Title: It's Magic!

Sequel to "Trick me Twice"

Author: MajinSakuko

E-Mail: MajinSakukoyahoo.de

Beta-Reader: JamesMarsters15

Disclaimer: I own nothing, JKR everything else

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing/Main-Chara: HP, LV

Rating: PG-13

Genre/s: Drama

Warning/s: hints of Slash (HP/DM), C/Ds, mention of Ron/Girlfriend

Summary: 'Magic is energy.' What did Dumbledore's words mean? And how could they be helpful in the final battle with Voldemort? Harry is going to find out – whether he likes the result or not.

"Magic is energy," Dumbledore had said.

Harry didn't listen to Dumbledore anymore. At least not without caution. That didn't prevent him from hearing, though. And Dumbledore did talk to him. A lot. About the upcoming final battle, about strategies, about loyalties. And all the time Harry pondered his possibilities. Would he survive this war, at all? Would he see through Dumbledore's manipulative schemes? For even though the Headmaster had declared time and time again, after Harry's fifth year, that he would not keep the boy in the dark any longer, Harry knew better.

Harry had seen Snape. Harry had even rescued Snape. Against Dumbledore's wishes. The old man didn't even know that Harry had left the school grounds those two months ago. He wasn't omniscient, never had been, and after Harry had made friends with the right paintings and ghosts, things got distinctly easier. Sneaking around after curfew had never been that effortless. Dumbledore didn't have a clue what Harry had been up to the last weeks. And if Harry had a say in it, he wouldn't get one either.

Before and after classes, Harry was trained by Dumbledore and a few selected teachers. Battle tactics, hand-to-hand combat, the most efficient spells and curses. Harry could go on like that forever.

He didn't want to, though. He wanted it all to end. And quick.

And he wanted to come out of it, preferably alive and in one piece.

Harry had seen Snape. Harry had even rescued Snape. He didn't want to end like him. An obstacle to the cause. Out-sorted and disregarded.

'Magic is energy?' Harry thought, confused, rubbing at a small scar he had acquired while training with Dumbledore.

It was a widely known fact that Harry Potter was not one of the brightest students. Therefore it was not without reason that Hermione Granger, one of the brightest witches at Hogwarts, was always by Harry's side. If there was a problem to solve, Harry was sure that Hermione would get it in less than a minute.

So, here he was in the library, sifting through tome after tome. Harry didn't have a clue what they were searching for. What Dumbledore's words had meant. What his look had conveyed after he had realised that he had let something slip. Why it could be so important to the cause.

But Harry didn't ask. Not because he didn't want to know, but because he knew that Hermione wouldn't lie to him. She was, if nothing else, painfully honest.

"Magic is energy!" Hermione cried triumphantly, holding up a small book from the Muggle section. At Madam Pince strict glare, Hermione ducked her head and mumbled an apology. "I've got it," she whispered urgently to Harry. "Let's get out of here."

Ten minutes later, Harry and Hermione were sitting in a secluded section of the Gryffindor common room. Ron was off with his girlfriend and couldn't be disturbed.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked quietly. "Magic is energy?"

"I knew I had heard it somewhere before," Hermione began, brushing her bushy hair back. "Energy is a physics term. It is temporally constant. Do you know what that means?" At Harry's confused look and the shaking of his head, Hermione went on, as if she hadn't expected otherwise. "It means that energy can't be produced – nor can it be destroyed." Here she waited for Harry's understanding, but that wasn't forthcoming.

"I don't get it," he said simply. "I didn't take physics or chemistry in the Muggle world. Energy can't be destroyed – so what?"

Hermione looked almost pained for a second. "So what – no, never mind," she said hastily. "Energy is always in balance. Like a perfect weighing machine, you know? There are different types of energy, of course, warmth, kinetics, potentials, and so on. They change forms. If you want to heat water, for example, you need energy to start the oven. This energy turns to warmth, then it heats the water. Some of the energy will get lost in the oven or the pot, but it won't be destroyed."

"Yeah, I get that much," Harry said, massaging his temples. "Energy can't be destroyed, it's always in balance. And magic is just like energy, right? So you can't destroy magic, either. Which is good, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded solemnly. "In most cases," she said hesitantly. "Harry... You know you're going to have to kill Voldemort, don't you?"

Harry was a bit surprised at the – at least, for him – abrupt change of topic. "Yes," he said simply. He had told Hermione and Ron at the beginning of their six year about the Prophecy, and so far, they had been a great help. Even Ron, who had finally gotten over his crush on Hermione and found himself someone who could love him back. "What's that got to do with the energy thing?"

"Everything," Hermione said, clamping her hands together tightly. "We know that Voldemort tried to become immortal, right? And he is – at least his body can't 'die', so-to-speak. You know how you have to destroy Voldemort, don't you?"

"I have to wipe out his soul, I know."

"Harry," Hermione said emphatically, "a wizard's soul consists of his magical core... You can't destroy energy. You can't destroy magic. And you can't destroy the soul of a wizard, either. This isn't good, Harry. I don't know how we can work around this."

Harry wasn't listening anymore. He kept repeating the words in his head. 'Magic is energy.' Dumbledore had said so. Dumbledore had let it slip. No, Dumbledore had looked like he had let it slip. Dumbledore was a manipulative schemer. Dumbledore kept dropping hints, so Harry could work them out on his own. As if Harry had had those ideas himself.

Dumbledore had sacrificed Snape for the cause. Out-sorted and disregarded. Dumbledore would have let him die; thought him dead, as it was, because Draco had never told the Headmaster the truth.

It was a widely known fact that Harry Potter was not one of the brightest students. That didn't mean he was stupid, though. Sometimes, he was able to work things out himself. Sometimes he needed a little push from Hermione in the right direction. And sometimes he wasn't as painfully honest as the girl.

'Let me entertain you,' Harry thought, gazing unseeingly into the flames. 'Look me up in the yellow pages. I am the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Played-With.'

Harry blinked, quickly masking his resolve.

"I don't know, either," he lied, shooting Hermione a look. "I wish I did..."

Harry knew that Voldemort would strike. He knew it before Dumbledore told him. Three days after Draco had given him the information. Dumbledore was a manipulative schemer. And Harry couldn't help feeling that he might miss it – in another life.

Harry was absolutely in balance. And soon enough, the world would be, too. It was only a small calculation in the bigger schemes of the equation. It was all in the scales, and as long as they were balanced, the universe was all right.

Destiny was a cruel thing. Always had been to Harry. He came to accept it, though. Because he was in balance.

"And we meet again, Harry Potter," Voldemort pronounced with great distaste. "I am growing tired of your games of hide and seek. I will end your miserable life, now, once and for all. You will be able to rejoin your parents. Isn't that something to look forward to?" The snakelike mouth morphed into a sneer.

It could have been a beautiful day. Some – mostly dark wizards – might consider it a beautiful day, still. Harry, though, couldn't help but disagree. He had always thought the day of the final battle would be dreary, cloudy, cold. But it was sunny and warm. Death Eaters were swarming around the ground like overgrown beetles. Only one blonde head was missing. He was dead, Harry was glad to know. Draco had told him. Voldemort had thought Lucius had helped Snape escape from his prison, because he was the only one with the needed abilities. And he had been Snape's friend. Or so Voldemort thought.

"Yes, it is something to look forward to," Harry found himself agreeing as the battle raged on around them. He and Voldemort were in the middle of the school ground, surrounded by a protective bubble Dumbledore had invented. Muted battle sounds reached Harry's ears, but he tried to block it all out. He didn't have the time to worry for the lives of his friends. He was busy protecting them.

Dumbledore might have been a manipulative schemer, but he also knew how Harry's mind worked. Maybe that made him even more dangerous than Voldemort. You-Know-Who had never managed to kill Harry, after all.

"Prepare to die," Voldemort hissed, brandishing his wand. There wasn't going to be a repeat of the Priori Incantatem fiasco like at the Little Hangleton graveyard.

"I am prepared," Harry whispered, so Voldemort couldn't hear him, adding louder, "but I'm not going alone!" He, too, whipped up his wand, the curse already on the tip of his tongue. He didn't want to think of anything. Everything that he was going to miss. Everything that he wouldn't experience. Everything that he would never feel. Everything that Draco would. But not with him.

"Arrogance doesn't suit you," Voldemort hissed. His eyes held a maniac gleam as he started his incantation. He didn't see it coming. His end. But then again, one rarely does. One cannot live while the other survives. Voldemort didn't know. Harry's death would kill him, as well. Harry didn't want to die at Voldemort's hands, though.

Harry whispered a quick, very simple slicing spell, holding his wand to his own throat. And it was red. Not green like the Killing Curse he had always dreamed of. Red like the blood rushing out of the mortal wound. Red like Voldemort's eyes, widening in horror as the equation righted itself automatically. Red like Draco's face, leaning over him, and shaking him, and screaming at him, and crying over him.

But why was he crying? Harry wasn't dead - yet. Voldemort was in his death throes. Draco would be free of his supposed master. Not even the self declared Dark Lord could cheat against the magical equations. One life for another. The world had to be in balance. Take one, give the other. And Voldemort had marked Harry as his equal. Take the equal, give Voldemort's life to balance it out. It was all in the scales. Very simple calculations. Even Hermione should have been able to work it out. But Hermione was not here. Hermione was gagged and bound in Myrtle's bathroom. Harry hadn't wanted to hurt her. He hadn't wanted to let her die, either...

As Harry came to again, he was blinded by light. It was white, painfully so, and he had to squint his eyes against the incoming rays. Everything hurt. The breathing, the seeing, the being.

There were his parents, though, Harry could make them out clearly. And he would have smiled and laughed if he'd had the energy to do so. Energy had cost his life, however. And he didn't want to think about that right now.

"How are you, Harry?" his mother asked, smiling softly.

Harry tried to say he was all right, that he didn't hurt, that he was happy, but he couldn't. His throat didn't listen to any commands. His mother understood, anyway. She reached for a beaker with fluid and let him drink a bit to soothe his sore throat.

"I didn't think I'd see you again so soon," his father whispered, reaching for Harry's hand. He seemed almost afraid to break him, his touch was so soft. Harry was dead, though, nothing was going to kill him anymore. "I love you..."

Suddenly the pain increased behind Harry's eyes. He squeezed them shut, blinking against tears. The fingers on his hand tightened comfortingly.

Something was wrong.

He was dead. Why did he hurt so much, then? And why was he blinded? And why could he drink?

"How are you?" his mother had asked.

He was dead. How should he feel about that?

"I didn't think I'd see you again so soon," his father had whispered.

It had been over fifteen years. So soon?

Harry was dead. And something was wrong.

"I love you..." he had said.

Something was wrong. Harry was dead. But he knew the fingers tightening on his hand. Sure, and soft, and warm. Harry was dead. And something was-

"Please," Harry rasped out painfully.

Harry was not dead. And something was right.

"If I weren't so happy to have you alive, I'd kill you myself," Hermione said angrily, flexing her fingers. Harry grinned, and she rolled her eyes. "The next time you're going to pull a stunt like that, I'm definitely going to carry out my threat, rest assured."

"There isn't going to be a next time," Harry whispered, rubbing at the small scar he had acquired while training with Dumbledore. "Never again, I promise. I've seen enough death to last two lifetimes."

"I almost killed him, Dumbledore, you know," Draco said suddenly. "I would have, too. I didn't care about Azkaban or anything at the moment. I didn't care about anything but that he killed you."

Harry was silent. Hermione averted her eyes. Draco shrugged.

"I'm glad you didn't," Harry whispered.

"He was already dead when I got to him," Draco said coldly. "Take one life and give the other. All that crap he sprouted. He couldn't have killed you, Harry, but he would have. I tell you, he would have, if he'd had to. He only saw the bigger picture, the great picture. Whether or not he destroyed lives on his way, he didn't care. At least he recognised his own role in the bigger schemes, in the end."

"Dumbledore didn't have to exchange his magical core with Harry, though," said Hermione gently. Draco bristled, and Harry rubbed at the small scar he had acquired while training with Dumbledore. "He didn't have to mark him as his equal."

"He wanted to be remembered as a saint," Draco spat. "How selfless of him."

"Or maybe he wanted to right some of his wrongs?" Hermione suggested softly.

"Wrongs he did to his beloved Gryffindors, you mean?" Draco's eyes were hard, and Hermione couldn't hold his gaze for long. "Just as I thought."

"It doesn't matter anymore, does it?" Harry said hoarsely. "They are both dead. Voldemort and Dumbledore. Both manipulative schemers. Snape can come back to Hogwarts if he wants to. Everything will be back to normal in no time."

Hermione and Draco looked at him, nodding slowly. Voldemort was dead. And Dumbledore was dead.

Harry was not, though. And something, no, everything was right.

End-

A/N: I hope that made sense. I'm a bit confused now, as well, if it's any consolation.

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