to the cabinet that stood beside Fawkes perch. He bent down, slid back the catch and took from inside it the shallow stone basin, carved with runes around the rim. Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the pensieve upon it and with a sigh, raised his wand to his temple and withdrew the silvery, gossamer-fine threads and deposited them in the bowl, prodding the surface with the tip of his wand.

A figure rose from the swirling silver, slowly revolving and spoke in harsh, hoarse tones.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month died. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

The slowly revolving figure of Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass and disappeared. The silence in the office was absolute. Neither Harry nor Dumbledore nor any of the portraits made a sound, even Fawkes had fallen silent.

"Professor Dumbledore?" said Harry quietly, "It... did that mean...what did that mean?"

"It meant," said Dumbledore, "that the person who has the only chance of defeating Voldemort for good was born at the end of July nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

Harry felt like the room was closing in on him, his breathing seemed difficult. "It means... me?"

Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment, over the top of his half-moon glasses. "I'm afraid that there is no doubt that it is you my boy, Voldemort chose you. And as such, we now have no choice as to what happens now."

Harry looked up, a slightly puzzled look on his face. "What does that mean?"

"I am going to teach you Harry, show you everything that I can in the time we have left. Skills that will serve you well in your task and beyond, secrets that barely anyone remembers," Dumbledore said, leaning forward towards Harry, eyes twinkling merrily, "Anything and everything that could help you."

And Harry felt almost hopeful that he would survive.

End Flashback

Harry smiled to himself in the black, no light present to illuminate his grin. Dumbledore, the man he had come to love as a grandfather, had taught him so much before he died, and even after he had passed on, through his portrait providing information and a sounding board for his ideas. And the things he had been taught had helped him in his journey to victory. A seemingly hollow victory by the looks of things, but a victory none the less.

He remembered moving straight to Hogwarts, into Gryffindor tower, not even returning to his aunt and uncles home, who were ecstatic with the news that their nephew would never be returning. The castle itself was huge and empty, devoid of life without the other children present, even most of the staff had left for the holidays. Even the house elves were quiet and barely seen, going about their duties, cleaning and repairing whenever he wasn't there. Harry spent a lot of time simply wandering alone along the draughty corridors and exploring the hundreds of empty, dust-covered rooms, not even needing his invisibility cloak nor the Marauders map.

After a few days he discovered Madam Pince was away and practically moved into the library, going over everything he had been taught over the past five years, re-learning and practising. It became a lot easier after he and Dumbledore performed a slightly grey, memory enhancing ritual, frowned upon by the Ministry of Magic. His self-imposed lessons flying past now he could remember facts better. Occlumency training helped him to organize his own mind better than he ever thought possible and he flew through the mental skill lessons with almost unnatural quickness. Dumbledore proclaiming him one of the best students he had ever taught in the mental arts when they moved onto legilimency.

Harry was taught to apparate silently and took himself to the ministry to resit all his OWLs, gaining straight O grades in every subject Hogwarts had to offer at the fifth year level, deciding not to push himself further in the lessons he would have to take in his later years anyway. Returning to Hogwarts he went back into personal training with the headmaster, learning his animagus form and beginning the change, beginning martial arts training after another small ritual to enhance his physical attributes, senses and reflexes, making him slightly stronger and faster than normal, his eyes fixing meaning he no longer needed his well-known, black-rimmed glasses.

In between his training he would sit for hours, just talking with Dumbledore about life, magic and the world. Intense metaphorical discussions intermixed with arguments on the niceties of muggle sweets followed by explanations for basic magical premises he had never been taught as a muggle-raised child. This brought his understanding of magic to a higher level, making his spells stronger, his silent casting adding a new dimension to his duelling. Wandless magic remaining just out of reach bar a few minor spells which left him exhausted.

He remembered his last talk with Dumbledore, mere hours before he was killed, when his ageing headmaster explained to him the concept of him being a horcrux, his belief that the killing curse wouldn't work again and his ideas on how to finally defeat Voldemort

He thought about the day his mentor was killed, seeing him being struck by the curse and flung from the tower, helpless to intervene. The feelings of loss, hate and pain that followed. And then the burning desire for revenge, to learn and prove himself and win at all costs.

He reminisced on his last year, hunting down the last of the horcruxes so that Voldemort would be vulnerable, continuing his training until it all became almost instinctual, his occlumency and legilimency skills rivalling Dumbledore's, his animagus transformation seamless and instant, his apparation silent, his spell casting fluent, silent and powerful, his martial arts reflexive, fluid and strong. He may not be the most powerful wizard in the world, he may not know the most spells or some ancient forgotten magic that would save the day but he felt like he had accomplished something, he had reached the full potential he could have been at if he had done his very best for all the previous years, he began to feel that he could do what he was prophesised to do.

And when it came down to it, that's what he did.

Harry sighed and tried to look around him, peering into the blackness, wondering what he was supposed to do now, wasn't there supposed to be some bright light he was supposed to go towards to reach the other side. It was kind of boring just floating here in the darkness. He had given his life not once, but twice, as well as his entire childhood to remove the threat that was Tom Riddle and now he wanted his reward, he wanted to cross over and see everyone he had lost. He wanted to just be Harry and be at peace.

As this thought crossed his mind he felt a shift, as if he was falling and a small pinprick of light formed ahead of him, steadily getting bigger and brighter as he moved towards it. Harry smiled, this was it, it was finally all over, he was free. He entered the light and the last thing he felt before unconsciousness took him was his body impacting what looked like sand and a huge orange sun burning down on him.

A.N.

This first chapter is mostly an introductory one, most of the dialogue is taken from Books 5 and 7 and tweaked for my benefit. Please review, but go easy on me, this is the first time I have ever written anything. Constructive criticism is appreciated but no flames please. Oh, and I'm in the market for a beta, or maybe a couple of betas, I need someone to tell tell me my writings not just crap. :D