The Power to Vanquish the Dark Lord

In Which there is an Unusual Interpretation of a Prophecy

Harry's thoughts whirled. The prophecy meant neither could live while the other survived? What did that mean? And what was the power the Dark Lord Knows Not?

Up until Voldemort found out about it, it might have been the power to look into Voldemort's mind, but since he knew about that now it obviously couldn't be that.

Harry had driven Voldemort from possessing him by thinking of all the people he loved—Voldemort couldn't exist inside of Harry with true love. Dumbledore thought love was the power Voldemort didn't know.

Harry suddenly had a strange, horrifying, amazing idea. If Voldemort couldn't survive when even in the close proximity of love—what would happen if someone were to love him?

Harry asked this to Ron and Hermione, who were sitting with him in the Gryffindor common room, thinking about the prophecy.

They stared at him. Hermione looked flabbergasted, and Ron looked physically ill at the idea.

"It all fits, though!" Harry said. "If they power the Dark Lord knows not is love, and if love in general can put him in so much agony that he stops possessing me—think about what love directed towards him would do!"

Ron found his voice. "Nothing. The Death Eaters love him, and it doesn't make him run screaming."

"No no no," Harry said. "They fear him. They admire him. They don't love him."

"Bellatrix might," Hermione said.

"Well—yes," Harry admitted. "But she's not me, is she?"

They were staring at him again.

"Well, I have to be the one to defeat him," Harry explained— "it's my love that can kill him."

"So…what?" Ron asked. "How do you plan to kill him with love? I think you're better off with Horcruxes, mate."

But Harry wouldn't let go of the idea. It fit so perfectly…that had to be what the Prophecy meant.

But Ron had a point. How did Harry mean to kill Voldemort with love?

What about directing loving thoughts at him very pointedly?

Harry tried for a few moments, but halfway there, everything turned into hatred. Clearly, he needed more practice.

So the next day, Harry took out a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill, and wrote down everything he knew about Voldemort—no, better call him Tom Riddle.

Then he looked at the list, putting little x's next to the ones he shouldn't think about. Stuff that made Voldmort seem like the coldhearted, psychopathic Dark Arts admirer he was.

The list was quite a lot shorter once he had finished.

He showed it to his friends. "What do you think?" he said. "If you knew just this about a person, what would you say they were like?"

Ron frowned down at the list. "Er…is it Hermione?"

Hermione scowled. "No," she said, "It's Voldemort. Harry's still on about defeating him with love."

"Oh," said Ron.

Harry thought that meant the list was pretty good.

He looked at every point and tried to expand it. This was just a little harder than writing an essay for History of Magic without Hermione's notes, but he managed in the end.

After that he tried to memorize it, and whenever someone said Voldemort, You-Know-Who, or The Dark Lord, or He Who Must Not Be Named, or any of his other acronyms, Harry thought about his list.

Pointledly.

In the Dark Lord's direction.

No luck so far. Harry decided he needed to try a little harder—really get some feeling into it. He thought about a love potion, but that might defeat the purpose—love by potion wasn't the same as true love, and might not have the same fatal effect on Tom.

So Harry searched the library for a book on how to fall in love. When that was unsuccessful, so he went to Hermione again.

"Look, I know you think it's crazy—"

There was a loud snort. Harry soldiered on. "But I really think it'll work. It can't hurt to try, at least—can it? I mean, if we can defeat Voldemort without anyone else losing their lives, wouldn't that be a good thing?"

Hermione reluctantly had to conclude the truth in that.

"So," Harry ended, "I just need to know how to fall in love when I don't want to and I completely hate the person and want him dead."

Hermione raised her eyebrow. "You do know that's usually not the best place to start from?"

But she went and ordered a thick stack of Muggle books from the library, and Harry poured over them. He also made it a point, whenever he found his mind wandering, to think about Vold—Tom, that is. In a good way, not a I-can't-wait-till-you're-dead way. Although it was a bit hard to tell the difference, since, the one was for the purpose of the other.

It was hard. It was grueling. But Harry was sure it would all be worth it in the end.

Behind his back, people started whispering about how Harry Potter had gone mad—but Harry didn't care. He knew he'd succeed.

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When he and Voldemort finally faced each other once more, Voldemort started to speak, but was disconcerted by the strange gleam in his nemesis's eye.

He faltered. "As I was saying—" he said, rallying, "Harry Potter has been captured. He is at our mercy."

Harry smiled widely and completely honestly.

Voldemort swallowed involuntarily. Why was the boy not terrified? "Yes, in our mercy," he said. "Which will not be forthcoming." He was losing the thread of his speech. The Death Eaters were looking confused.

Harry stepped forward.

"Finally," he breathed.

Voldemort stopped. This was not how things were supposed to go. "Um. Kill him. Right." He reached for his wand, but was stopped by the sudden feeling of someone—hugging him. Someone was hugging he, Voldemort.

He looked down.

It was Harry Potter.

Voldemort tried to untangle himself.

His Death Eaters were looking interested and a little uneasy.

Harry Potter looked up at Voldemort. "I think not," he said quietly.

"What?" Voldemort asked, put off and rattled so much he didn't even think to grab his wand.

Harry leaned up to Voldemort and—

Their lips met.

Voldmeort was burning. Literally burning. He felt it throughout his whole body, the agony he'd felt when he was trying to posses the boy. He tried to jerk away but Harry Potter only leaned into him. Voldmort struggled, but he couldn't move.

Everything was going black…

The last thing he saw was Harry's eyes—green and solemn.

The last thing he felt was agony.

Harry stepped back from Voldemort's still corpse, which had fallen to the ground. He looked down at the circle of Death Eaters, reached down, and took the Elder Wand from Voldemort's belt.

He smiled. "You saw what I did," he said quietly. "Really want to stick around?"

He raised the wand into the air, and the Death Eaters fled.

They didn't flee fast enough.

THE END

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