Well, here it is the final chapter of the Lullaby trilogy. I know a lot of you waited a long time for this, and I can only say I'm sorry. I only hope that you enjoyed it, and that it wasn't too painful waiting for me to update.

I don't own Harry Potter.

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I said goodbye to my previous life as soon as I stepped onto that forsaken hell many called Azkaban. I knew from letters I'd received from my friends what had occurred to Anila in my absence. If it wouldn't ruin the chances of anyone ever killing Voldemort I could have killed myself right when I read that thrice-damned letter.

Instead of me, it was Anila who went to Azkaban; for the laughable charge of aiding and abetting a murderer. Me. The trial was a farce, just like Sirius', but there was nothing to be done about that now. Things had gotten dire in my absence, this just one of them; and the most easily fixed.

Barty, my teacher for the past four or five years, set down next to me. The years had not been kind to him, but he stayed by my side through thick and thin—for what reason I don't know, but I am grateful for him. He looks at me, fear in the back of his eyes, and I simply stare back dispassionately.

"I suppose we are really going to do this, then?" he asks, despite already knowing the answer.

Despite the question being undoubtedly rhetorical I take the time to answer, "Yes, of course, she's suffered far too long for me." Something she never should have done, she should have forgotten about me and tried to live—despite Voldemort's constant shadow.

"Well then, perhaps you should take the first assault, what with your magic-blasted Patronus that's probably the size of Azkaban itself?"

I smile at the recommendation. It was rather true that my Patronus was huge, but that's what sandworms were. Huge with lots of sharp, pointy teeth. It scared the shit out of the Dementors and most anything else. And for some reason, Anila loved it. Well, this time, it'd be rescuing her, so she'd better love it.

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

I watched Anila's sleeping face as she lay in my bed. The years had not been kind to her either, and Azkaban was no place for a Healer. If, that is, she could ever work as a Healer like her mother now.

Her bleached bangs had grown out and now looked comical—half black, half white—and her hair had lengthened. Her once caramel skin had lightened drastically to a sickly yellowish colour. I laugh to myself, because that's all I can do without crying. It's been a week since McGonagall put us up in Hogwarts, and she's not been looking much better.

Then again, it's only been a week.

I turn away from Anila and back to my work. The final battle is coming soon and I will need to prepare my sword. In point of fact, according to Voldemort's thoughts, the battle would be tomorrow.

It was painful looking at my dogwood wand, very painful, especially knowing what I was going to do to it. But, as I think to myself, it's all for the greater good. Then I giggle, thinking about what Dumbledore used to say. I never believed him, but, in the end, he was right. But the difference was that this was my choice.

I ponder a bit about the nature of my sword, and, of course, once again read the inscription on the double-edged blade. 'If you read this, then you are dead or you have become master of death for this is the blade of Hades.' I roll my eyes. My coronet, which I found by chance those many years ago in Knockturn, had nearly the same inscription. Privately, I thought that the previous owner was a bit of an egotistical prick.

It didn't matter though, all that did matter was that it was in some ways a magical sword and that is precisely what I needed. Shielding Anila from noise, I put the sword down on a nearby table, careful not to disturb any of the bowls and bottles that I have scattered on it. It's time to get to work.

Once again I stare at the thirteen inches of wand I hold in my hand. It was indescribably beautiful to me right then. I close my eyes and whisper, "Exuro." It was like a physical sensation—in that I could literally feel part of me burn away with my beloved wand—and I could feel the ashes slip through my fingers into the en-runed bowl beneath my hand.

I couldn't dwell on that, though, there was work to be done. Ignoring the lone tear that slipped down my face, I added some holy water—taken from a muggle church. Though it did not have any actual holy properties, the mixture was useful in many potions. Not to mention, of course, that the recipe had been lost from wizarding society for some time.

Mixing the concoction with a plain old spoon, I waited for the right consistency. Without it, there would be little point in my burning my wand. Ah, there it was. I waste no time in pouring the mixture over the sword, rubbing it in as much as I could. I didn't even notice Barty come in until he placed a hand on my shoulder.

"You're really going to go through with this, aren't you?"

Cocking my head to the other side, I mutter, "Of course. I'm the only one who can." Even though I'm sure I look like a petulant child, I don't particularly care. I'm entitled to being a little childish at times.

Barty, however, looks about ready to explode at me, though, but he doesn't. "Fine, but don't expect me to stick around to watch you waste my teachings."

I knew that was going to happen, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Nobody said you had too, Barty. Thank you for everything you've done for me. I suppose this is goodbye for good then?"

A soft look came over my teacher's face for a moment, before disappearing. "Yeah, kid, its goodbye for good."

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

My eyes are tender, and it's the middle of the night when Anila half-way wakes up. I'd been dreading this, yet now that it's happened, I feel kind of elated.

"Mmm, Philly…? Is that you?" Her voice is scratchy and rough, nothing like it once was.

"Yes, it's me, Anila. You're safe now. You're never going back to that place again." Tears nearly choked off my words, but I forced them out anyways.

A sleepy smile spread across Anila's haggard face, and her blue eyes open partially. "I always knew you'd come, Philly. It was just a matter of time…"

I smile too, even through my tears. "I'm sorry I took so long, then, since you were waiting so long. You should go back to sleep, you need all the rest you can get." I pause, debating with myself. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Anila nods sleepily, and falls back into oblivion; cuddling into the blankets. I stare at her until a soft cough comes from the open doorway. Luna stands there, so much more grown up since the last time I saw her, with a disappointed look on her fey face.

"You're going to break your promise to her again. She hates it when you do that." Luna's silvery eyes stared at me, refusing me the ability to lie. She'd know if I did and the consequences would not be pleasant.

I laugh a bit. "I never could lie to you, now could I, Luna? Yes, I'll be breaking this promise too. But this time I'll be far beyond contact."

She nods, like this is old news to her. Perhaps it is. I would not be surprised if she were a Seer.

"I'd rather say goodbye to you now, Luna. Something tells me that tomorrow will not be a good day for it. But don't tell anyone else until after I'm gone," I choke on my words briefly, "it'd be hard, too hard, before and we'll all need our wits about us during the battle."

Luna again nods, whispering, "So it's to be today, then? It's past midnight, Philomel." I nod briefly. "And it's not goodbye for good, I'm sure I'll meet you again, pretty lady." She smiles, and I am suddenly reminded of the first time we met. She was such an odd little child, and I was so very cold.

She leaves, but not before kissing my cheek, and Anila's forehead. I turn back to my sword, watching as the delicate magics sheen across its surface. Now it's only a matter of waiting and hoping that Voldemort wasn't early.

A bright flare outside of my window catches my attention.

Damn it, he was early.

\/\'/\/'\/\'/\/

The battle was going badly, I could see that. When I came down from the room I was gifted with—where I had stayed for most of the battle—much of the student body and the faculty were either dead or dying.

My sword at my side, I waded through the death; the stench a physical reminder of how many people had to be sacrificed for Voldemort to die. Well there was going to be one more.

Death Eaters fought me as I passed, but never left me unscathed. By the time I reached the Great Hall where Voldemort fought my dearest friends and teachers, many nicks and scratches riddled my body, and my black robes were no longer the pristine silk they had been when I'd left the safety of my room.

With my sword—my wand, my shield—gripped tightly in my hand; I disappeared before Voldemort could lay eyes on me. Disillusionment had worked wonders for me in the past, and would do so again. In any case, I would not go out without some kind of production.

Stepping through the rubble that was once grand doors, I made my silent way over to where my friends were fighting—losing to—Voldemort. They had changed little since I left England. Still as brash and brave as ever were Luna, Michele, Hermione, and Draco. Anila was still recovering her strength in our rooms. She had paid the price for her loyalty already and I could not bear to see her try to do any more.

It struck me that I would never see them again.

Shouts rang out, yet I ignored them as I positioned myself on a table that was broken in half; placing me above this grand battle. I flicker into existence once more, my sword leveled at my most hated enemy.

I suppose this is good enough.

"Dark Lord Voldemort," I laugh, it is rather funny, I'm the one who's been called an evil surpassing even Voldemort, yet I'm going to save the world. "My name is Philomel Faye Potter. I believe you've tried to kill me before? This time it will be you who dies."

The surprise of my appearance is only capable of stunning for a second. I am well aware that my opponent is very well versed in dueling, too much so to be surprised by such a pedestrian trick. It is enough time, however, to launch myself into the air and begin my spell.

"EGO dico veneficus illorum," Voldemort's wand comes up to protect himself, and it grows closer to my eye as I fall. "mortuus per hostilis manuum, suffragium mihi in suum nex!"

Magic flickers around me like the aurora borealis—which I have never seen, despite my travels—and green light comes to life at the tip of Voldemort's wand.

It is exhilarating, the magic, I feel like I never have before—but tears spring in my eyes as the memories of happier times float through my mind. Especially those with Anila. I lied to her, but she'll get over it—even when the sword slices into Voldemort, even when his wand and it's half-formed killing curse obliterates my eye, I am content.

This is how it's supposed to be.

Screams—they're not mine, I only have a smile, and I feel no pain — fade behind me. I whisper to Voldemort, no, Tom, "Goodbye, my enemy. It's time to die." Such a cliché, but I needed to say something. Power flooded through my sword-wand and the last flickers of life left Voldemort's red eyes.

We collapse to the ground together, I falling to the side slightly. I don't bother getting up; the power fades even as I think of it; taking with it my life. It is payment, and I don't mind it. Dying this time was hurting less then when I died at seven years of age. It was hurting, in point of fact, not at all.

Hermione is the first to reach me, I can see her hair drape over me. I smile at her and she starts to cry. I muse that smiling while I die might not be the best thing to do; but I can't stop. More power slips away.

"Philomel, whatever you did, it was brilliant. Now come, ge-get up. We're going to cel-celebrate," sobs Hermione; somewhere deep inside of her she obviously knew what was happening to me.

"Can't, 'Mione, you know that," I whisper, there's no energy for me to do more then just whisper and smile. I can't stop the smile, though it's sad now, more than anything.

Michele limps over, his leg giving out on my other side. I can't really see him, Voldemort's wand obstructs the view, but he remedies that by pulling it out. He's still a blur, but I know it's him.

"Philly…for a Ravenclaw, you are awfully stupid. You are going to die now, you know that, right?" He was always the smartest of our little group. I smile at him too.

"I know, always have, you Italian prick." He smiles at that.

Draco is the last to come, when I'm at my absolutely last dregs. Luna stays back, watching me with sad eyes. We've said our goodbyes; I never could keep a secret from her.

"Ms. Faye? I know it's s-s-stupid of me to call you that n-n-now, but old habits die hard, you know? You did it. We're all free. He's gone for good." Draco's not crying as openly as Hermione, but I feel his tears on the hand he's grasped. He knows what's happening too.

More of the energy slips away and I feel my remaining eyelid grow heavy. But there's energy enough for a smile for him too.

"Draco…" they all strain to hear me. "My name is Philomel…"

My eye closes, and my last breath slips out my last words, "I love you, Anila…"

And just like that, Philomel Faye Potter is gone from that world. Screams of grief echo from her friends and in a remote room a young woman starts to cry in her troubled sleep.

:::

I've spent so long on this, and I've been through a lot to finish this. I'd like to thank all of you who have helped me struggle through my various bouts of writer's block and depression. This hasn't always been my favourite story to write, but it's dear to my heart nonetheless.

Addressing Philomel's last words, you may take them however you want. There was no official pairing in this: for any of them. Had I ever done an epilogue they would have been Hermione/Draco, and Michele/Padma. Anila never got over Philomel—yes that means what you think it does—and Luna wanted to wait to find love. However, since there is no epilogue, please pair up whoever you like in your minds.

I had fun writing this, but now it's over I guess, as soon as I post this. Thank you to everyone who read this, and reviewed, faved, or even put it on alert. It means a lot.

This is Memories, signing out.