Harry didn’t bother to talk to Albus Dumbledore, he just turned around and went on his way. The old man’s tears did not convince him, and his superiority and arrogance just frankly pissed him off. He didn’t need any more riddles and silly answers, he wanted to see his parents and Sirius, he wanted to apologise to Cedric and Dean and whosever else didn’t survive the last few years because of him.

 Dumbledore followed him though, and gave him the choice to go back. Harry, ever the Gryffindor, of course chose the more difficult path –and did. 

 He woke up to the sound of curses whizzing past, deadly curses, stunners and others Harry had never heard. Voldemort was hunched over; breathing but unconscious, until he was hit by a Sectumsempra. His whole head flopped to the floor and the simple thud was the last sound that ever came from the snake man.

 Dolohov and Lestrange were both petrified and a very sweaty Nott magically bound the two.

Harry crawled over to the decapitated Voldemort; there was very little blood, the red slits were side open. Harry closed them and then turned around.

 Hermione was weeping while Snape, Lucius and Narcissa had a heated discussion about weather or not to call the Aurors.

 No-one seemed to notice that Harry was moving, he felt strangely giddy, breathed in the air as if he hadn’t done that for years.

 “Hello?” he asked as he stood up. 

 Suddenly the room went quiet. Hermione was beside him in an instant, hugging him so tight it hurt a little.

 “You are alive?” Snape asked dully although relief was written all over his face.

 “Astute as ever Snape,” Harry replied.