Author Note: The Final Installment of this story. Thanks to all who have followed, favourited and reviewed. Its much appreciated. Thanks very much and if you liked this story check out my other works. :)

Harry stared around the darkened ward. Ron was slumbering in a chair near the window. Harry was glad he was there. He didn't think he could have faced the last few hours without his first friend for support. He was happy to let him sleep, unless he started to snore. Though it might help to wake Hermione, who was showing no signs of coming round after her attack.

Harry watched her intently as she slept. He marked the passage of the night in the rise and fall of her chest, the subtle pulse at her neck, eyes glued for any signal that she might suddenly become more cogent. For so far she had steadfastly refused to come back to him. The Healers were confident they had contained the poison from the snake bites and that the antidotes were working well. Hermione was in no immediate danger.

But they couldn't get her to wake up.

"This isn't unusual where Dark Magic is concerned," Healer Pye had reassured Harry. "We have seen many cases likes this before. Sometimes we just have to be patient and wait. Though, I know, this can be the hardest thing for a loved one to do."

He wasn't wrong. Harry had spent hour after pensive hour sat at Hermione's beside, holding her hand and just watching. He had angrily refused entreaties from several sources to try and get some rest himself. How could he sleep? What if Hermione woke and needed something from him? It was nonsense to even suggest it. Besides, Harry had a lot to think about.

The Battle. He had run it over and over in his mind. Looking at it, he felt he should have been more attuned to Voldemort's strategy. It seemed too neat to him that Hermione had been the one attacked, while he was allowed to move unfettered through the battlefield right to the enemy HQ. He could only come to one conclusion. It hadn't been him Voldemort wanted.

Hermione had been the target all along.

The thought chilled Harry right to his marrow. His skin prickled with an angry electricity. He felt his magic drifting on his fingertips as though ready to erupt out and strike anything in sight. They had been tingling ever since the spell he had cast back in Little Hangleton. The power of it still shocked him a little. He could see that wide arc of golden light, the buzz of magic that ignited on the evening air. He hadn't known he was capable of anything like it. But he was as wary of it as he was impressed with himself.

But the thought of Voldemort directly targeting Hermione was a more pressing concern. It was the fruition of one of Harry's greatest fears. Voldemort using Hermione as a conduit to hurt him. There was none greater. Harry was mindless for the danger he'd put her in, his thoughts a convoluted mess as he considered how close he'd come to losing her. He should have known better, been firmer to keep her away from any trouble.

Though he knew such thoughts were pointless. Hermione was the strongest person he knew, and the one who loved him most in the world. He could no more have kept her in the background, while he faced danger, as she could have him if the roles were reversed. It was just the pitfall of being lovers as well as comrades-in-arms. He was simply angry with himself for not seeing her vulnerability and failing to protect her. He should never have left her side.

His dark mood of self-loathing was interrupted by the door to the private ward opening. The wiry figure and lank hair of Severus Snape was framed against the light from the corridor behind, giving him a distinct vampire-like appearance. Their gazes met and Harry gave silent permission for this one-time target of hatred to enter the room. He could hold nothing against this man now. His quick actions and expert knowledge had saved Hermione's life. Harry owed him a debt for it.

Snape moved to stand at the foot of the bed, careful not to overstep the space around Hermione that Harry was guarding with fierce diligence. "Is there any change in Miss Granger's condition?"

Harry sighed in resigned frustration. "None. She is stable, but not improving. There was more to that snake than just venom."

"The Dark magic of Tom Riddle was inherent in the creature," said Snape. "Even I could feel it. The Horcrux wielded a power over the creature, imbibed it with a particular kind of evil. One Miss Granger is now the the victim of."

"I should have seen it coming," said Harry ruefully. "You were right about my arrogance. I should have known he would go for her to get to me. I thought only about myself."

"The plan was a joint effort, our strategy was sound," said Snape. "In any case, I don't think the Dark Lord targeted Miss Granger just for her connection to you. I think he singled her out as a viable threat in her own right. Her connection to Rowena Ravenclaw should not be ignored."

"You think he knows about that?"

"I do now," said Snape. "I think I missed it before, but I am now convinced the Wand of Ravenclaw is the final Horcrux the Dark Lord made."

Harry started, shocked by the words. "How is that possible? I've known about all the others, felt them like a vibration. I've never had that with the Wand."

"I fear that your connection to Miss Granger may mask its signature for you," Snape mused. "That defence mechanism created by your mother's sacrifice is clearly not as powerful as your feelings for Miss Granger. In addition, your connection may make the Wand recognise you as an ally also, giving you its allegiance and coating the Darkness within. I, however, can see through it. It has evil in its core. I didn't sense it until the Dark Lord was close. But now I think what has happened is clear."

"And what's that?"

"He knows when his Horcruxes are in danger," said Snape, pacing now. "He would have felt the destruction of the others, including the snake. He knows now that the Wand is all that remains. I believe he has thrown himself into it, possessing Miss Granger as it's owner, to protect it from attack. He is the reason we cannot wake her. He is within her, preventing her full recovery."

Harry felt his heart stutter a moment. He knew that feeling. Possession by Voldemort. The dark, creeping sensation, like a sickness you couldn't cure. Anger and rancid mania churning all at once. This was now coursing through Hermione's veins! The horror of it! Such darkness ought not touch something so pure. Harry wanted to scream, to cry out, to reach into Hermione and wrench Voldemort out for a final confrontation, for the reckoning they were both eager for.

"That cant be true!" Harry cried, a little frantically. His voice woke Ron, who stirred and babbled incoherently.

"Yet I fear it is," said Snape simply. "It may not be all as bad as it seems, however."

"How can you say that!" said Harry. "Voldemort has possessed Hermione! And I am unable to help her. I'd say I can think of little worse!"

"But it may be the Dark Lord's final, and fatal, mistake."

Harry was halted from his wild rant. Ron was alert already.

"Please explain how," said Harry, trying to calm his racing heart. He wasn't sure he could hold his consciousness together.

"If I am right, and the Dark Lord does now inhabit Miss Granger," Snape began, as Ron made potent noises of distress at the proclamation, "then we may be able to kill two birds with one stone. Finish this all in one go."

Harry was suddenly very stern, more serious than he had ever been in his life before. "If you are even hinting at the suggestion that I kill Hermione -"

"No, that would lose us this opportunity," said Snape. "We very much need her alive."

"To do what?" asked Ron.

"Potter - you said that just after you cast that spell at the end of the battle you were able to possess the Dark Lord?"

"Yeah, I caused him pain," said Harry. "But how can that help Hermione?"

"Dumbledore told me of the events of your meeting the Dark Lord in the Department of Mysteries a few years ago. He said the Dark Lord was unable to possess you, as you were so full of a force that he detests. One he underrates and doesn't understand."

"Yeah, Dumbledore said it was love."

"Indeed," said Snape. "And now it appears, due to your affection for Miss Granger, that you have learned to weaponise it."

Harry knew instantly where Snape was going with this. Indeed, the idea had occurred to him during the battle. He had taken control of Voldemort's mind. Flooded him with love to the point of incapacitating him. Harry had felt that if he could have kept at it he might have finished Voldemort for good. Snape seemed to be suggesting the same.

"I know I was able to hurt him," said Harry. "But could I have actually killed him?"

"Perhaps not alone," said Snape. "But when combined with Miss Granger…it might have been enough."

"But - and stop me for being thick if you like," said Ron, "- but how can love kill someone?"

"Love is equally a wondrous and terrifying force," said Snape. "Far more powerful than hate, which is fuelled by all things negative alone. Love is the most contrary and dangerous force in the universe. Capable of all things positive and negative all at once. It is the mysterious and often irrational nature of love which makes it worth studying at the Department of Mysteries."

"But I wouldn't know how to use it as a weapon to ki…to kill," said Harry, baulking as the inevitable conclusion to this part of his story was now on the horizon.

"Of course you do," said Snape. "You've already done it. You just need to push it over the edge. Your love for Miss Granger - allied with her reciprocal feelings for you - creates a ball of positive energy that the Dark Lord will simply have no answer to. And he will have no idea how to break into the renewing cycle as the emotion passes between you. With him stupidly residing inside her, the object of your most potent and powerful emotions, he will be smothered by it. It will be his final destruction."

"That sounds like it will put her at risk," said Harry. "I wont do that."

"You wont do anything," said Snape. "She will have to be the one to launch the attack. Right now you have to see her as Voldemort. You will have to use your relationship to make her turn against him. Against herself, in a way. That will, I believe, trap him and he will have no escape."

"But she wont wake," said Harry. "If I have to face her, as you are suggesting, how am I supposed to do that?"

"The Dark Lord is essentially holding her hostage," said Snape. "But I doubt very much he would be able to resist a one-on-one confrontation with you. Especially since he is possessing your girlfriend's body. He will feel quite safe that you wont harm her, even to hurt himself."

"He's right about that," said Harry. "I wont risk her."

"But she would want you to."

"I don't care. I wont."

"You might have to! This may be your only chance of finishing him!"

"No!"

"He's right, Harry," said Ron quietly. Harry looked queerly at him, as though he'd just sprouted another head. "Hermione would be furious if she thought you'd wasted this chance. She'd risk - no, take, - a minor injury to win this fight. She would have the courage, trust you enough to win the day and do all you can to keep her safe. And I've felt that energy between you. Its immense, incredible. V...Vol...V-voldemort will have no defence against it."

It was this, more than anything that stilled Harry's resistant protests. Ron saying Voldemort's name for the first time. He knew the courage it took Ron to say it. He was proud of him, empowered by his bravery. He knew Hermione would be, too. And that he was right about her on this.

"In any case," added Snape. "If its your love that will hurt the Dark Lord, it shouldn't do much more to Miss Granger than tickle her. He is part of her now. You have to cut him away like a poisonous tumour. But she should be immune to the cure, perhaps even a component of it."

Harry sighed, resigned. He knew they were right. This was a golden opportunity. The risk had to be taken.

"Just tell me how to wake her."

Snape strode to the bedside table. He picked up Rowena Ravenclaw's old wand.

"Ravenclaw was famous for rebuking the advances of Salazar Slytherin," said Snape. "Invoking his ancestry in Tom Riddle should add to the powerful inducement of a final duel between you. The Wand is also a Horcrux. Using it should bring him forth."

Harry shivered fearfully. This was the moment, he knew it surely all of a sudden. Seven years of struggle, of worry and of fear. Of all that had gone on, all the people he had lost, and also gained, it all came down to this. Harry took a steeling breath for courage and slowly took the wand from Snape.

The first thing he knew immediately was that Snape had been completely right. The wand was packed full of dark energy. Harry was astonished by the potency of it, slightly amazed he hadn't noticed it before. He wasn't sure if he was powerful enough to repel it. He felt the full weight of the evil of Tom Riddle for perhaps the first time. This wouldn't be like the other times. This wasn't Harry against a fraction of Lord Voldemort. He would now face the real thing and all the horror that meant…and all in Hermione's body.

Harry took another rattling breath. "Leave me with her. Seal the room. Do not re-enter it till I come out. If I don't, then this will have gone badly. If that happens, try to find a way to be humane in dealing with Hermione…in whatever form is left of her."

Ron was utterly pale. All colour had drained from him. He tried to say something, anything, but words had failed him. He managed a curt nod of his head before sliding out of the room behind Snape, who said nothing at all. He seemed to realised that if Ron was unable to offer reassurance, his own words would likely have no impact either.

Harry heard Snape utter incantations outside the ward door. The air inside began to hum and tingle as though the room had been irradiated. Harry felt it clutch at his skin as the protection spells passed over him. It made him quiver. Then the sensation was gone.

It was time.

Harry couldn't think. His mind had gone completely. He was shaking so much he could barely hold the wand steady. Only the rhythmic beat of his heart kept him in the moment. He tried to focus on Hermione, to remind himself that this was as much to save her as it was to fight Voldemort again. That calmed him slightly, steeled his resolution. This was for her, not for him. She needed rescuing. He needed her back. Together they would provide the force that ultimately defeated Lord Voldemort once and for all.

Harry raised the wand.

"Enervate."

He whispered the spell, before dropping the wand onto the bed as though it had just become a giant, hairy spider. He didn't take out his own wand, however. Which ever way this duel was going to play out, spell-casting was out of the question. He wouldn't turn his wand on the girl he loved, not for anything. The world be damned if he did. He stepped back.

Hermione began to stir on the bed. Her movements were not natural, not her own. Certainly not the ones Harry was used to. She was lithe, slithery, like a serpent uncoiling. Harry felt a similar knot tighten in his gut. He stepped back again. He was incomprehensibly afraid of Hermione in this form. He couldn't explain it. She was radiating waves of a nameless, super-charged energy, one that cut Harry right through to his very fibres. It held him still, frozen and paralysed.

Was this how Voldemort always won, Harry thought. This power hit his enemies like a venomous bite, rendering them numb, unable to defend themselves. Then he simply moved in for the kill. But, he thought, it hadn't been like that with his father. He'd been able to fight back. Voldemort, himself, even conceded that he'd fought bravely. His mother had been the same, throwing herself in front of the Killing Curse. They hadn't been to afraid to stand up to protect the ones they loved.

And, just like that, Harry was able to move again.

But Hermione was moving, too. She was standing now, facing him only a few feet away. Her eyes were completely black, their beautiful hazel hue disturbingly absent. And still those threatening movements, like a cobra sliding close to its prey. Harry tried to hold his ground.

"Hello, Harry," said Hermione. It was like talking to a ghost. Her voice was ethereal, distant, and eerily dark. "Aren't you going to kiss me? I want you."

"I don't think so," said Harry. "It really isn't the time."

"Don't you want this body?" said Hermione, sultrily running her hands over her curves.

"I do, but not while there are two of you in there. It might be a bit crowded."

"There's just me, Harry," Hermione swooned huskily. "Come on, take me now."

She lunged forwards but Harry side-stepped her expertly. It seemed to make her angry.

"Do not deny me," she hissed dangerously. "You don't want to make me angry, do you?"

"Why, what will you do?"

Hermione smiled, a twisted, vicious grin. "I'll hurt you. I hurt those who defy me."

"You wont hurt me," said Harry, more confidently than he felt. "You love me."

They were moving in a steady circle against each other now. Hermione kept making forward movements and Harry dodged her each time, keeping his distance.

"Do you really believe I love you?" Hermione laughed. It was a mirthless, high-pitched cackle. "Love is for fools. For the weak. I don't love. I take what I want. Sometimes, they can seem quite similar."

Harry tried not to be stung by Hermione's words. They weren't her own, he knew, but they still cut to his lingering fears about their relationship. He wasn't good enough for her, he always carried that. He worried one day she would work it out. Maybe this was Hermione's true feeling now showing on the surface. Harry's heart faltered at the thought, the possibility was chillingly real.

"You know if it wasn't for your fame and wealth I'd still be with Ron," said Hermione, her misty voice now icy to boot. "I've never stopped wanting him, either. I think about him all the time. About the mistake I made leaving him."

Harry felt like he was going to vomit. Reason was being driven from his head. His step faltered and he stumbled back against the door frame. Hermione seized her chance and pounced, pinning Harry against the woodwork. Her breath crashed into his cheek as her face pressed close to his. But it was rancid, musty and her skin was cold and clammy. It was like touching a reptile.

This isn't her, Harry reminded himself. Snape was right. This isn't Hermione. It just looks like her.

Sense revived, Harry slipped from under Hermione's arm, darting away from her marauding tongue, which was trying, snake-like, to lick his face. She span angrily to face him, rearing around so quickly that she might have rotated on a pivot.

"Get back here!" Hermione hissed.

Harry stared, agape at her. She hadn't spoken in words, only a series of sharp, broken sounds.

"Parseltongue?" Harry whispered angrily. "You're trying to command me like one of your serpents? You need to do better than that, Tom."

For the first time, Hermione was the one who paused. "Tom? You dare call me that name?"

"I dare…Tom."

"That hurts me, Harry. That you would call me that filthy, Muggle tainted name."

"But you are Muggleborn, Hermione," said Harry. "Your parents - your lovely, Muggle parents - are waiting for you to make them safe. They have faith in you. And so do I."

Something flashed in Hermione's right eye. A shot of colour against the black. Harry wasn't wholly cheered. It looked red, more like Voldemort's corrupted pupils than Hermione's own. But it was something, and he was happy enough to coax Voldemort to the surface, if it would bring the confrontation between them to the fore.

"Do you remember your parents, Tom?" asked Harry. Hermione snarled by way of response. "Yeah, I'm talking to you, Riddle. I know you're in there. So, do you? Did you enjoy killing them?"

"Yes," hissed Hermione, her voice high and icy again. "It gave me great satisfaction."

"I bet," said Harry. "It must have been vindicating, to get revenge on parents who had been so disappointed in raising such a twisted mess of a child."

Hermione let out a sort of shriek. It was piercing and Harry's felt a cold aura prickle across his skin.

"I wouldn't know how that feels, Tom," Harry went on. "My parents actually loved me, you see. Then again, you know a bit about that. My mum bested you when you killed her."

"Bested me!" cackled Hermione, whose was sounding less and less like her her own tone. "I killed her, boy! And I enjoyed that, too."

"I'm sure you did," said Harry, surprised at how easy and conversational he was being, with his tremulous heartbeat pounding in his throat. "Poor old Tom, who liked killing people. Never occurred to you how twisted that is, eh? Poor old, unloved Tom, who nobody wanted. Killing cos mummy and daddy didn't give him cuddle. Do you want a hug, Tom? Is that what this is all about? Do you want me to give you a hug? Hermione likes my hugs, she can tell you all about them."

There was another flash in Hermione's eye as she let out an angry roar. She stumbled against the bed, throwing out a hand to steady herself. Harry was then struck with a poignant thought.

She's in there. She's struggling against him. We're in this together.

And Harry felt his heart swell with such fierce emotion that he felt light-headed a moment. It was the embodiment of what Ron had said. Hermione was alive and well, not trapped by Voldemort but fighting against him. Fighting doughtily from inside. Displaying a bravery and courage that would stir the hearts of even the most doubtful of resisters. Facing Voldemort, alone and yet not alone. For Harry was fighting with her.

We're in this together. She said she would go with him. Till the end. And here she was. At it.

Harry felt such a deep love swirl within him it threatened to overloaded his senses. He looked at Hermione. He couldn't see it coming back, but he felt it intensely. He knew it was. Hermione was behind that shadow, looking back at him. Loving him as ferociously as he was her. Harry could almost picture it, a swirling whirlwind of golden emotion spinning around them.

And suddenly Voldemort wasn't there. He was nothing. Not a threat or a fear. His presence was insignificant, like a nonsense. It made Harry want to laugh. So he did, deep and belly-rocking. He felt tears before he knew it, spilling from his eyes as he shook with the laughter. He had been so afraid of this man, this dark legend. But now, facing him, with the power of his love for Hermione - and her's for him - igniting between them he was stunned at how pathetic and tiny Tom Riddle actually was.

And Harry felt embarrassed, insulted even, that he'd ever given this man the courtesy, the weapon of his own fear. But speaking of weapons…

Hermione suddenly picked up Ravenclaw's Wand from the bed, turned it at Harry. The sight made him laugh harder. Did he really think he could hurt him? It was as if a toddler had picked up a celery stick to use as a wand. The thought seemed to occur to Hermione, too, as she started to laugh with Harry. And it was her. Her voice, her sweet, honeyed tone. Harry's heart took flight at the sound.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The spell words were spoken as almost a question. Not for a moment did Harry feel an ounce of fear. Hermione had used Avada Kedavra on him before, and he'd been okay on that occasion. He was sure the spell wouldn't harm him now. A flash of silvery light erupted from the wand, hit Harry square in the chest and bounced right back, shattering the wand into a thousand useless pieces. The bit of Lord Voldemort let out another blood-curdling roar.

"That's the last time you use my voice, Riddle!" said Hermione, in her own voice, scandalised and angry. She turned to Harry. "Let's do this, sweetheart. Get into his mind, into my mind! Lets finish him. Together."

"Tell me how."

"Just come here and kiss me."

Harry didn't need telling twice. He crossed this distance between them in two strides and pressed his lips to her own. They were soft, and warm again. They massaged each other passionately, parting only to duel tongues. All the while Harry thought only about how much he loved this girl. How he had always loved her, since the very beginning. How he would always love her, no-one else, just her, for every day for the the rest of his life, and whatever lay beyond. Eternity together. The most perfect, the most right, with no darkness to cloud their days.

And the best part? She wanted exactly the same. He knew it as surely as he'd ever known anything. The knowledge settled on him like warm sunshine. It covered him, coated them both like the sweetest syrup. Harry broke the kiss and just pulled her yet closer to him, holding her tight as though he'd never let go, basking in all the wonder and loveliness that was Hermione Granger.

And in that moment, as Harry and Hermione embraced for all their worth, Tom Riddle was utterly vanquished.

Harry couldn't have said how he was so sure, but there was no doubt in his mind. Something had lifted from the room, lifted from them both. Lifted from the world entirely. Lord Voldemort had been defeated. Not by spells, not by a kind of magic he would have expected. But by a power he knew nothing of.

"He's gone! Harry! He's gone!" cried Hermione, so incredibly gleeful that Harry felt her happiness in his own chest.

"I know! I know!" he sang out. "And its for good this time!"

They hugged and danced around entwined together, drowning in a kind of euphoria that Harry had never experienced before. He felt as if he and Hermione had left their bodies and were swimming together somewhere high above, watching themselves in amused delight.

"We did it, Harry!" said Hermione in wonder. "We actually did it!"

"Yeah, we did…you and me. I can't believe its over."

"Oh, it isn't over, Harry," said Hermione, somewhat breathily. "This is where we can properly start."

Harry was suddenly feeling playful. It seemed inappropriate on one hand, but so totally right on the other, as Hermione eased him towards the bed.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked huskily.

"Well…" she began, a twinkle back in her restored-to-beautiful eyes. "All that fighting evil has got me ever so hot and bothered…"

"And I did tell Snape not to enter the room till I came…"

"That's so filthy, Harry," said Hermione, sexily. "Talk to me like that a little more, will you? It really gets me going."

Harry laid Hermione down shaking his head. He had a lot of things in mind that he was going to do with her…but talking was certainly not high on the list.

Five Years Later.

Harry Potter had never been great at giving interviews. He had to, he knew that, and Hermione had been great at giving him support and tips on how to do it. He was getting better. He was the Saviour of the Wizarding World, whether he liked it or not. Well, one half of that duo, and they both had grown to accept the social responsibility that came with the achievement. It was more an expectancy, and the public were demanding, but Harry and Hermione had at least managed to get things to a fair level.

One in-depth interview, once a year. On the anniversary of Voldemort's final defeat. Normally they would invite journalists only from respected Wizarding media. The Daily Prophet, European Magical Gazette, International Times and the Weekly World News were frequent invites, although this year entreaties had also been made to Witch Weekly and Miss Salem, so the room was a little busier than normal.

The questioning was usually the same, quite repetitive. It often made Harry wonder why they just didn't recycle his quotes from the previous year. Then he remembered the payments. Royalties from the interview would go nicely towards a new set of dress robes he was eyeing up at Madam Malkin's. So he sat through and rattled off his stock answers, much as he and Hermione had rehearsed in the days previous.

"What are your most vivid recollections about that night?" asked Arcadius Frost, International Times lead reporter hungrily. "The Night of Victory. Victory over Darkness Night. VD Day. What strikes you when you think of it?"

"The whole time was spent in fear," Harry mused, remembering the time. "But that night, when we finally beat him, fear was far away. That's what I remember most. No fear. But loyalty. Just friendship and bravery -"

"And, of course, love," added Frost. He must have heard the famous quite before, thought Harry.

"And love," Harry finished. His fans would not forgive him if he forgot his own trademark line. "Though I shouldn't have been surprised. Bravery and courage have never been things lacking in my gorgeous wife."

He looked over and smiled warmly at Hermione, sitting next to him. She smiled back at him, as lovely as the day they found each other. Nothing had dwindled between them. Though there were a lot of things new.

"So how are you, Mrs Potter?"

"Still having sleepless nights," said Hermione, lightly. "Though, thankfully, for the right reasons. Its why we've invited the young ladies from our teen magazines today. Might as well introduce you all."

She bounced the young infant she held in her lap, and smiled as she gurgled a giggle. Harry looked adoringly at them both. At Hermione, their first child perched on her thigh. His young family. Their family. He had everything he'd ever wanted.

And he was truly happy.

The End