A/N: Soooo…. It's been a long time, hasn't it? Heh. Kind of lost motivation for this since not very many people seemed interested and I started another story that takes up all of my time. But I still like this story and I had this idea and I had to write it out. I'm not sure how good it is, really. But I'd really REALY appreciate YOUR thoughts! Anyways…

Summary: What if the memories in the pensive had taken longer? What if Harry missed his deadline by just a few minutes?

Without a word to Harry, Ron and Hermione walked away. Harry saw Hermione approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and hug her. Ron joined Bill, Fleur, and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron's shoulders. As Ginny and Hermione moved closer to the rest of the family, Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred: Remus and Tonks, pale still and peacefult-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.

The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink as Harry reeled backward from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not bear to look into their eyes when, had he given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died…

He turned away and ran up the marble staircase.

XXX

"Ron!"

Ron did not know how long it had been. It might have been forever that he had spent standing there in the middle of the great hall, eyes fixed on his brother's unmoving body, his mother's shaking frame thrown across Fred's chest, her wails mingling with those of the other mourners, all howling together in a swell of horror and misery.

"Ron!"

Hermione's voice cut into his numb brain sharper than nearly anything else could. She was shaking his arm, an urgency in her voice that brought him back to the battle, back to the reality of this nightmare.

"What?"

Hermione looked up at him and he saw in her eyes a fear that made dread settling over him like he had thought nothing else could after seeing his brother's lifeless body. She barely whispered the next words, the noise of the hall drowning them out, but Ron knew what she said, could almost didn't need to see her lips to understand.

"Harry's gone."

"He was right behind us," Ron croaked, craning his neck, twisting on the spot, convinced that he would see Harry's dark head among his family, beside Lupin and Tonks, hunched near the doorway being crushed by guilt at the scene. But Harry was not there.

"He didn't follow us," Hermione whispered.

"But… he was right behind us. I swear we all came in…"

Hermione shook her head, tears sparkling in her eyes. "I don't think he followed us at all. I assumed he had, but I didn't check… not until just now…"

"He's probably… probably just gone to help or something. Probably couldn't stand to see all these people. We should go find him." And without waiting for a response, Ron brushed past Hermione, grabbing her wrist and tugging her along with him.

There was no need to voice the ice-cold terror spreading through them both. They knew, somewhere deep inside themselves, what Harry's absence must mean, but neither one spoke it aloud. They still proceeded to search, to run through the castle, to sweep the grounds. But Harry was nowhere.

Half an hour later, they staggered into the entrance hall. Hermione dropped Ron's hand and slid down to the floor, her face wet from tears that slipped silently down her cheeks.

"How could we have let this happen?" she asked in horror. "You saw the way he looked after what Voldemort said. How could we have taken our eyes off him for even a second?"

"We couldn't have stopped him," Ron said dully. "You know him. If he… there was no way we could have stopped him."

"Yes there was!" Hermione choked, looking up at him with fierce and indignant eyes. "We could have stopped him, could have held him back. You know where he's gone! You know why! We could have stopped him!"

Ron sank down beside her, a numbness seeping once more into him.

"What are you doing?"

The voice made both Ron and Hermione jump. Ginny stood in the doorway to the Great Hall, her large brown eyes fixed on them, a fear she refused to acknowledge fluttering in them.

"Where's Harry?" she demanded, taking a step closer. "Why isn't he with you?"

Ron and Hermione only stared at her, neither one able to find the words to explain the source of their own dread.

XXX

Harry rose up out of the pensive, and a moment later he lay on the carpeted floor in exactly the same room: Snape might just have closed the door.

Harry had not even taken a breath when the high, cold voice echoed once more through every orifice of the castle grounds, chilling his blood, screeching in his ears as the noise of a nightmare; the worst nightmare.

"The hour allotted for sacrifice has drawn to a close and your savior has not shown himself. He would rather hide among you like a rat, watch you cast your lives aside so that he may not have to. He would, it appears, sit by and watch the whole of this castle be destroyed than end this battle. Or perhaps he has already fled, leaving behind those who have fought for him… But I cannot take that chance.

"I do not wish for this to be a bloody night. All I want is the blood of Harry Potter. But he will not come forth as the savior you christened him, and so … I must push forward and find him myself… drag him out of hiding. Hand him over and no more will have to die. But any who attempts to help him, I will be forced to destroy."

And once again the echoing silence slammed down in the wake of those words. Harry got slowly to his feet, one thought bouncing madly around his mind like a ping pong ball. He was too late. Finally, the truth of how it must all end, and he was too late. In a swarm of color, Harry saw the faces of the people he loved, both living and dead, wondered how many more might be part of the latter group when the fighting recommenced.

NO! There was no time to think about it, no time to worry or dwell. If there was one last thing he could do, he would not let that happen, would not let any more loss rip the world apart. He pulled the invisibility cloak out and flung it over himself, then lurched for the door.

Harry tore down the silent, familiar passages, bouncing off walls, hardly aware of anything. He was hurtling towards Voldemort, towards the end, at last. It would end. What should have been done in Godric's Hollow all those years ago would finally be finished. Neither could live. Neither would survive.

There was not room in his head for fear or anger. Had he had more time, had it not been a race to end things before anything more could be lost, Harry was not sure if he could have found it in him to rise and walk calmly to meet Voldemort, to his death. There was no other way, he saw that now, saw how it had always been, how foolish he had been to assume Dumbledore wanted him to live. He had always been part of a bigger plan, a pawn, a tool to be used and honed, but never trusted.

It had all been rather brilliant, to give such a dangerous task to a boy already marked for slaughter, whose death would not be a calamity, but another blow against Voldemort. Yet it never crossed his mind to run in the other direction, to attempt to evade this. It was over. He knew it. And all that was left was the thing itself: dying.

Unbidden, a fear leapt in his stomach and chest, clawing frantically at his insides. Would it hurt to die? What would it be like to cease… everything? He wished there were time to find Ron and Hermione, Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys, to at least explain to them why it had to be this way, to thank them for everything they had given to him. But there was no time. There would be no good-byes, no explanations. And maybe it was better that way, because he thought that if he saw them again, he might not be able to ever stop looking.

As Harry neared the top of the marble staircase, he caught the first signs of life. People were filing out of the Great Hall, lining up in the entrance hall, spilling out onto the grounds, faces set, wands drawn, ready to fight again. Their faces blurred together to him. He did not want to catch sight of anyone he loved, felt that he had already let them go.

Without seeing more than dim outlines of people, Harry plunged down the stairs and into the crowd, pushing between people as best he could in the cloak, not wanting to draw suspicion. Somehow he reached the front doors and burst out into the cool night. And he could see them, moving as though part of the shadows at the edge of the forest. The army was approaching and at its head, glowing palely, was the skeletal, snake-like face, of Voldemort, murder glittering in his eyes.

The curses started flying before Harry could make it to the open. He was unaware of how it had started, but before he could push his way into the open, to give himself up, the crowd around him had surged forward, curses flying, to meet the enemy.

Harry pushed through the battle, determined that it should end, here and now. He could hear Voldemort screaming not far away, could almost feel the intensity of the duel he was engaged in. a clearing in the crowd revealed Kingsly, McGonagall, and Flitwick all engaged in battle with him at once. Harry dove in that direction, a feverish desire to simply reach the end the only thing keeping him going.

Ten feet away, he pulled off the cloak, roaring above the tumult so that he would be heard, "RIDDLE!"

A silence seemed to ripple out around them as Voldeomrt's red eyes locked on Harry's green ones. Kingsley, McGonagall, and Flitwick were thrown aside as Voldemort turned his wand on Harry.

"You wanted me," Harry said quietly, but in the abrupt stillness that seemed to have frozen the battle, his voice carried.

"You are too late, Harry Potter," Voldemort said softly. "I offered you the chance to stop all of this and you did not take it. You were contented to sit back and watch the slaughter."

"No," Harry said hoarsely. He was aware of Professor McGonagall moving to his left, getting slowly to her feet, of other movement in the crowd. Suddenly the three people Harry least wanted to see at this moment emerged barely ten feet from him; Ron, Hermione, and Ginny pushed to the front of the crowd, he could see their scared eyes flicking between him and Voldemort.

"Stay where you are!" he called to them, not taking his eyes off Voldemort, who laughed softly.

"Now you try to protect them? After you have watched so many die for you?"

"Harry!" Ginny's voice, choked and rough with tears broke through the silence and nearly made him sprint those few feet to her side. But he didn't.

"You want my blood, well here I am," Harry said. Then he let his arm drop to his side, his wand slipped through his lax fingers.

The crowd stirred around him. Whispers and rustles filled the silence.

"No!"

"Harry!"

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna, the rest of the Weasleys, even people Harry did not recognize whispered or shouted it. He could see the pained faces of the people he cared about, could see them preparing to surge forward, to begin fighting again, to stop him. This had to happen, now. He wished they did not have to watch it, but he had been too late for that.

"Let's finish this," Harry said more loudly." You don't need to hurt them anymore. What you wanted here is long gone now, but I'm the only one who knows. Kill me, and no one else will find out. You don't need to kill them. End this now. Kill me and leave them alone. You'll have what you want."

He took a step nearer, surrender permeating him so palpably everyone must see it.

"Harry, NO!'

"DON'T!"

"HARRY!"

Ron and Hermione and Ginny and all the rest shouted it, screamed it, but Voldemort waved his wand and silenced them once more. It seemed that they could not even move as Harry took another step closer to Voldemort. He was glad of it, glad that no one could run forward to help him.

He stopped, looking intently at Voldemort, inviting the curse. He wanted it to happen now, before fear could return, before he could show weakness.

Voldemort raised his wand, tilting his head to the side like a curious child.

Harry saw the lips move, the flash of green light, heard the rush of death speeding towards him. And then everything was gone.

XXX

A blast of energy knocked Ron backward, Hermione on top of him. The green light seemed to sear his eyes and a heavy thud made his chest constrict and his stomach heave. He fought his way upright, eyes slamming to the place his best friend had stood.

The screams had broken out around him, people shrieking, crying, shouting. But Ron barely heard them, could not tell if his voice was the one shrieking in his ears, or if it was Hermione's or Ginny's on either side of him. All he knew was that a dark mass was lying face down on the ground where Harry had been standing. He, Hermione, and Ginny lurched towards it as one, but something caught Ron in the stomach before he'd gotten two steps, like an invisible bar knocking the three of them backward.

"NO!" Voldemort shrieked, and only then did Ron realize that he was struggling to his feet. He must have also been knocked backward by the force of that impact. He wondered vaguely, in some distant chamber of his brain, why that had happened, but it wasn't very important at the moment. All he could think was that his best mate – no, his brother – was lying motionless a few feet away and he could not comprehend that.

Bellatrix was attempting to help Voldemort up, but he pushed her away.

"The boy. Check that he is dead. You!" he pointed to someone Ron couldn't see.

A figure detached itself from the crowd and ventured into the clear space where Harry lay. It was only the sheet of slivery hair that made Ron realize it was Narcissa Malfoy who bent over Harry. He watched as she grabbed his wrist, opened an eye, pressed a hand over his chest to check for a heartbeat or breathing. All throughout this, Harry lay limply, and finally the woman straightened up.

"He is dead," she announced and the words slammed into Ron with more force than he could handle. He sagged into Hermione, heard her rasping sob, felt the world crumbling into one horrendous hellish nightmare that simply could not be real. He could not have lost two brothers in one night. Harry could not have died. Harry never died.

The Death Eaters shrieked and laughed with a jubilation that made Ron feel as if a knife had been stuck in his chest. Sparks shot into the air form the tips of several wands, their green light reflecting sickeningly off Harry's deathly pale skin.

Voldemort's laugh rang above all the rest, high, cold, cruel. He raised his wand and shrieked "Crucio!"

Harry's body flew into the air and slammed back to the ground, limp and lifeless as a doll and they cheered all the more.

"Crucio! Crucio!" Voldemort shrieked and twice more Harry's body was tossed around, empty and unresisting. And the Death Eathers laughed, howled, roared with celebration. And the rest seemed unable to move, unable to do anything but watch.

Voldemort raised his wand again, preparing to degrade the body even more, to flaunt his triumph. But Ron could take no more of it.

"STOP IT!" he shouted, the command ripping from his throat without conscious thought. "STOP IT!"

Voldemort lowered his wand, malicious eyes snapping to Ron instead.

"Stop it?" He asked softly. "You wish me to stop? So be it."

He flicked his wand and Ron was sent flying backward, blood oozing form a new gash on his cheek.

Ron did not move from where he lay crumpled on the ground. He felt Hermione next to him, still shaking with dry sobs, but he could not push himself upright, could not look at the lifeless form of his friend. Voldemort began to speak again, about Harry being a coward, taking the easy way out instead of fighting. About how he did not wish to spill pure blood. About how Hogwarts would be rebuilt stronger than before.

But it was the last comment about Harry that galvanized Ron into pushing himself up. It was Voldeomrt's insinuations that Harry had been nothing but a child who had relied on the sacrifice of others that goaded him into speech and he broke the silence that had held them all.

"He beat you!"

And the others began to stir too, to shout and scream. And then another figure detached itself from the crowd, ran forward.

Neville had broken free of the crowd. Voldemort taunted him, but Neville stood his ground.

"I'll join you when Hell freezes over!"

And that was when Voldemort got angry. He raised his wand and something flew out of a smashed window of the castle, landed on Neville's head. The sorting hat. And then it burst into flames on Neville and chaos broke loose. Ron and Hermione jumped to their feet, screams of rage echoing from all sides as people rushed forward.

But before anyone could reach Neville to help, he moved and the hat fell off of him and he straightened up with a glint of reflected light, a sword held out before him. The sword of Gryffindor.

Voldemort was feet away from him, his great snake draped across his shoulders now that he thought there was no threat, that the only one to have known her value was gone.

And Ron knew that it had to end tonight. That Harry had meant it to end tonight. And so he shouted, "The snake! KILL THE SNAKE!"

And without seeming to think about it, Neville swung the sword high and the snake's head went spinning away.

A/N: Well, what did you think? Please tell me! It does keep me going! Despite the chapter title, this is not the last chapter I'm going to do if anyone is at all interested in more. I will take requests too!