Harry was dead. That was all Ginny knew. That was the only thought she could form. Harry is dead. Harry is dead. Harry is dead.

At some point it morphed to Harry is gone. Which was different, because dead was just an adjective--it could be anything. Harry is young. Harry is tired. Harry is dead.

But Harry is gone.

Harry is gone.

A hand squeezed hers. She looked up, to Bill, standing on her left. He didn’t say anything, though he opened his mouth as if he wanted to. Arthur stood to Ginny’s left, his arm half up as if to stop Ginny from running towards the body lying on the floor. She had tried to do that, hadn’t she? She had tried to run, when she first saw it, but now she could only stare at the broken figure, limp, with blood soaking the t-shirt. The killing curse doesn’t do that, though, Ginny though. A spark of hope was born and then floundered in her stomach. No, the killing curse didn’t cover the victim in blood. But then, maybe the Dark Lord hadn’t used the killing curse. That didn’t change the fact, Ginny knew, deep down, that Harry was dead.

A scream cut through Ginny’s reverie. Neville. Flames. Flames on Neville’s head. The sorting hat. And then Ginny heard uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the out-of-sight walls and pelted towards the castle, uttering loud war cries. At the same time, Hagrid’s giant brother came lumbering round the side of the castle and yelled, ‘HAGGER!’ His cry was answered by roars from Voldemort’s giants: they ran at Grawp like bull elephants, making the earth quake. Then came hooves, and the twangs of bows, and arrows were suddenly falling amongst the Death Eaters, who broke ranks, shouting their surprise.

The wave of Death Eaters pushed towards the crowd. Arthur was trying to pull Ginny back, and she felt her wand arm rise at her side. Bill had jumped in front of her, and Ron, Hermione, and George were sending off curses like there was no tomorrow. Maybe there wouldn’t be a tomorrow. Hagrid’s shout split the air and Ginny came to her senses, stumbling back, but at that same second, Neville moved too.

In one swift, fluid motion he broke free of the Body-Bind Curse upon him; the flaming Hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle

The slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd, or the sounds of the clashing giants, or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet it seemed to draw every eye. With a single stroke, Neville sliced off the great snake’s head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, and Voldemort’s mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody could hear, and the snake’s body thudded to the ground at his feet –

He’s going to die, Ginny thought. And then her wand arm was moving and Protego and a silvered sheet of air shot between the two groups, between Neville and Voldemort, but it wouldn’t last long. Arhur was still pulling her back, the entire Weasley unit simultaneously stumbling backwards, pulling with them anyone they could find, then a single person- first Ron, then Percy, then Hermione- shooting forward to send curses or hexes towards the mass of black and gold, and they crumpled, not knowing what or who had hit them. Then, over the screams, and the roars, and the thunderous stamps of the battling giants, Hagrid’s yell came loudest of all.

‘HARRY!’ Hagrid shouted, GET AWAY – DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HARRY!’

Ginny’s heart seized up. Harry. He was still out there. His body-- he was still-- she could see him, half-shielded under Hagrid’s crouching form, still on the ground. Chaos reigned around his corpse. The charging centaurs were scattering the Death Eaters, everyone was fleeing the giants’ stamping feet, and nearer and nearer thundered the reinforcements that had come from who knew where; Ginny saw great winged creatures soaring around the heads of Voldemort’s giants, Thestrals and Buckbeak the Hippogriff scratching at their eyes while Grawp punched and pummelled them; and now the wizards, defenders of Hogwarts and Voldemort’s Death Eaters alike, were being forced back into the castle. His body was near to being trampled by the retreating crowd.

‘NO! GINEVRA, DON’T YOU DARE!’ Molly’s hand gripped Ginny’s and pulled her backwards.

‘Mum, he’s there-- let me-- let me go!’

Their hands were ripped apart by the force of the crowd, but even then Ginny couldn’t break free. She was pushed back, back, back into the Entrance Hall. A fight was already flourishing inside it, this time in closer quarters than ever before in the battle. Slughorn dashed up the steps, still in his emerald pyjamas, dueling Yaxley. Flitwick was locked in combat with Dolohov. Students, too shocked to fight, were stumbling out of the way, crouching in corners, and others were joining the fray with renewed zeal.

Like Ginny should. She pushed herself away from the wall she had come to be leaning against, and stunned a black-cloaked figure backing towards her. Just as she prepared to surge forward and carve a path through the Death Eaters for Harry, for Harry-

The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the Entrance Hall, screaming and waving carving knives and cleavers, and at their head, the locket of Regulus Black bouncing on his chest, was Kreacher, his bullfrog’s voice audible even above this din: ‘Fight! Fight! Fight for my master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!’

They were hacking and stabbing at the ankles and shins of Death Eaters, their tiny faces alive with malice, and everywhere Ginny looked Death Eaters were folding under sheer weight of numbers, overcome by spells, dragging arrows from wounds, stabbed in the leg by elves, or else simply attempting to escape, but swallowed by the oncoming horde.

But it was not over yet: a gleeful laugh arose, high above the shouts and bellows, and Ginny realised she could never stop fighting until the creature that had killed Harry was dead.

She sped between duellers, past struggling prisoners, and into the Great Hall.

Voldemort was in the centre of the battle, and he was striking and smiting all within reach. Ginny only stared. He was not how he had been in her second year. He was not charming, and handsome, and kind. But he was the same man. Just as cold, just as sharp.

She could not get a clear shot, but fought her way nearer, and the Great Hall became more and more crowded, as everyone who could walk forced their way inside. Ginny saw Yaxley slammed to the floor by George and Lee Jordan, saw Dolohov fall with a scream at Flitwick’s hands, saw Walden Macnair thrown across the room by Luna’s curse, hit the stone wall opposite and slide unconscious to the ground. He saw Ron and Neville bringing down Fenrir Greyback, Aberforth Stunning Rookwood, Arthur and Percy flooring Thicknesse, and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy running through the crowd, not even attempting to fight, screaming for their son.

Voldemort was now duelling McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley all at once, and there was cold hatred in his face as they wove and ducked around him, unable to finish him--

Bellatrix was still fighting too, fifty yards away from Voldemort, and like her master she duelled three at once: Hermione, Luna and Katie Bell, all battling their hardest, but Bellatrix was equal to them, and Ginny rushed forward only as Bellatrix rebounded Hermione’s curse and Katie crumpled. Hermione and Luna froze.

A wild laugh echoed, and Ginny stepped over Katie’s body--she was still breathing, thank Merlin-- and raised her wand. This woman had tortured Neville’s parents. This woman had killed Sirius. ‘It’s not-’ she began, but she never got to finish her sentence.

There was a green flash of light and Ginny blocked only just in time. Hermione and Luna, either side of her, were startled back into awareness, and then curses were flying freely. Bellatrix’s red flash-- Hermione responded with confringo to the wall behind her-- Luna’s protego-- another green flash-- then Ginny’s own reducto--

The battle around them was still going--

Bombarda--

There was still shouting, and crashing, and swearing, though a lot less screaming--

Oppugno--

And Ginny had to wonder, who was winning? But she couldn’t stop, couldn’t take her eyes away from--

Relashio--

Another green flash, this time heading straight for Ginny. She felt her breath catch. At least in death she would join Harry and George and all the others she would be missing in life. But at the last second, as a scream escaped from Hermione’s mouth, a hand yanked Ginny backwards.

Panting hard, Ginny saw her mother, Molly Weasley, with eyes like fire, stepping forward. ‘NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!’

Mum threw off her cloak as she ran, freeing her arms. Bellatrix spun on the spot, roaring with laughter at the sight of her new challenger.

‘OUT OF MY WAY!’ shouted Mrs Weasley to the three girls, and with a swipe of her wand she began to duel. Ginny watched with terror and elation as her mother’s wand slashed and twirled, and Bellatrix Lestrange’s smile faltered, and became a snarl. Jets of light flew from both wands, the floor around the witches’ feet became hot and cracked; both women were fighting to kill.

A particularly fast curse shot past her mother’s shoulder, and Ginny shook herself, jumping forward to help. She wasn’t losing her mother as well. ‘No!’ her mother cried. ‘Get back! Get back! She is mine!’

Ginny vaguely realised that hundreds of people now lined the walls, watching the two fights: Voldemort and his three opponents; Bellatrix and Molly. Ginny stood, invisible, torn between both, wanting to throw herself at Voldemort, who had killed Harry, and yet unable to turn from her mother.

‘What will happen to your children when I’ve killed you?’ taunted Bellatrix, as mad as her master, capering as Molly’s curses danced around her.  ‘When Mummy’s gone the same way as Freddie?’

Ginny started forward, already forming a curse in her mind. It didn’t matter if her mother wanted the honour of killing Bellatrix. For saying that, Ginny would kill her.

But, ‘You – will – never – touch – our – children – again!’ screamed Mrs Weasley, and then Bellatrix laughed, the same exhilarated laugh her cousin Sirius had given as he toppled backwards through the veil. Somehow, Ginny knew what was going to happen before it did.

Molly’s curse soared beneath Bellatrix’s outstretched arm and hit her squarely in the chest, directly over her heart.

Bellatrix’s gloating smile froze, her eyes seemed to bulge: for the tiniest space of time she knew what had happened, and then she toppled, and the watching crowd roared, and Voldemort screamed.

Ginny felt as though she turned in slow motion; she saw McGonagall, Kingsley and Slughorn blasted backwards, flailing and writhing through the air, as Voldemort’s fury at the fall of his last, best lieutenant exploded with the force of a bomb. Voldemort raised his wand and directed it at Molly Weasley, at Ginny’s mother, who was still watching with vindictive pride the still body of Bellatrix Lestrange.

‘PROTEGO,’ roared Ginny, and the Shield Charm expanded in the middle of the hall.

Voldemort’s wrathful features twisted further, and his wand turned from Molly to Ginny herself.

‘GINNY,’ screamed Ron, and she felt her mother’s grip trying to pull her back. Across the hall, behind Voldemort, Ginny even thought she saw Dean Thomas darting forward as if to help her. But she would not turn from Voldemort. She pulled away from her mother, and she whispered, beneath her breath, her daughter’s name.

‘No, Mum,’ Ginny said, not taking her eyes from Voldemort. ‘I’ve got to do this. Let me do this. He won’t kill me.’

The crowd was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Voldemort and Ginny looked at each other. A smile spread across his features, cunning and gleeful. ‘Another blood traitor…’ His smile widened. ‘This school does seem rife with them.’

There was silence, and he seemed to realise that there was no one left to laugh for him. His smile turned into a snarl. ‘And tell me, girl, why I will not kill you.’

‘Because you can’t,’ Ginny said simply, not knowing what she was going to say next. ‘I did my research. I might not know everything, but I know enough. Your curses can’t touch us tonight, can they. None of yours can. Oh, we can hit our own--by accident--but you can’t touch us. You can’t touch any of us.’

Ginny felt that, if it had been possible, Voldemort would have paled. Instead, he just gripped his wand tighter in that twisted, pretentious way, and sneered. ‘And I suppose you, too, are going to tell me that love will save you?’

‘Yes.’ Here she had to steel herself. ‘Because Harry didn’t die running away. Harry died for us. He died protecting us. Just as Lily Potter died protecting him. Love kept him safe. And it will keep me safe, too, for however long it takes for me to kill you.’

He laughed, a cold, high sound that bounced back from the heights of the ceiling and died in the silent, breathing air. And in his rasping, lilting voice, he said, ‘You’ll forgive me, I think, if I don’t quake before a seventeen year old girl.’

‘Sixteen, actually. But that’s okay. I didn’t think you’d remember my birthday.’

‘To remember, I would have had to know in the first place. I’m sorry to say that I haven’t been keeping up with the birth announcements in the Daily Prophet.’

‘You knew it, once,’ said Ginny, and she took a step. He mirrored her, and they began to circle. ‘But you’ve forgotten me. That’s alright. It’s an easy mistake to make. But I never forgot you. How could I? You were inside my head for a year.’ They had made a half rotation and Ginny saw her mother, frozen and white, holding and held by Bill. ‘But you forgot something else, as well. I was inside your head, too.’

‘What is this you speak of?’ hissed Voldemort.

‘Your diary. From the year 1943. I wrote to you, and you wrote back. I know how it feels, Ginny. I know how it feels to be forgotten. I know how it feels to be lost. I’m sure you only said it to pull me in, but we lost children always see the truth in each other. The difference is that I’m not lost any more. And you, Tom, are.’

‘You dare –’

‘Yes, I dare. And I know. I know the truth.’ Another quarter turn, and there was Ron, Hermione, Luna and Neville, bunched together at the front edge of the crowd, Kingsley and Professor Sprout behind them. ‘I saw who you really were back when you were Tom Marvolo Riddle, half-blood boy from a Muggle orphanage. Desperate for friends, desperate for power. You were just a child. You weren’t any different from anyone else. I was scared, my first year here. Blood on the walls and in my clothes, blank spots in my memory. You used that, you said you knew what it felt like. And you were so kind, so patient. I was so glad I had you. A friend I could carry around in my pocket. But I wasn’t stupid. Even as an eleven-year-old, I could see that you were scared. Scared enough to try to run from death. Scared enough to hide behind a false name. Scared enough to try to kill a baby.’

‘Harry Potter is dead!’ Voldemort shrieked. ‘Your last hope has disappeared.’

‘Fine. Harry’s dead. But he’s not gone. He’s still with us. And he hasn’t taken our last hope with him. He has created hope for all of us. You might have killed him, but we live because of him. And if you think we won’t fight til the very end, until you and everyone who supports you is gone, then you’re wrong. Look around yourself, Tom Riddle. See all the people who stood up to you. Think of all the ones that can’t be here today, but will protect their loved ones from you anyway. We will fight, and we will love, and we will kill, and we will die, until you are dead. We will carry on going until you are gone. We do it for the ones we love.’

‘Love again?’ said Voldemort, his snake’s face jeering, ‘Dumbledore’s favourite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the Tower and breaking like an old waxwork? Love, which did not prevent me stamping out Potter’s Mudblood mother like a cockroach– love which has never stopped me before. And nobody seems to love you enough to run forwards, and take my curse. So what will stop you or any other dying now when I strike?’

‘You’re wrong,’ Ginny said. ‘They do love me enough. Anyone in this hall would step forward and die right this second. But they’re going to let me kill you, instead. Because I love Harry. And maybe he is dead, but he did what he had to, and you’re a man now, the same as any other.’

‘Not quite, little girl. You speak of what I have forgotten, but it matters not! I am the master of the Elder Wand.’

Ginny stilled, her foot faltering in the half-turned circle. The Elder Wand. That was of bedtime stories, wasn’t it? But-- no-- she remembered rushed words, whispered between Harry and Ron and Hermione. They had spoken of it, somewhere, somewhen. It was real. The most powerful wand in existence. The Deathstick. And perhaps for now, Voldemort couldn’t kill her, for Harry’s love, but that wouldn’t last forever. He would find a way around it. And then they would all be dead.

A footstep behind her. And, as if no time had passed since Pansy Parkinson had screamed ‘Somebody grab him!’ here in the Great Hall, Hermione had closed the gap between them, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Ginny, facing the enemy.

‘You’re not,’ she said, voice shaking. Her lip was split, blood and mud covering her face. ‘You’re not the master of the Elder wand.’

He snarled. ‘I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore. His wand is mine.’

‘It didn’t belong to Professor Dumbledore,’ she said. ‘It belonged to someone else by the time Dumbledore died.’

‘What is this?’

Of all the things that Ginny had said to him, beyond any revelation or taunt, nothing had shocked Voldemort like Hermione’s words. Ginny saw his pupils contract to thin slits, saw the skin around his eyes whiten. And everything clicked together in Ginny’s mind. Harry’s wand, broken. The replacement he had found. The one Ginny recognised, from all the times it had been pointed at her, or at Hermione, or at Ron, or at Harry. Draco’s wand. Harry had overpowered Draco. And Draco…

Harry’s nightmares had said enough. Draco had disarmed Dumbledore.

‘Draco Malfoy,’ said Ron, stepping up to Ginny’s other side. ‘It belonged to Draco Malfoy. Draco disarmed Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower that night.’

Blank shock showed in Voldemort’s face for a moment, but then it was gone.

‘But what does it matter?’ he said softly. ‘Even if you are right, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the Potter boy: we duel on skill alone, and you are children ... and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy ...’

‘Don’t listen to him, Ginny,’ said Ron, very quietly. The whole hall must have heard, it was so quiet. ‘Harry loved us. He loved you. He died for you.’

Ginny steeled herself, and she could have sworn in that moment that she heard Harry’s voice in her ear. I just wish I’d asked you sooner. We could’ve had ages . . . months . . . years maybe. . . . Now she would never have any time with him ever again. But she could make sure that no one else died at Hogwarts. Not tonight. Not one. Except for Tom Marvolo Riddle.

‘We’re the ones Harry loved the most,’ she said. ‘The know-it-all Muggleborn, the stupid Weasley boy, and me. The seventh child of a seventh child. The weak one, who was taken in by a mere diary.’

She took a step forward, raising her wand as Harry had taught her in the Room of Requirement over two years before. Tears were burning behind her eyes. ‘But I managed to get rid of you before, Tom Riddle. I can do it again.’

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them, as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur. Ginny heard the high voice shriek as she, too, pointing her yew wand and thinking of the child Harry had been, the man he had become, yelled her best hope to the heavens:

‘Avada kedavra!’

‘Expelliarmus!’

The bang was like a cannon-blast and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead centre of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Ginny saw Voldemort’s green jet meet her own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air towards the girl who never made the same mistake twice, the one who had never looked for the Elder Wand because after so long she had learned that all she needed was herself. And Ginny, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in her free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upwards. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snake-like face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Ginny stood with two wands in her hand, with her brother to her right and her best friend to her left, the dead body of the boy she loved behind her, staring down at her enemy’s shell.

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